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CHAPTER FIVE
Valentina
“Yes,Mother, of course, we’re going to have a second party in California,” I say, balancing the phone on my shoulder as I attempt to brush Matilda’s wild curls.
For the millionth time, I wonder where the hell she got this hair since neither her father nor I have curly hair.
“I don’t understand why you won’t just come home now. Is it because of that boy?”
“Thatboyhas nothing to do with this,” I grit out, giving up on the brush and opting for a loose braid instead.
“What boy, Mama?” Matilda asks, looking up at me with the devilish smile she inherited from her father.
“No boy, sweetheart,” I whisper, patting her on the head to go play. “No boys allowed in this house.”
“But Uncle Alfonso…”
“That’s right, go play with Uncle Alfonso,” I croon, petting her hair and leading her out of the bathroom.
“Valentina, I sense you’re busy. Would you like me to call you another time?”
“No! God, please, don’t call… again,” I blurt out, belatedly realizing my mistake. “I mean, now is the perfect time. I’m listening.”
“Your father is very angry.” Mother launches into the same spiel she’s given me every day since I refused my father’s order to come home. “He doesn’t understand why you won’t listen to him. He’s very worried, and you know what stress does to people who have… poor health.”
“Cancer, Ma,” I correct her, tired of this little game. “He has cancer, and he’s had it for three years. Listen, I’m twenty-six years old and responsible enough to be put in charge of a billion-dollar empire and a whole heap of people that depend on us—why am I not responsible enough to make my own decisions?”
“Of course, we think you’re responsible.” She hesitates. I can see the wheels spinning in her brain, trying to figure out how to gaslight me into agreeing with their wishes. “We just think California is safer for both you and Matilda.”
“We’re completely safe here,” I assert, hoping my voice sounds confident. “And we’re staying at least until I get the new business set up and fully functioning. End of discussion.”
“Oh dear, your father won’t like that.”
“No, he probably won’t,” I agree. My second line clicks, and I beg off, saying goodbye to my mother.
I switch over to the other line and spring into mom mode, dealing with the catering company for Matilda’s East Coast birthday party. By the time I get off the call, my brain is exhausted.
Between planning bicoastal birthday parties for a soon-to-be six-year-old, dealing with my ex coming back into my life, and running the mafia, I have zero brain power left. I’m on my way to take a much-needed hot shower when my phone pings again.
“Ugh, I swear if my mother is asking which fucking Disney princess she likes the most again…”
My grumbling stops immediately when I see it’s a blocked number.Weird. Maybe Enzo found a new number to message me from after I blocked him?
I open the message with shaky fingers, exhilarated and irritated at the same time. The message contains a link to a song and a signature. I study the signature for a second, wondering what the hell The8 means, then click the link.
It pulls up a video of an orchestra performingSongs and Dances of Deathby Modest Mussorgsky.
I watch the entire video, mulling over what this could possibly mean. A vague memory of the song’s meaning bounces around in my brain—four deaths or something like that? But who would send this to me, and why?
My phone rings and I panic, dropping it on the floor. It clatters across the tiles, vibrating its way away from me. Feeling silly, I huff out a breath and snatch it up.
“Valentina, can you meet me at the complex?” Uncle Luigi’s voice echoes through my smashed speaker. “We have an… interesting problem.”
“On my way,” I confirm.I guess my hot shower will have to wait,I think, waving longingly at the beautiful walk-in shower.
After double-checking that Matilda is playing under the watchful eye of Uncle Alfonso, also known as her favorite nanny, I make my way to the complex.
Early morning flurries swirl around, creating diamond-like patterns on the windows, and I smile happily. It’s been years since I’ve seen snow—ever since my father got sick and we stopped going up to our ski lodge for Christmas.