Page 95 of The Enslaved Duet

I wanted to ask her about her boyfriend, Christopher, but she wouldn’t admit anything was wrong between them, even after he’d so clearly assaulted Giselle before she left for school two years ago.

Her silence on the matter perturbed me, but at least now I was certain she would never see him again. The promise of America shone on her future like a spotlight through the gloom of our pasts in Italy. If anyone could harness and tame the wild beast of the American Dream, it was my whip smart eldest sister.

“Cosi?” she asked again.

I shook my head slightly. “Sorry, jet lag.”

“You know, that excuse has almost run its course.” She raised an eyebrow and crossed her arms over her chest. “You can talk to me. I know you’ve done…things so that we can afford to move to America, butcazzo, Cosima, I’m your older sister. If I cannot be the one to make sacrifices for this family, at least let me shoulder some of your burden.”

I stared at her, mute with longing. I’d always shared an incredible closeness with my family, but now I found myself too embroiled in the secrets of another bloodline to be able to converse freely with my own.

I realized with horror that I felt more like a Davenport than a Lombardi.

“It’s nothing, Lena, I really am just adjusting to the time change.”

“Two hours isn’t much of a change, but fine.” She sighed and pushed back an errant piece of hair beneath her black cloth headband. Then, having considered something internally, she moved swiftly across our small living room to where I was packing up Mama’s fabrics, and she pulled me into a hug.

My sister didn’t like physical affection. She had never been very demonstrative growing up, but her aloofness had only honed into a cold blade over the past few years, and now she barely allowed you to kiss her in the traditional Italian greeting.

So this hug was special, and it nearly worked to unlock the massive deadbolt I had across the chamber to my mess of emotions and web of secrets.

Nearly, but not quite.

I was a stronger woman than I had been, so I knew to take my pleasure when I could even if it was tinged with pain.

My arms banded around her small waist and pulled her even closer against me so that I could smell her perfume. It was Chanel Number 5, a scent she had lusted over for years even though we could only afford the samples found in the odd magazine. I bought it for her every year for her birthday since my first modelling check came in, and I loved smelling it on her.

“Ti amo,” I whispered into her ear, hoping that she would wear the words there like precious gems even when I couldn’t be with her.

She tightened her hold on me for a moment and then whispered the words back, her voice softer than I’d ever heard it before. “Ti amo, Cosima, e grazie.”

I love you, Cosima, and I thank you.

Tears pooled at the backs of my eyes, and I opened my mouth to give her something, a gift only Elena could fully cherish, one of knowledge, when the door to our little house burst open with a bang.

We sprung apart to face the intruders, but it was me who gasped when I recognized who it was.

Salvatore stood backlit by the flaming Italian sun, a great shadow of a beast with thick dark hair and beard that stained his strong, clenched jaw like ink.

“Why the drama?” Elena asked, fisting her hands on her hips as she interacted with a man she thought she knew well enough to be familiar with, a man who had been visiting us sporadically our entire lives. “You nearly broke down the door.”

“Do not speak tocapothat way,” Rocco demanded as he stepped through the door at Salvatore’s back, his thugs behind him. “You Lombardi women are never respectful enough.”

Mama appeared in the doorway to the bedroom, her face ashen as she took in the crowd of Made Men in our doorway. Her eyes darted to me then back to Salvatore, and she swallowed hard.

How had I never noticed her watchfulness and unease before when it seemed written in the air between us like subtitles.

“We are here for Cosima,” Salvatore told Mama in his gravel rich voice.

Mama’s hands fluttered through the air, touched on her heart, and then took flight again like frightened birds. “No, Tore, please…”

He ignored her, lifting a hand that signaled the men behind him to push forward into the house.

My conditioned flight or fight response flooded my body with heady adrenaline. Carefully, I pushed Elena farther out of the way and then faced the Camorra foot soldiers with a cutting grin.

“Let’s see if you can catch me, boys,” I taunted them.

The stupider of the two lunged for me. I hopped onto the low coffee table, landing on one leg while the other swung through the air with the leverage from my leap and crashed into the descending face of the mafia man.