Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“I know, I know, it’s for my own good,” I say, rolling my eyes. “It’s just that—"
The door opens. Mario and I turn around. Sergio stands in the doorway looking fierce and intimidating as always, but he’s like a brother to me and I know him well beyond that tough guy exterior.
“Let’s go.”
I’m on my feet. Shaking.
Sergio puts his hands out. “Listen. He needs to see a few more people. We need to finish our interrogation.” He takes a step toward me and shuts the door behind him.
My heart sinks to the floor. I hang my head. Sergio crosses the room in two large strides and puts his arms around me. I bury my face on his chest and choke back a sob.
“I want to make sure he’s okay, Sergio.” I can’t tell him that a part of me has come back from the dead, that I’ve been resurrected.
For the first time since Timeo went missing, I feel hopeful again.
“I won’t do anything dumb. You guys do what you have to, I know even Timeo would want you to, but it doesn’t mean I can’t see him.” I swipe at the tears that keep falling. “And I’m not being a brat like Mario says, I’m just — I missed him so much.”
“We all did, Starla,” he says gently, as his arms tighten around me. When he’s like this, it’s hard for me to believe the rumors they say about him, but if Eden can love him, so can I. “You called her a brat?”
Uh oh. Mario’s in trouble.
“She won’t take fucking no for an answer!”
Sergio snaps something harsh off in Italian, so I don’t understand a word he says, and Mario flinches.
“Okay, alright,” Mario says. “Starla, I’m sorry.”
I nod against Sergio’s chest, his damp shirt pressed up against my cheek.
Sergio sighs. “Alright, Starla.”
“Yes?” I ask, trying fruitlessly to keep the hope out of my voice.
Sergio lets me go and jerks his head to the pastry box. “You can bring him a cannoli.”
I’m in the room in two seconds flat, a cannoli in each hand. Mario and Sergio watch from the doorway as I sit by Timeo’s bed.
Timeo’s eyes are closed. “Who do you have taking care of him?” I nestle the cannoli on an empty plate.
“We have a team, kiddo,” Sergio says. I flinch at his pet name for me. I don’t want to be called a kiddo. Not here, not now. “We’ve got what you asked us to get. Mario and I have to call a meeting. Starla, look at me.”
I look up at him impatiently. In my peripheral vision, Timeo’s eyes flutter open.
“What?”
“We’re still watching Timeo carefully. Giorgio will be right outside this door, and we have three more men on alert. Go ahead and visit. But be careful.”
I don’t exactly know what they expect Timeo to do to me, but I think they’d all do well by eating more cannoli.
“Got it,” I say, waving him off. “Go see Eden, I think she’s got some food for you to try or whatever.”
Sergio pauses, debating, but in the end, he leaves with Mario.
I’m alone with Timeo.
Alone.
He isn’t even looking at me. Instead, he stares at the wall, his jaw clenched, and a stoic look on his beautiful, tired face.
“You look tired,” I say softly. “I think we need to get you cleaned up, then you can get some rest.”
“Rest,” he mutters. “That’s all they say is rest. Rest, rest, rest. Jesus. I don’t want to rest.”
I lift a warm cloth from the basin of water and wring it out so it’s only damp. “Sit up and tell me what you want to do instead of resting.”
It’s hard for me to believe he’s here, in the flesh. Timeo. My first and only friend.
The first man who ever made me feel like a woman.
“Heard you fighting out there,” he says, his voice all hoarse and raspy. “I’m happy that hasn’t changed about you.”
The look he gives me makes my heart turn over in my chest. He might be tired and hurt, and I don’t know what he was pulling in here saying he didn’t remember me, but that look in his eyes tells me everything I need to know.
Timeo hasn’t changed.
Five years earlier
I stared out the window of Sergio and Eden’s sitting room at The Castle, the Rossi family home on the North Shore of New England. After being rescued from our abusers, I relocated with Eden. We found comfort and solace at The Castle. The family matriarch Tosca and her mother, affectionately called “Nonna” by everyone, resided in The Castle, and all the Rossis and Montavios frequently visited.
Nonna, a stout and fierce Italian grandmother always dressed in signature black, expanded my cooking abilities, and I taught her how to make my family’s favorite heirloom recipes. Even though I was mistreated by the fellowship, I did learn more than a few sustainable life skills.