35
LENA
No one defies Aldo Cerreti. That is immediately clear.
It doesn’t matter how much Lorenzo tries to physically prevent Rem’s uncle from corralling me out of the suite, or how much Johnny argues with hiscapowhen he sees what’s happening.
Mr. Cerreti—Aldo, as he insists I call him—is polite, quiet, and forcefully resolute about what is going to happen next.
With a few clipped words in Italian, he forces Lorenzo to step aside and Johnny stares at the ground, jaw flexing in thwarted anger. I have no idea what theircaposays, but I do hear him mention Rem’s name. At that, Johnny’s concerned eyes fly to mine.
That display of emotion lasts less than a heartbeat. Gone as fast as it came, Johnny gives Aldo a sharp nod and makes a phone call. To my husband, I can only assume, but I’m already being escorted down the hotel corridor before the call connects.
I don’t even have time to grab my bag, shoes, or coat. An oversight Aldo picks up on with a sideways glance, his gait shortened to match mine as we head to the elevator bank. Ibarely catch the gesture he sends one of his guards, who then gallops back to the suite. The elevator hasn’t even opened when my things are presented in a neat pile, the guard’s mammoth hands outstretched, eyes carefully trained on the ground.
It’s been approximately ten minutes since Aldo Cerreti walked into my life and here I am, climbing into the back center seat of his black SUV, the man himself on my right, one of his guards on my left, the other in the driver’s seat, and Lorenzo radiating nervous energy from the front passenger seat.
I would admire Aldo Cerreti’s efficient authority except I’m scared shitless.
Our journey begins in silence, just thewhirrof the heater to mask the sound of my heart thumping so hard I’m worried it might explode. Aldo Cerreti flicks through something on his phone while the other men just sit there, mouths shut.
I should do the same, but terror makes me antsy, incapable of staying silent. “Does Rem know you’re back early?”
Aldo doesn’t pause scrolling, his attention fixed on the screen.
“Does he know you’ve taken me?”
Again, no response.
I shift in my seat, trying not to freak out as I watch the urban landscape of Chicago dissolve into suburban sprawl. I try again, masking the wobble in my voice with feigned bravado. “Maybe yes or no questions aren’t your thing. Let’s try a different one: where are we going?”
“So many questions, Mrs. Cosenza.”
“Isn’t that natural given the circumstances?” I keep my tone even, no hint of disrespect despite how angry I am. “We’re strangers. Asking and answering questions is a time-honored way to get to know someone.”
Aldo releases what sounds like a chuckle, putting his phone away as he shifts in his seat. The better to look down at me. “Inquisitiveness can be both a blessing and a curse, Lena. Something your mother learned firsthand.”
At the mention of Maria, I freeze, forcing my brain to keep functioning despite the hatred crawling its way up my veins. Hatred and fear. “What do you know about my birth mother?”
Aldo catalogues my features, like he’s looking for traces of her there. “So much, Mrs. Cosenza. So very much.”
I clear my voice, trying to gain some semblance of footing. “Mr. Cerreti, you seem to have me at a disadvantage. We’ve never met, but you already know so much about me. About my marriage to Rem, my birth mother, the suite I was staying in that only a handful of people know about. But I don’t know anything about you. Like why you took me from my hotel room. Or where we’re going. Questions that seem very fair, all things considered.”
“I can’t argue with your logic,” the older man says. “Yet, you’ll have to forgive me, Mrs. Cosenza. I’m going to have to keep you in the dark a little longer. Once we arrive at our destination and my nephew has joined us, I’ll be happy to put you out of your misery.”
Which is quite possibly the worst thing he could say. It’s the perfect verbal blow. The fight goes out of me. I sink into my seat, digging my fingers into the butter-soft leather.
Asshole. Efficient, lethal asshole.
In the rearview mirror, I catch Lorenzo looking at me. He shakes his head. It’s almost imperceptible, but the message is clear. He’s telling me to shut up, to sit still. To just wait until Rem arrives.
We spend the next thirty minutes driving in silence. The city is far behind us when we turn up a private drive, palatial gates opening to a tree-lined road. It’s another five minutes before we pull up to a house so large and imposing it rivals some of the museums downtown. Even in winter the grounds are immaculate, but the lack of leaves makes it easier to spotthe armed guards stalking through the dramatically lit gardens.
“Welcome to my home.” Aldo Cerreti holds out his hand, blocking the open car door until I put my palm in his. His skin is smooth, cool. His grip strong but not painful. I bite my tongue to stop my teeth from chattering.
“Andiamo. Come.” Aldo tucks my hand into the crook of his arm, his other palm locking it in place, and guides me through the house’s impressive front doors.
Warm air assaults us when we step onto the foyer’s checkerboard marble floor. The entrance hall is almost as large as my entire apartment, a human-sized fireplace on one side crackling with a blaze large enough to send sweat trailing down my spine.