by Elle Wright
She’d half developed the elimination plan before she’d found out about Walter Randall shooting Sofia’s therapist. She wasn’t going to talk to Gio about it now. She didn’t want him thinking about it when they were with his nonna. And she didn’t want him to try to talk her out of it. She knew she could do this, but she had to convince him it was the best way. Shit. Shit. Shit. She hated that he was going to be involved in this. If she thought that one hair on his head might get ruffled, she’d call his father herself.
“Okay, G-man. We go back to Fiddler’s Rest and come up with a plan.” He moved in to kiss her, but she put her fingers over his lips. “But. You have to promise me. You go back to Brown in August and stay in school. For the full ride.”
He squinted those amazing blue eyes and scowled.
“Promise me, Gio.”
The stare-down lasted a few minutes. She could feel his increased heart rate and huffing breaths, and she could almost hear the wheels turning in his brain, coming up with and discarding arguments. Eventually, he drew in a deep breath and sighed.
“Done.”
Front gate
Di Caro residence
Dutchford, Connecticut
Gio
“Hey, Tommie. How’s the family?”
Tommaso Belaverdi bent at the waist and peered into Gio’s car. Tommie knew it was Gio, but Tommie wanted to see who Gio was bringing home. This was going to be chewed over for days by all the men who guarded the house. Gio bet a couple of the guys would come through the kitchen while they were eating under the pretense of just checking up to get a better look at Natalia. And the old man would be on Gio’s phone in less than half an hour, even though right now it was 11:30 at night in Sicily.
Gio had warned Natalia about all of it, and she had laughed and said she’d expected no less. But two hours ago reality must have set in because she’d made him call his nonna.
“It’s rude not to give her notice that you’re bringing someone she doesn’t know into the house.”
He shook his head.
“As a matter of fact, tell her we’re taking her out to dinner. She shouldn’t have to cook for me.”
He shook his head again, but did as she asked, to which his nonna had replied in Italian, “Don’t insult me,” and hung up.
Natalia had fussed about her clothes. “Old jeans are not appropriate to meet your grandmother for the first time.” Her hair. “Should I wear it down, pull it back in a bun, or braid it?” And her shoes. “All I have is my Keds. She’s going to think I’m a vagabond.”
She wore her hair down, tucked her light pink button-down into jeans that hugged her hips and ass like they loved her, which he understood, and her Keds were bright white. She looked like a dream.
“Who you got there, Gio?”
“Natalia Surkis, this is Tommie Belaverdi.”
“Nice to meet ya.” He waved Gio through and got on the comm unit before the gate closed. Christ.
As they pulled up the drive, Natalia let out a long whistle. “Impressive.”
“It’s meant to be.”
“Well, it succeeds famously. You grew up in this house?”
“Since I was six months old.”
“He wanted your mother to raise her children in luxury.”
“Perhaps. Everything he does has, at the very least, dual purposes.”
Gio swung the car around the circular drive and parked a little past the wide front entryway.
She looked down at her Keds. “At least I don’t have to worry about those steps and high heels.”
“Yeah. My mother and sisters wear rubber-soled shoes out of the house, and they carry their high heels. They keep telling my father those marble steps are a death trap. Clearly, he wants them to be or else he would’ve had them replaced years ago.”
“A man with a mission.”
“Understatement much?”
She laughed as he got out of the car, went around the back and came up to her door, opened it, leaned down and put his hand by her arm to help her get out.
“Speaking of death traps, this car’s ingress and egress is a mofo.”
“Italian sports cars are built for speed, not comfort.”
“What about the four-door Maserati touring sedan? Italian and built for comfort.”
“Do me a favor and don’t mention it around my father. You’ll wind up owning one within a day.”
She stood and gave him wide eyes. “He’d do that?”
“And so much more.”
Before she could respond, Gio’s phone went off, and, sure enough, the old man was making his presence known from forty-three hundred miles away.
“Dad.”
“Giovanni. I understand we have a guest.”
“Natalia Surkis. She’s having dinner with Nonna and me.”
“Let me say hello and tell her how disappointed I am that I’m not there to meet her in person.”
Gio held out the phone and Natalia blinked a few times like she couldn’t believe this was happening. Gio mouthed, “Motherfucker,” and she bit her bottom lip to keep from laughing. But she took the phone.
“Hello, Mr. Di Caro. This is Natalia.”
Dad talking.
“I agree, sir. I look forward to meeting you, too.”
Dad talking.
“Hello, Mrs. Di Caro.”
No he did NOT.
“That’s so kind of you.”
Mom talking.
“Absolutely. We’ll do that. I look forward to it.”
Mom talking.
“Certainly. Here he is.” Natalia held out the phone, and Gio took it because, really, what choice did he have.
“Mom. How’s Sofia?”
“Better. She seems to feel lighter here.”
“Give her my love.”
“You should call her.”
“We text every day. She knows I’m thinking about her all the time.”
“You’re a good brother.”
“Aurora behaving herself?”
“She’s being very gentle with Sofia and sticking to her like glue.”
“Good.”
“So this Natalia. She’s the one?”
“Yeah.”
“I can’t wait to meet her. Does she go to Brown?”
She doesn’t know she’ll be at Brown in September, but I’m going to make sure that’s exactly where her fine ass will be. “Yeah.”
“Smart girl.”
“Like you, Mom.”
“Always such a flatterer.”
“The truth’s the truth.”
“Go. Enjoy your dinner with Nonna. I’m sure I’ll hear all about it tomorrow.”
I’m sure the entire conversation will be transcribed and on Dad’s phone within an hour of our departure. “I bet you will.”
“Love you, Gio.”
“Love you back, Mom.”
All that, and they hadn’t even left the fucking driveway yet.
Foyer
Di Caro residence
Dutchford, Connecticut
Natalia
“Classy.”
“My mom is into understated elegance.”
“Well, she’s got it going on right here. I never knew there were so many shades of crème.” Natalia touched the wall lightly to check she was right. Yep, silk wallpaper: super thin shiny stripes of a lighter crème than the crème background. Huge crème tiles with thin veins of gold paved the entryway floor, which was partially covered with a centrally placed large round area rug of deep crème with little red roses ringing it in widely spaced concentric circles. On top of the rug sat a large crème painted wood round table with a wide glass vase filled with blush-tinted crème roses. Directly above the vase, on a long chain covered in a crème silk sleeve, a chandelier hung, its scalloped crystals catching the ambient sunlight.
Straight ahead an archway led to a hall that went deeper into the house. A little right of center was a wide curving staircase with the same tile and a thick runner up the middle of the steps i
n the same pattern as the area rug. Off to the right was an elegant room akin to a sitting room, all crème silk couches and complementary wide wing chairs with dark wood tables interspersed between the sitting areas.
To the left was a library with built-in floor-to-ceiling dark wood shelving. The sofa and various comfy-looking chairs in shades of sage held scattered pillows in dark crème and rose-red. The large leaf pattern area rug was a deep sage and rich crème with red veins in the leaves.
The wall art in the sitting room were all pleasant landscapes, easy on the eyes, and clearly done by masters of the genre. In the library were paintings of people reading, again some old masters, as well as a few more contemporary, lighter pieces.
Tasteful knickknacks and a couple of small sculptures were scattered throughout each room: some, but not too much of anything. Absent from any of this “public” area of the house were photographs.
Gio grabbed her hand, threaded his fingers through hers, and guided her down the hallway all the way to the back of the house, which meant they had a stroll. Yep, the place was huge. They passed a ton of rooms, the last of which before coming to a large open area was a formal dining room that could seat fifty people. Easily. The open area was part kitchen, part eating area, and part family room. Unlike the front of the house, there were photographs everywhere, and the furniture looked lived in, comfortable, and family friendly.
She wasn’t so sure about the two Dobies who stood when she and Gio entered the room. The moment he saw them, Gio crouched down and both dogs trotted over, then rolled, showing their bellies, their legs straight up in the air.
“Such good puppies. Did you miss me?”
Puppies? They had to be seventy-five pounds each. Actually, the male had to be a hundred pounds, at least.
Still crouched, Gio put up his arm and extended his hand. “Come say hello to Sarah and Clyde.”
She raised her brows.
“I know. My sisters named them.”
Before she could make a proper introduction to the dogs, a tiny tornado, built like a stuffed sausage, wearing a crème apron with thin navy stripes, came bustling out from behind the enormous counter separating the kitchen from the family room. Natalia hadn’t seen or heard her before this grand entrance, but figured she had been standing back watching and evaluating. Like a general.
Nonna.
“Go lay down,” she told the dogs, who wisely obeyed and went to large circular beds in the corner near one of the sofas. “Come here.” She motioned to Gio. Dutifully, he too obeyed. He stood up and went to her, then bent at the waist to kiss one of her smooth tan cheeks, then the other, and back to the first. She grabbed his face and gave him a healthy double tap. “You look tired. You need to eat.”
He took his grandmother by the hand and turned her to face Natalia. “Nonna, this is Natalia Surkis. Natalia, my nonna.”
“A pleasure to meet you.” Natalia stuck out her hand, which Nonna slapped out of the way. Natalia froze. Fuck. What did she do wrong?
“In this family we hug,” Nonna declared and squinted, clearly waiting for Natalia to make the next move.
Right. Hug. Natalia told her body to get in gear, then stepped in and wrapped her arms gently around the diminutive woman.
“I’m not made of glass, child.”
Natalia hugged tighter and Nonna hugged back, her arms around Natalia’s waist.
“She likes to eat,” Nonna said as she pulled back. “This is good. You’ll have healthy children.”
Gio gave Natalia a what did I tell you look. Then winked.
“Is there anything I can do to help, Mrs. Conti?” On the ride to Connecticut, Gio had schooled Natalia on Nonna 101.
“She’s a good girl, Giovanni.” Gio smiled and nodded. “Go.” Nonna pointed to Natalia, then the kitchen. “I’ll teach you. You need to start learning.”
Natalia grabbed the elastic off her wrist, pulled back her hair, and followed Nonna, who marched to the kitchen. She pulled out a drawer, plunged her hand in, and pulled out a duplicate of the apron she was wearing.
“Put this on. I’ll show you how to put together misto antipasti.”
Natalia got a master class in Sicilian cooking. The primi of vegetable couscous had been
prepared earlier, but Nonna described how to make it, and Natalia took mental notes. Thank God she could go online to fill in the blanks. The secondi, a pan-baked whole snapper, was in the oven, but Nonna showed Natalia how to make an olive oil, lemon, and caper drizzle, which she had to keep spooning over the fish as it cooked. Under Nonna’s watchful eye, Natalia made the insalata di arance, an arugula salad with sliced blood oranges. The balsamic vinegar was as thick as molasses and tasted like nothing Natalia had ever had before. For dessert they were going to have the cannolis she and Gio had brought from Boston’s North End. Nonna had red grapes and sliced melon on a platter in the industrial-size fridge for their frutta.
While they were in the kitchen, Gio put out the dishes, glasses, and silverware on the enormous farmhouse table, which was surrounded by mismatched chairs in various shades of red, and a few benches padded with red fabric. After he’d put out everything, he stretched out on one of the couches and turned on some sports channel. Natch.
After being directed on how to plate up the food on platters that were colorful and clearly from Italy or Sicily, Nonna told Natalia to go get Gio.
When she got to couch, she saw he was smiling like he was five years old on Christmas morning.
“What?”
“What, what?”
“You’re grinning like an idiot.”
“Stop with all the love talk.”
“Really. What?”
“I knew she would adore you.”
She dipped her chin. “She’s amazing.”
“You got that right.”
He grabbed her hand and tugged. Before she could resist, she tumbled on top of him. Before she could jump off, he wrapped his arms around her back and gave her a loud kiss.
She smacked his shoulder. “Your grandmother is right there.” She tilted her head toward the kitchen.
“Obvi. Don’t get all weirded out. She’s already told you in our family we hug.”
She smacked him again and jumped off. He shut off the TV, laughing the whole way to the table.
Loaves of homemade Italian bread were slanted across a cutting board, a large serrated knife lying alongside them. Gio had made up the oil and balsamic mixture on each of their bread plates. By the time she sat down next to him, he was staring at food with almost the same expression he wore when they were having sex.
Gio poured the wine, and then Nonna bowed her head. Gio and Natalia followed suit and Nonna threw out a litany of prayers in Italian. Natalia got the amen in right on time.
Two seconds later, Gio was heaping food on his plate.
“He doesn’t eat enough at that school. The food can’t be any good.” Nonna waved her fork at Natalia. “You make sure he eats right.”
“I will, Mrs. Conti.”
“Now tell me, what are you studying?”
For the next two hours they talked about school, food, and how much Nonna loved the swimming pool. Gio helped his grandmother clean up, and Natalia, who had never been so full in her entire life, took advantage of Nonna focusing her undivided attention on her grandson.
Natalia walked past the glass doors that looked like the type that folded in on themselves and disappeared. Outside was a large patio made of multicolored ceramic tiles, on top of which were three large round glass tables, each with six heavily padded chairs shoved under them. Around the patio, there were large wide chairs that looked like they rocked, and about ten longue chairs with thick navy blue pads. In the corner there was a long, covered bench swing.
Past the patio was Nonna’s beloved pool. No wonder she liked it so much. Olympic size, if not bigger, the inside tiling looked similar to the patio’s. Large gray slate slabs rimmed the pool: clearly a safety measure. It didn’t look like you could slip on t
hose things, even when they got wet. On the outer edges of the slate, more longue chairs, and rockers, and beyond the pool by about a hundred feet, a storybook-pretty pool house. The doors were open, and floor-to-ceiling sheer drapes were loosely tied back, billowing in the breeze. If the family photos hadn’t beckoned, she would’ve gone outside and stuck her feet in the pool and sat in that lovely pool house where Gio had cosseted his sister.
But she wasn’t going to miss the opportunity to see Gio’s earlier years. True, she knew what he looked like when he was fifteen, but that one yearbook photo barely counted as a historical record.
There was no rhyme or reason to the photos’ arrangement. Mrs. Di Caro didn’t do the chronological thing. It seemed she choose the pictures she liked best and put them up over time. Francesca Di Caro was a beautiful woman. A little smaller than average height, she had thick dark brown hair and wide, expressive light brown eyes over delicate features. In earlier photos she was thin almost to the point of delicate, but as she aged, she got closer to average weight. Always impeccably dressed, even in jeans and a sweater, she looked rich, which Natalia was certain was exactly how her husband wanted her to look.
Her daughters favored her. Both were feminine and small-boned, Sofia the fairest of the family with light brown hair and blue eyes that were not as startling as Gio’s but pretty nonetheless. She had a waifish look about her, which got Natalia pissed off all over again at Walter the abuser. It wouldn’t take much to break Sofia in two. Hell, she looked like a strong wind could knock her over. Natalia hoped that sonofabitch was being treated to a host of beatings on the daily in prison.
The youngest Di Caro, Aurora, had her mother’s features right down to the light brown eyes, but her hair was jet black like Gio’s. She looked like she was made of stronger stuff than her sister. Heartier and more determined. Aurora had an impish smile that said “I get away with a lot of mischief.”
Alessandro Di Caro was unmistakably Gio’s sire. A stunning man, he exuded power, strength, and the mantle of don’t-fuck-with-me even in photos where he had his young daughters on his lap and he was laughing. He looked to be about ten years older than his wife, who gazed up at him in every photo as if he was the best thing she’d ever seen. He seemed affectionate with her, but he didn’t have his son’s soul. In that regard, Gio was his mother’s son. And, having spent time with Nonna, Gio was as much hers as his mother’s.