by Kathryn Shay
o0o
Max cooked them dinner. He’d already prepared the meat to grill outside, so, as the potatoes baked, they sat in the living room.
Calla watched Connor set down his red wine and lean forward. He always did that when he was intensely involved in the discussion. “What do we do now, Whit?”
“The first thing is wait for the immigration attorney’s call.” Max had phoned a friend, who hadn’t gotten back to him yet.
“Yes, but how are we going to keep her safe?”
Whitney sighed. “Calla, what information do you think Lorenzo has on you right now?”
She cleared her throat. “He knows I’m in love with Connor, but not his identity.”
Ignoring her declaration, Connor froze. “Why did you tell him?”
She held his gaze. They’d discussed this. He’d even mentioned it. He’ll never accept you after this. “I didn’t have to. On our wedding night, he found out.”
“Shit!”
“What else does he know?” Max asked.
“He’s familiar with our family, with my six sisters. All but one live in the United States. It’s not public knowledge where they are, what they do here. Since our legal last name is Marcello-Gentileschi, some of them use just Mamá’s name. But Lorenzo could easily find out all this.” Her eyes widened. “Oh, no, could they be in danger?”
“Probably not,” Max assured her. “But we’ll work out a plan to inform them of our actions, our suspicions, so at least they’ll be aware.”
“Six sisters! Wow.” Whitney frowned. “And they’re subject to the same edict?”
Briefly Connor looked away. “It’s one of the reasons she returned home. She believed she had to be a role model for them.”
“It ended up not mattering with Gabriella, anyway.”
“Why?”
“She’d decided to stay in America even before I left Syria. And I can’t believe Raven, the most rebellious, will ever set foot there again. Maybe none of them, now.”
“Smart girls.” Now there was bitterness in Connor’s tone.
Max stood. “I’ll check on dinner.”
Whitney rose, too. “I’ll come with you.”
When they were alone, Calla faced him. She had to try again. “I know you think our split was all for nothing. But you don’t know how I grew up, how Papá was raised. I had to try to fulfill his request.”
“You didn’t have to go back the first time, Calla.”
“You don’t understand our culture.”
She could see the flush on his face. “As you told me a thousand times.”
“I’m...”
“Stop!”
She jumped at his raised voice. Had he ever yelled at her?
“I don’t want to hear apologies.”
Fire sparked in her belly. Truthfully, she was glad to feel it instead of the defeat that formed a ball there. “What do you want, Connor?”
Staring her straight in the eye, he said, “I want you safe. I’m willing to stay with you, help you until you are.”
“Just until then?”
“Yes.”
She knew that. She expected that. But it cut to the quick. “I’ve hurt you too badly to ever make up for what I did?”
“No, it’s more than that. I can’t take the risk of letting you back into my life.”
She watched him. “Because you think I’ll go back again?”
“Yes, and bring any children we have with you. There’s something else, too, that I can’t talk about.”
“Fine, I-”
Max came back in holding his phone. “The attorney called me back. She’ll see you tomorrow morning at eight.”
“Great.” Calla stood. She’d had enough. “I think I’ll pass on dinner. I’m tired. I’m going back to Brie’s.”
Whitney crossed to her. “You can’t do that, Calla. Max and I talked in the kitchen. If you did see someone today, if Lorenzo has spies in our country, staying with your sister is too dangerous.”
“I-” Emotion welled inside her. “Oh, God, I can’t hurt anyone else with this. I can’t.”
Reaching out, Whitney touched her arm. “We’ll take this one day at a time. For now, you both should stay at this apartment.” She said to Connor, “Some of your stuff is still in the spare room.”
“I don’t have clothes,” Calla said, the excuse weak even to her.
“You can wear some of mine.”
“They’ll be too big. I’ve lost weight.”
“We’ll make do. I have stretchy stuff, enough for your meeting tomorrow anyway.”
“I suppose.”
“Here’s another thing. Con, do you think you could have been followed coming over here?”
“I have no idea.”
“Could Lorenzo have Gabriella’s house under surveillance?”
“Who knows?” Calla clasped her hands in front of her. “But you said my sisters probably weren’t in danger, right?”
“I’m not saying they are. But if I’m wrong, you staying with Brie might put her in harm’s way.”
Calla dropped back to the couch and covered her face with her hands. “No, please, not Brie.”
Max sat next to her. “Here’s what I think: Lorenzo can’t benefit from harming Brie. Your father would kill him.”
She calmed, then asked, “Is Connor in danger?”
Whitney and Max smiled. “Not if you stay with us. We’ve trained all our adult lives to protect people. We can keep you safe, at least until we get you to immigration tomorrow. You’ll stay here tonight and then we’ll go from there.”
Connor frowned. “You two are out of the protection business. Rightly so.”
“Just for tonight, Con. Circumstances demand it.”
“I guess.”
“Now let’s go get some of Max’s food to fatten you up, Calla.”
She gave Whitney a weak smile. That was the best she could do.
o0o
Calla. A bedroom. Dim lights. Connor couldn’t have planned a setting any better. Too bad the circumstances were so dire. Too bad she’d broken his heart months ago. And caused an avalanche of other things to happen.
And too bad he still wanted her.
“I’m all right Connor, you can go.” She said the words from the doorway of the bathroom. Dressed in a long T-shirt and spandex pants, she didn’t look at all like the princess she was.
He gripped the doorjamb—as far as he’d dare come in. “You can’t possibly be.”
“Well, I’m better knowing we’re safe.” Her eyes widened. “And my sisters probably will be, right?”
“You talked to Gabriella. A friend is with her. But in any case, remember what Max said. What your father would do to Lorenzo, as king, if he were to hurt your sisters.”
“I’ll hang on to that.”
He gestured to a notebook on the table. “I think you should write out the names and locations of your sisters for Max and Whitney. They’ll alert the girls as to what’s going on.”
“I wonder if we should tell Mamá.”
“You’re in contact with her?”
“Yes, she phones frequently. Without Papá’s knowledge.”
She was wringing her hands. “I hope their relationship survives this.”
“You went back to the bastard to save it.” Connor couldn’t erase the bitterness in his tone.
“Because they are still estranged. She isn’t even sleeping in the same rooms with him, which I don’t ever remember happening.”
“You always spoke of their relationship as ideal.”
“My only hope is that they can get through this. She and my father battled a lot, but they were so in love, they transcended all that.”
Unlike her and Connor.
“Try not to worry.” Connor didn’t know what else to say, but he felt compelled to comfort her.
“Where will you sleep?” She was extending the conversation, too.
“On the couch.”
“I wish you’d let me take it.”
; “I wish...” He glanced at the bed. He didn’t mean to, but...
“What, Connor?”
“Nothing.”
“Do you want to stay with me?”
“Of course I do, goddamn it. I’ve always wanted to be with you. Right from the day I met you.”
“In Syria, we used to make up excuses to be together. We acted like enamored kids stealing time together.”
“It hurts me to think about all that.”
“I’m sorry.”
He grasped the door handle. “Get some sleep, Calla. You’re going to need it.” With that, he stepped out of the room.
Not a minute too soon.
o0o
Syria, sixteen months ago
Calla had been here almost two months, and the steady stream of patients hadn’t let up. Before her stood six girls, all waiting for the malaria vaccine. An outbreak had occurred in the village next to theirs and, combined with the people’s general poor health and malnutrition, many had died. She and Connor were trying to inoculate the children of the village nearest the outpost. Like the others they helped, they didn’t speak English or Italian or French, like her. Thank God for Razim.
She picked up a sack of rations. Six sets of eyes rounded. Then she held up the needle. “Instruct them please, Razim. Tell them they need a shot and it won’t hurt that much. Afterward they will be rewarded.”
He spoke to them in Arabic. He held up his thumb and forefinger, probably indicating it would only hurt a little bit.
The girls remained stoic. Sometimes, the villagers’ acceptance of their plight bothered Calla. She handed a bag of rations to him. When he touched his mouth, she assumed he was telling them these were treats and they were good.
“Want some help?” The only bright spot in Syria spoke the words, warming Calla, making her feel safer. In a few short weeks, she looked forward, too much, to seeing Connor Marino.
She turned around. His hair was scraggly again since he hadn’t had a haircut in a while, and it made him appear boyish. A stubbled jaw made him very...manly. He wore the nondescript brown and white clothing and sandals that they all did. “Sure, you can help.” She handed him the sacks. “I’ll be the bad guy. You can lead them to a cot and give them food. Make sure they stay close, though, so we can check that the injection site doesn’t swell.”
His blue eyes, though weary, sparkled. “Yes, ma’am.”
She couldn’t help but notice the gentle way he touched a girl’s shoulder, or lifted one from the table. What kind of father would he be? she wondered idly. Or maybe not so idly.
Calla finished the injections and crossed to Connor and the cots. Each girl held a sack and was busy munching on a granola bar or dried fruit or nuts.
Connor stood back, his arms folded over his chest. “Sad, isn’t it? Who knows the last time they ate?”
“Malnutrition in this country is the worst.”
“Too bad we can’t get more humanitarian aid.”
“We would, if ISIS would stop shooting down our planes.”
“I’ll never understand war.”
One girl finished her bar and closed the sack. When Calla crossed to her, she hugged it to her chest. Calla turned to Razim. “Tell her to eat it all.”
He did. The girl shook her head. Calla turned when Connor said, “She probably wants to bring the rest home to her family.”
“If it isn’t stolen on the way.”
“These are the last of the patients tonight, right?” he asked the nurse who came in.
“Yes.”
Connor went out, then returned with five more snack packs. “Razim, tell them they can bring one home to their families.”
The girls brightened considerably at the news. This warmed and broke her heart at the same time. The little one at the end finished her treats.
When they were alone, Calla said, “You’re good with children. Do you have any of your own?”
“Not yet.” A big grin. “You?”
“Not yet. I will when I return to Casarina.”
“When will that be?”
“When I turn thirty. I’m nearly there. Only six months to go.”
He studied her face with those crystal-blue eyes. “You don’t sound like you want to go back.”
“No, no. I do.” She shook off her worry. “Want to go look at the stars?”
“Great minds think alike.” He unlocked a storage unit and fished out his backpack. From it he produced a bottle of red wine.
“Tell me that’s what I think it is.”
“A nice Italian wine, as my father would say.” He raised his brows. “You know I’m half Italian, right?”
“No, I thought you were all Irish.” She cocked her head. “You flirt like a lad from the Emerald Isle.”
“That I do darlin’, compliments of Mama.”
“How did you get that?” She pointed to the wine.
“My cousin sent me as many bottles as she could get through. I already gave Razim one. You’d think it was a million bucks.” He winked at her. “If you’re a good girl, I’ll share this with you.”
“I’m always a good girl.” And staring at this man, she wished that she wasn’t.
Calla grabbed a few blankets. They went outside and after she spread one on the ground and they sat, they slid the other blankets behind them and leaned against the wall of the building.
He poured them some wine in cups he’d also retrieved. The ruby liquid brought forth a whole host of memories. Her father letting the little girls try wine. As teens, she and her sisters smuggling bottles from the wine cellar up to their rooms. Watching Mamá and Papá toast with secrets in their eyes.
“Salute!” she said.
“Sláinte!”
“Tell me about your family.”
The timbre of his voice as he described his unusual family was comforting. The wine seeped into her veins, easing the sound of shelling in the distance. “How fun to have brothers.”
“Said the woman who must not have any.”
“Correct. All girls.”
“Ah.”
They talked under the stars until midnight. At one point, when they’d polished off the bottle, she felt herself dozing. His shoulder was touching hers. Then his arm went around her. How wonderful. Soon sleep claimed her.
Bright sunlight warmed Calla’s face, waking her. She startled. She was lying flat out on the blanket. A man’s arms cradled her. Her face was buried in his chest. Never in her life had she slept with a man.
She told herself to wake him, to get up. But she couldn’t. Instead she cuddled back in and closed her eyes until Razim woke them to start the day.
Chapter 4
* * *
“Thank you so much for seeing me,” Calla said to Anita Gomez, the immigration lawyer Max had set her up with.
“You’re welcome.” The woman wasn’t as tall as Calla but she was still statuesque, with a mane of thick curly hair, snapping brown eyes and a confidence that right now Calla envied.
After they all sat, she continued. “I met Max when I came to this country twenty years ago. In some ways, he’s responsible for me becoming a lawyer. I’d do anything to help him out.”
“That sounds like Max.” This from Connor. “He’s outside making some phone calls.”
An arched brow. “He brought you?”
She nodded. “As a bodyguard.”
“I see. Calla, Max told me you’re fleeing a domestic violence situation. From your husband in Casarina. Is that correct?”
“Yes.”
“I’m sorry for what you’ve gone through.”
“Thank you. We need to know my legal options.”
“I can tell you those. Statutes have been passed in the last decades about asylum for battered women.”
Calla winced. She remembered the wives in Syria coming to her beaten and bruised, raped, seeking help. It had infuriated her then. Now she was their sister. People all over the world, of all classes, shared the same issues, she guessed.
&
nbsp; “Tell me what you know.”
Connor spoke first. “We’re aware of the three criteria that have to be met. Calla had gone online, then Max and my cousin researched it in the Threat Assessment database yesterday.”
“Then you know about the first Middle Eastern woman fleeing from the barbaric procedure of genital mutilation.”
“We do. She was given asylum, right?”
“No, not at first. But she was allowed to stay. The country took pity on her and ten years later made her residence here legal.”
“Not for that long?”
“The wheels of government grind slowly.”
Calla didn’t like hearing that. She wasn’t sure if she could hold out a decade.
“Then in 1999, a woman fled from Guatemala because of abuse by her husband. Her case was rejected because she didn’t meet the first criteria, being part of a group. That changed but not until 2014 when President Obama decided women fleeing another country because of domestic abuse constituted a group and BIA recognized the claim for all migrants.”
“BIA?”
“The Board of Immigration and Appeals.”
“Hmm. Whitney mentioned that qualification last night. I’m not sure I meet that criteria.”
“Why wouldn’t you?”
“As far as I know, women from Casarina have never come here seeking asylum.”
Anita leaned over. Sympathy shone in her eyes. “Yes, Calla, they have. I checked this morning when I came in.”
“What? Why didn’t anybody ever hear about this?”
Connor said, “Because you were protected from the truth by your father.”
“H...how many?”
“At least a dozen who sought asylum. But I can’t reveal their identities. There could be many more in the country who are here illegally. ”
Calla’s hands trembled. Papá knew of abuse happening several other times? He did nothing to protect them, either? What kind of man did that make Alessio Gentileschi?
Anita went on. “Let’s go over the other things you need to have done, so I know we’re on firm footing.”
“A-all right.”
“So, second, you endured repeated beatings, correct?”
“Yes. And I sought help from my family. But I was only sent back once.”
“I think we can deal with that one.”