Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 118245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 591(@200wpm)___ 473(@250wpm)___ 394(@300wpm)
The capostazione's eyes became round as he threw his hands in the air before crushing them down on his cap. “Holy Madonna! What kind of man am I to be keeping Signore Cavalieri’s beautiful fiancée out in the cold with my silly questions? Please forgive me.”
He swept his coat off his shoulders and put it over me. “Please, follow me and I will personally call up to the winery to arrange for someone to escort you.”
My shoulders turned as I reached behind me for my suitcase.
The capostazione stopped me. “No! Please. Allow me.” He gestured toward a small door a few steps away. “Please, go inside and get warm by the stove while I see to your luggage.”
“You are very kind.”
Clutching my purse to my chest, I entered the office. Despite feeling guilty, I knew I treated the man better than my sister would have.
I perched on the edge of a wooden high-back chair close to the fire.
The capostazione entered right behind me with my suitcase and cello, then marched straight to his desk phone and dialed. “Put Alfonso on the phone. Hello? Alfonso? I need you at the station right away. Matteo’s fiancée has arrived. No. No. Yes, very. No.”
The buckle from my purse dug into the center of my palm from my grip on the strap while I listened. I was completely clueless about his response, but the negatives weren't likely positive.
He hung up and faced me, rubbing his palms together. “Someone from the winery is coming to get you.”
I wrinkled my nose. “I’m sorry to be so much trouble. My hired driver was… unwilling to venture deeper into the countryside in the evening.”
Translation, my kidnapper didn’t want to get caught.
He waved his hands in the air. “No trouble at all, signorina. No trouble.”
Cold air blasted through the door's reopening. A man in a police uniform walked in.
The stationmaster greeted him warmly. “Benito, you must meet my honored guest.”
The police officer stood silently as he eyed my curious, completely inappropriate attire.
My eyes watered slightly as I forgot to blink. The tip of my finger smoothed under my lashes to brush away the tear as I used the gesture to cover my nervousness, then winced when my fingertips brushed at flecks of dirt left on my cheek from my close encounter with the ground during Tasso/Terzo/Tomasso's tender care.
The stationmaster continued. “She is Matteo Cavalieri’s fiancée. Come here from Sicily.”
Frenetic questions crashed around my brain.
Did he know I wasn’t Antonia?
Did he know I was kidnapped?
Did he know I was the daughter of an infamous mafioso?
Did they both know it was an arranged marriage to avoid a mafia war?
Did he know I was sent here to spy on the Cavalieri family?
I frowned slightly, since I had mentioned nothing about Sicily. For a medieval hilltop town, Cavalieri was very large, with at least eight thousand people from what I understood, but I guessed the gossip about its most famous citizens would run rampant.
Benito pulled a hand-rolled cigarette from behind his ear and placed it in his mouth before reaching into his slightly wrinkled pants pocket and pulling out a pack of old-fashioned wooden matches. After lighting it, he took a long drag and then finally smiled as he gestured toward me with the hand holding his smoke. “Gabriella is going to love you.”
Not wanting to give up an opportunity to seem legitimate, I snatched at the name. “I’ve met her. She’s a… something else.”
Through a haze of cigarette smoke, his eyes sparkled. “Yes, she is. An amazing woman.”
The stationmaster patted Benito on the shoulder. “Do not talk to this man about Gabriella. She is the great love and loss of his life.”
Benito smiled before lifting the cigarette to his lips again without denying it.
Not knowing what to say, I tilted my head and smiled back. “Well, you never know. Life can take some unexpected turns.”
Understatement of the year.
I then chastised myself. Antonia would never say that. She probably would have asked him how he fucked up, or comment on how Gabriella was too posh to consider dating a policeman or something else equally cruel but hidden behind a thin veneer of what she liked to call honesty. I’d lost count of how many times she had said something awful to me and then shrugged and commented that she was only being honest before asking if I’d rather she lied.
I often wondered how we could be sisters, let alone twins. Sometimes I thought Antonia took after my father and I took after my mother, but then uncertainty would creep in.
My memories of my mother were becoming like an old photo in a box under my bed. I might not quite remember where or when it was taken. I assumed it was a joyous occasion because I was smiling, but for all I knew it could be one of a hundred thousand times I was told to smile and put on a show for my father and his associates.