Emilia: Part 2 (Trassato Crime Family Book 4) Page 4

  “Great.” Mila picked up her hobo bag stashed next to her feet. “So you already know what this is about.” She pulled out a bottle of Maker’s Mark and a stack of plastic shot glasses and plopped them on the table in the middle of us. “Sorry, no Sambuca. Anyway, since this is the most awkward flight in the history of flights, I think we should do shots.”

  Marcello folded his arms across his chest, stretching the sleeves of his shirt over his arms. Apparently, he hadn’t let himself go over last four years. If anything, he was more muscular. “Mila, I don’t know what you’re trying to accomplish right now, but it’s not happening. This isn’t a game. We’re here to support Emilia.”

  “Well, neither of you,” she wagged her finger between Sal and Marcello, “are doing a very good job. Sal’s checked out, and you’re acting like a grumpy ass. Can’t you see that Emilia is freaking out right now? Look at her shoulders. They’re almost touching her ears.”

  “Remind me again why I asked you to come along,” Marcello grumbled.

  “Because you won’t let me out of your sight these days, but if you’ve changed your mind about that, please tell me, because I’d happily catch the first flight back to Chicago. I don’t even have anything to wear on a cattle ranch. I packed for New York City.”

  Marcello’s teeth clicked together like he wanted to say a million things but held back because of the company. I studied the two of them. There was more of a story here. To put it mildly, I was shocked when Marcello showed up on my doorstop, Mila in tow. I hadn’t seen her since my illfated engagement party. We had gotten along well that night, and I kind of hated facing her again after ditching her brother the way I did. She didn’t give me any indication she was holding a grudge, and she’d kept everything light to this point. I hoped it stayed that way. Then again, maybe Marcello cared more that I wounded his pride than that I left. The thought hurt, though I refused to examine why. I had more important things to deal with right now, like the fact that I could spend the rest of my life in prison for a crime I didn’t commit.

  “Fine. Let’s play this stupid game. What are the rules?” Marcello asked.

  “Okay, so first,” Mila leaned forward and yanked on the cord to Sal’s headphones, pulling them from his head, “Sal and Emilia need to switch seats.”

  “What the hell? I was listening to that!” Sal yelled.

  “I don’t care. Move it. We’re playing a game,” Mila repeated, flashing her white teeth in a half grin, half sneer.

  “A game?” Sal unlatched his seatbelt. “What for?”

  “Because this plane ride is uncomfortable, and I can’t stand sitting here another second, much less three more hours with all of the hostility bubbling around you and my brother.”

  “Whatever.”

  Surprisingly, Sal complied, and I found myself buckled into the seat next to Marcello awaiting Mila’s instructions. Mila proceeded to fill four of her stupid plastic shot glasses with the amber whisky.

  I brought the glass to my nose and inhaled the rich honey mixed with a fiery scent. Sadly, I knew from experience it smelled better than it tasted, and that wasn’t saying much. “What are the rules?”

  “No rules. We’re just drinking for the sake of drinking.” She raised her glass. “To Emilia and putting this mess behind her.”

  I tapped everyone’s glass and gulped down the liquid. My throat closed the second it hit my mouth, and I wiggled my shoulders, shaking off the urge to spit it out. “That tasted like crap.”

  Mila refilled the four tiny glasses. “One more.”

  “This is stupid,” Sal mumbled.

  Mila flicked him on the side of his head. “Shut up and drink, and maybe if we’re lucky we’ll all pass out until we land in Colorado.”

  “Hey.” He rubbed his head. “What’s that for?”

  “For fucking with my brother’s life, and ruining—”

  “Okay. That’s enough. Let’s drink.” I cut Mila off before she tossed all of our skeletons on the table for examination. I didn’t need that right now. My nerves were already frazzled from the looming meeting with the police and being around Sal and Marcello again.

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  As Mila predicted, the shots helped ease the tension. Unfortunately, they also turned me into a bumbling idiot. I couldn’t remember the last time I drank that much. Ranch life with its early mornings and early nights didn’t lend itself to overindulgence.

  Mila and Sal ended up spending the rest of flight bickering over what song to play next. Mila even threw her plastic cup at his head once. Evidently, they were trying to outsmart each other with obscure music because I only recognized one out of ten of their selections. Maybe if I had pulled my head out of my classical piano lessons while I was growing up, I would have known more. Now, if they had played some Mozart, Chopin, or Liszt, I would have felt more at home.

  About two hours into the flight, I had convinced Marcello to dance with me. Well, I was doing the dancing, and he was making sure I didn’t face-plant. I was sure I looked ridiculous, but it felt good to forget about everything that had happened over the last few months and burn off some of my frustration. I couldn’t remember the last time I had laughed, danced, or even played the piano.

  By the time the final thirty minutes rolled around, I couldn’t keep my eyes open. My mouth tasted like toxic waste, and it was officially drier than the Sahara. My stomach sloshed around with every shift and bump of the plane. The descent was the worst, though. The way the nose of the plane tilted downward put me over the edge. I closed my eyes and rested my forehead against my knees, willing away the nausea.

  When we finally landed, Sal and Mila jumped out of their seats and practically ran down the aisle, their bags slung over their arms and sunglasses firmly in place. Perhaps I wasn’t the only person not feeling so hot.

  “Are you okay?” Marcello asked.

  “No,” I croaked, covering my hands with my face. “I don’t drink very often, and about twenty minutes ago, I decided I didn’t like your sister very much. She’s evil. I can’t believe she made us do that.”

  “I think you had a little more than the rest of us.”

  I peeked between my fingers, my eyes narrowed. “Thanks for pointing that out.”

  He was merely stating the obvious. After all, he tried to rip a shot from my hands more than once. If my memory could be trusted, I had about six or seven in total, and Marcello only drank half of that, which was completely backward. He had to be almost twice my weight.

  He ran a hand over the top of my head, and I angled my body into him, soaking up his touch. “Why don’t you go to the bathroom and freshen up, and I’ll tell Sal and Mila to go ahead?”

  “How will we get to the ranch?”

  “I arranged for two cars, and they can stop for food until we catch up.”

  I lowered my hands. “You didn’t want to share a car? Should I be offended? It makes me sick to think about what I did to you. I shouldn’t have left like that, Marcello. It was immature.”

  “Nah, it’s not that.” He looked away. “Sal and I don’t have the best history. We got in more than one fight after you took off.”

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Do you want to tell me about it?”

  “Another time.” He patted my thigh. “Now go to the bathroom and take care of yourself. We have a long couple of days ahead of us.”

  My breathing turned choppy. “Do you th-think they’ll charge me with something?”

  Marcello’s eyes hardened. “Not a fuckin’ chance.”

  “How can you be so sure?”

  “I won’t let it happen.”

  “Why are you helping me? I mean, don’t you hate me? I was a jerk to you. I led you on while planning to run away with Sal behind your back.” I froze, my eyes wide and uncertain. “Did you know about that?”

  His eyes hardened. “Sal took a lot of pleasure in breaking that news to me.”

  “Should I know anything else about that confro
ntation?”

  “No. It’s history. None of it matters now. I’ve moved on.”

  I bit back a groan. That declaration shouldn’t have hurt, but it did. “All right, well, back to my question. Why are you still around?”

  He pressed a kiss to my forehead, softening the blow of his harsh words. My whole body stiffened, and a shiver raced down my spine. “Let’s take this one day at a time right now.”

  “I’m confused. So you’re not mad?”

  Just then, Mila popped her head back inside the exit door. “Sorry to interrupt, but are you guys coming? The cars are waiting for us.”

  Without unlocking his eyes from mine, he said, “I arranged for two cars. You guys go ahead. Emilia’s not feeling well.”

  “Are you serious? You’re sending me off with that guy? The one you hate.”

  The corners of Marcello’s lips twitched when he switched his attention to Mila, her hands planted on her small waist. Her lips looked like she had sucked on a lemon. “Dead serious.”

  “What are we supposed to do? Drive in circles until you guys catch up?”

  “Stop for a late lunch in town before you get to the ranch, and we’ll meet you there.”

  “Fine, but if Sal ends up dead, it’s not my fault. Every time he opens his mouth, I want to strangle him.”

  “You’ll live.”

  “Yes, but I’m not sure he will.” Mila pivoted on her heel and stormed off the plane.

  “Should we be worried?” I asked, listening to her heels clap against the metal stairs.

  “Nah. She doesn’t hate him as much as she says she does.”

  My mouth gaped. “Were we watching the same people? I’m surprised she didn’t hit him over the head with her purse when he said her taste in music sucked.”

  “Trust me. I know my sister.”

  “All right.” I made my way to the bathroom in the rear of the cabin to regroup. My dad’s plane had a small but luxurious vanity, a large mirror with more than adequate lighting. Unfortunately, one look in the mirror and I wanted to scream at the image in front of me. Black mascara ringed my dark eyes. My short pixie cut stuck up in every direction and not in a fashionable way. At that moment, I missed my long hair and the ease of throwing it into a messy bun. I missed the girl I used to be, the one who thought she could outrun the mob. The one who lived to play the piano. The one who hadn’t pissed off everyone in her life.

  Sighing, I splashed some water on my face, rubbed the mascara from under my eyes, and ran my fingers through my hair. I reached for the door handle then stopped, overcome with nerves. I sat down on the leather lounge seat adjacent to the sink and pulled my phone from my tote bag.

  I texted Brandon last night to let him know I’d be back in town today, and as of this morning, I hadn’t heard a single word from him. A quick scan of my texts and emails showed he hadn’t bothered to respond, which stressed me out more than I already was. While the ranch and everything on it, including the home, were mine, I had a nagging suspicion Brandon wouldn’t let go without a fight, and if there was one thing I knew about Brandon, it was that he fought dirty.

  He tried to trick Gavin’s mom into signing an amendment to her will before she died giving him ownership of the ranch instead of Gavin and me. Luckily, Gavin stopped him before it happened. If Brandon wasn’t such an asshole, I would feel sorry for him. He lost his entire family and their legacy in the span of a couple of years.

  A knock sounded at the door. “Emilia, are you okay?”

  “Yeah.” I ran a tube of ruby red lipstick over my dry lips and swung the door inward.

  Marcello stood right outside. He took his time, studying my face. “What’s going through your head right now?”

  “Nothing, just nervous about seeing Gavin’s brother. He hates me. Well, not only me. He hates everyone and everything. He’s a real piece of work, and from the sounds of things, I’m going to have my hands full with this investigation.”

  “And you left him in control of the ranch?”

  I frowned. “How’d you know about that?”

  “I don’t walk into any situation without doing my research. I don’t like to be blindsided.”

  I winced. “Except by me.”

  “I knew your father wanted something to happen between you and Sal. I knew you thought you were in love with him.”

  “Then why didn’t you confront my dad or me?”

  “Would it have mattered?”

  I thought about my frame of mind in the month before I took off. I was so focused on Sal and evading my father, I didn’t see what was right in front of my face until the very end. By that time, my emotions were all over the place and I couldn’t think clearly. Running seemed like the only option. “No.”

  “I didn’t think so.”

  His attention adjusted to my bright red mouth, and a wave of dizziness moved through me. My belly knotted into a jumble of attraction, nervousness, and fear. I didn’t have a clue whether it was his heady scent or the alcohol still in my system, but an inexplicable prodding force implored me to kiss him. While I wanted to blame it on the fact that it had been over a year since anyone’s lips had touched mine, I knew better.

  I angled my upper body closer to him, halving the distance between us until his mouth was only a hairsbreadth from mine. My lips tingled with the need to seize the moment, and God forgive me but I wanted him so bad if only to remember why he held me captive from the second my eyes landed on his the night of our engagement party.

  I gathered my courage and slid my fingers across his lips. “Do you ever wonder what it would’ve been like if I hadn’t left? Would there still be this pull between us?”

  “Fuck. Fuck, Emilia. This isn’t…” He stopped mid-sentence and angled his body backward, his shoulders tensed. “Don’t mistake me accompanying you here for wanting you again. I made a promise to your grandfather. That’s all this is about. Whatever we did or didn’t have is long gone. You moved on, and I followed your lead,” he barked, peering at the simple silver band on my hand. I had no clue why I hadn’t taken it off. It didn’t mean anything, and maybe it never had.

  I rested my head against my chest, unable to utter a single word. This couldn’t be happening. I was so fucking embarrassed.

  I’d never been good at reading people. My marriage with Gavin was a prime example. Gavin had moved on while I wallowed in my guilt for marrying a man I couldn’t love. I should have paid closer attention to him in the last six months. Then again, I had always been willfully blind when I wasn’t ready to see the truth. If I learned anything from my life to date, it was that I needed to face reality instead of hiding from things I didn’t want to see.

  “Right,” I mumbled, barely able to get out the words with the rejection reverberating like a gunshot through me. “We should get going before Sal and Mila wonder where we are.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  I couldn’t sleep. Nothing was right. When I arrived at the ranch, it didn’t look like Brandon had been here for days, maybe weeks. Dishes filled the sink, and the trash in the kitchen was overflowing and smelled like death. Despite feeling like ass, I’d spent the entire evening cleaning the house and making sure everyone had clean sheets.

  I picked up my phone from my nightstand to check the time. 4:33AM. I tossed it on the pillow next to me. Ugh. Today was going to suck.

  I’d collapsed into bed sometime around eleven at night and woke up roughly an hour ago. I desperately needed to get a good night’s sleep so I could think clearly when I met with the detectives on Gavin’s case. With the way my mind rolled from one thought to another, refusing to shut off, I knew staying in bed would only increase my anxiety.

  Resigned, I climbed out of bed and slid my feet into my slippers. To avoid waking anyone else, I tiptoed down the hallway to the kitchen to make coffee. Imbibing more than my fair share of caffeine was my last hope of making it through the long day ahead of me with my sanity intact.

  I flipped on the lights, only to be greeted by a fam
iliar voice. “You couldn’t sleep either?”

  Sal sat at the farm table, staring out the picture window. The kitchen was my favorite place in the house with its honey-colored log walls and contrasting olive green cabinetry. In my opinion, not even a view of Central Park beat it. On a clear day, you could see uninterrupted wilderness for miles. I missed this place.

  “No. My mind won’t shut off.”

  “Yeah. I hear ya.”

  “Do you want coffee?”

  He glanced at the clock next to the door to the back deck. “Might as well.”

  I busied myself preparing the coffee and arranging the mugs on the table to avoid interacting with Sal. After spending the last month bickering with him, I was worn out. I should stop holding a grudge. Marcello, Sal, me—we all made mistakes. Sal had used me for whatever reason, but I couldn’t deny I’d used him too. He became my friend and a crutch at a lonely, confused time in my life. His friendship empowered me to put my plan to escape into action without him.

  The smell of rich, nutty coffee filled the room, accompanied by the telltale sound of it percolating. I tapped my fingers on the creamy solid counters, determined to brush off the restless tension building around us.

  The second the coffee machine quieted, I grabbed the carafe, filled our white and gray speckled mugs, and settled into the seat on the opposite side of the table.

  “Can we talk?” Sal asked, finally breaking the uncomfortable hush.

  “Talking leads to fighting, and I don’t need any more stress right now. So no, let’s just drink our coffee, enjoy the view, and ignore each other.”

  “How about I talk and you listen? You don’t have to respond unless you want to, okay?”

  I propped my elbows on top of the table and cupped my chin. “Really, Sal? Can’t we just agree to put our past behind us without rehashing every ugly detail?”

  “That’s why I want to talk. I need to tell you the truth, or as much of the truth as I know.”

  “The truth? From the beginning?”

  “Yes.”

  “Fine, but don’t try to bullshit me.” I gulped down nearly half of my coffee. I needed to be awake for this. Although I overheard bits and pieces of the truth the night I disappeared, I still hadn’t found the time or courage to confront my father.