A Villa in Sicily: Orange Groves and Vengeance Page 3

  Not to mention, the thing with her dad. That had been a big bust. And finding out that he was a wanderer, who didn’t stay in one place for long . . . it just seemed that she’d never find him.

  Why couldn’t anything in her life be easy?

  But it was too late to cancel on the men. She’d go on one date with each of them—just one—and make her decision from there.

  With that thought solidified in her head, she walked the rest of the way home, feeling slightly better to have made a plan.

  When she got to her house at Piazza Tre, her quaint little house on the corner, the camera crews were out again, taking panoramic shots of the street. She groaned. They were always taking panoramic shots of the street; the road and its residents were destined to be better known than the residents of Sesame Street, once her neighbor Nessa got done with it. Nessa was a California girl who’d also gotten a one-dollar house, and was now filming her own HGTV show, a tidbit she seemed to work in to almost every conversation she had.

  Audrey quickly rushed to her door, keeping her head down so she could avoid the camera and a possible run-in with her witchy neighbor. Luckily, she managed to get inside and close the door.

  She flipped on a light and looked around the kitchen. Ah. It wasn’t quite home yet, but it was getting there. She’d done this room up nice, and so just walking in, smiling at the lemon décor she’d put everywhere, made her smile. It even smelled like lemons. She inhaled deeply. Every time she walked through the arched doorway, a little voice inside her repeated, Mine. This is all mine.

  Nick whined. She grabbed an apple from the bag and went to wash it. As she did, she noticed the base of the faucet was wet.

  Oh, god. Is that a leak?

  She opened the doors under the sink. Sure enough, the bottom of the cabinet was wet.

  “Great,” she muttered, grabbing a bucket and shoving it underneath. As she did, water dripped on her hand.

  Mine. All mine, the voice said, but this time, it was a rueful whine.

  She’d been so proud when she’d installed the antique bronze fixture, since plumbing had never been her dad’s thing. He’d always contracted out for that stuff. It looked perfect, really bringing out the rustic touches of the kitchen. She’d been so proud of the kitchen, period, because it’d been the first room in her one-dollar house that she’d redone, entirely on her own. Well, with a little help from Mason. There was plenty more to do, but this felt like a step back. Of course, I screwed it up. This is something Mason would know how to fix in a jiffy.

  She cringed. No way was she asking him for help, considering she was dating his rival, in, oh, forty minutes and counting.

  Which reminds me, I have to get ready.

  Audrey cut Nick the apple and set it in his dish. Then she grabbed a wrench and set to work, trying to tighten everything that needed tightening. She couldn’t seem to find anything that wasn’t done perfectly according to the YouTube video she’d watched. The more she went along, the more exasperated she became, until she was hurling curses into the air like a sailor.

  “This is all new! New fixtures! New washers! New copper!” She growled as water continued to drip in her face. “How can this be happening?”

  When she pulled out from under the sink to find another washer, she happened to look up at the clock on the wall.

  It read 8:15.

  “Holy—” she shouted, sitting up so fast that she banged her forehead against the inside of the cabinet frame. “OW!”

  Dizzy and clutching her throbbing head, she rushed upstairs, grabbed her robe, and flew into the shower off the kitchen. She took a thirty-second, world-record-breaking shower, then hurled herself upstairs and threw on a nice sundress. Breathing hard, she slathered on a little lip gloss and gazed at herself in the mirror. “Not too terrible for ten minutes,” she said, staring at herself. “Not—”

  Her eyes caught on the purple welt on her forehead. The pain hadn’t subsided much, and the bruise was getting angrier and angrier with each passing second, adding more colors. Now, it seemed to have a bit of red in there, as well. A practical sunset of pain.

  She rummaged in her make-up kit for her concealer and dabbed it on the painful bruise. It didn’t help. “Forget it,” she muttered, tossing it down in disgust.

  As she did, her eyes caught on the picture window across from her. She went to it and stared out the window, at the orange groves, arranged in neat little lines. She inhaled the scent of the oranges and tried to spy some sign of movement in the mansion. But there was none.

  She thought of what Luigi had said to her and shuddered: They do everything the same—in the middle of the night. No witnesses.

  Audrey squinted and stared into all the house windows, but the shades in each one were drawn tight.

  Mafia. In there?

  She’d believe it when she saw it.

  *

  At eight-thirty, someone rapped lightly on her door.

  Her date. Date number one.

  “Buona sera, Principessa!” G said brightly as she opened the door. He was rather dressed up, by G standards, in light khakis and loose linen shirt, as opposed to his normal work uniform of jeans and t-shirt. Handsome, definitely.

  And he held out to her a lovely red rose.

  “Hello,” she said with a smile, her nerves still zinging. “Oh, for me?”

  He laughed. Smart, Audrey. Who else would it be for?

  Blushing, she took the rose, popped in a glass of water in her kitchen, and stepped outside, pulling her wrap tight around her. When she arrived at the front stoop, G was kneeling down, greeting Nick, giving him a playful head rub.

  The second he looked up at her, he visibly recoiled. “Oh, poor thing. What happened to your lovely head?”

  She touched the painful welt gently. “Nothing. Just a casualty of war.”

  “You mean, fixing the house?”

  “Yep.”

  “You know, you can always ask me for help! I would be happy to lend my hands to you!”

  She hadn’t ever asked him, mostly because he was known for his food, not his handyman skills. That was Mason. And Mason had always been able and willing to help. She probably could’ve used both of their help, honestly, considering how much work there was to be done. But the thought of the fireworks that would happen if the two crossed paths made her cringe.

  “Thanks.” She couldn’t help looking up and down the street, expecting, with her luck, to see Mason rounding the corner. He only lived a couple of blocks away, after all. She shivered. “Where are we off to?” she asked, wanting to get there as soon as possible to avoid such a possibility.

  “A little place I know at the edge of town. A bistro you will like, with a dance floor. You like dancing?”

  “Well . . . I don’t actually know how to dance very well,” she admitted as they walked in the direction of the main piazza, which was, thankfully, in the opposite direction of Mason’s house. Other than a couple of lessons from her dad where she’d stand on her father’s toes as he waltzed her around, she hadn’t really had the opportunity or the desire. “You do?”

  He nodded. “I love to dance. That’s all right, I will teach you.”

  She let out a shuddering breath. She didn’t want to be a party pooper, but dancing was the last thing she wanted to do after such an exhausting day. He’s losing points for this, and Mason’s gaining them. She could never see Mason, tripping the light fantastic in those big cowboy boots of his. “I’m a little tired. It was a crazy day. Maybe we can just take it easy and—”

  “Of course,” he said as he put an arm around her, squeezing her close on the narrow street to avoid an oncoming car. “You had a trip, yes? Where did you say you were off to?”

  “Montagna, Italy,” she said as they rounded the corner to a section of town she’d never been to. There was a storefront for an actual cobbler there; little hand-made shoes for children and adults, lined up in the front display. It was little unexpected, old-world things like this that made her l
ove Mussomeli. “Have you heard of it?”

  He nodded, brow creasing. “Not much up there. And from what I hear, some bad people there. Not very safe for a young woman, travelling alone. What brought you there?”

  She swallowed. She’d told Mason a little about her father leaving, and he’d understood. G probably would, too, but it felt like too much of a sob story. And this was supposed to be fun. A date. She said, “Oh. Just had a ticket and wanted to check it out.”

  “You were not gone long. Just the day?”

  “Yes. And I don’t think I’ll be back,” she said with a shrug. “To tell you the truth, after Lipari and Montagna, I’m happy to stay in Mussomeli and spread my roots a little bit more. Too much excitement, ping-ponging all over the place. I’m tired.”

  He laughed. “Well, then, a nice, relaxing meal is in order!”

  “That sounds perfect,” she said with relief.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  The place G selected was at an outdoor terrace, sparkling with fairy lights, with sweeping views of the countryside. A band consisting of a flute and tambourine was playing lively folk music as a number of men and women danced a flirtatious tarantella, long red skirts swishing as they clapped in unison. Audrey watched them effortlessly perform the steps. G wanted me to do that? I’d wind up dancing off the terrace to my death, probably.

  As they reached the front gate, she looked over to see Nick, begging hopefully for admittance. “No, Bub. You can’t go in there. But I’ll bring you a doggie bag. Okay?”

  He seemed to pout for only a second before letting out a sharp howl and disappearing down an aisle.

  G knew the host, which was no surprise. After laughing and joking in Italian, the host led them to what must’ve been the best table in the house, at the edge of the terrace, overlooking the valley. She wasn’t prone to vertigo, but in the dying sunlight, Audrey took one look over the wooden railing and felt a little dizzy.

  “This is lovely,” she said as the waiter opened a menu and set it on her lap. A gentle breeze caressed her face. “A very nice choice.”

  G beamed and pointed to the menu. “Get the spiedini. You won’t be disappointed.”

  “Spiedini?”

  “Veal rolls,” he explained. “Delicious.”

  “Oh, okay,” she said, closing her menu and handing it to him. “You know what? I’m going to place myself in your hands, unreservedly. You’ve never steered me wrong before.”

  G’s eyes gleamed and he rubbed his hands together greedily. He clearly was up to the challenge. When the waiter arrived, G instructed him, occasionally gesturing to Audrey, but using words she’d never heard before. When the waiter nodded and headed off, she laughed. “I have no idea what I’m in for.”

  “Cow spleen. I hope you like it,” he said with a wink.

  She nearly gagged. “Serious?”

  “No. I’m easing you into the cuisine. We will save the pani ca meusa for later! It’s good. You cannot miss.”

  “I’ll have you know that I ate sea urchins in Lipari, and they were actually delicious,” she said proudly.

  “Ah, Pasta con i Ricci di Mare? That is impressive,” he said.

  “Nothing can be better than your arancini and ciambotta, though!” She laughed and looked out over the town. The sun was just setting behind some darker clouds in the distance, creating a display of color and light that even fireworks could not rival. She gazed at it and smiled. As she did, her eyes fell down upon the orange groves, below. The smells of delicious food from the bistro overpowered that of the citrus, but from this vantage, the view of the estate was even better.

  Still, there was no sign of life to be seen. It was hard to believe anyone lived there now, because it was just as closed up as it’d always been.

  The conversation had lapsed a bit, so she said, “Did you hear the rumors?”

  He laughed, and when he did, she realized what a stupid question it was. G had always heard the rumors, even before they became rumors. He knew everything about this town. In fact, he probably knew that she was scheduled to go out with Mason tomorrow. Maybe he was just waiting for her to tell him that on her own. Maybe he didn’t care.

  Why was this all so confusing?

  “I heard from several people that mafia moved into that mansion down there. Is that what you heard?”

  She nodded.

  He shook his head. “E io sono stufo marcio di tutta questa assurdità!”

  “What?” Her Italian had been getting better, but sometimes, G talked so fast, she couldn’t understand him, even when he spoke English.

  “I said that it is nonsense.” He laughed some more. “It’s a rumor that Councilman Falco and others like to float about, now and then, but it is full of the horse manure. Cosa Nostra is based in Palermo. They were all but decimated in the 1990s. And yes, their numbers might growing in small cells outside of the city. But they know better than to set up shop in our little one-horse town. Ricorda le mie parole, Audrey . . .”

  The waiter came with a glass of wine. She took a sip of it, letting it relax her nerves. “What does that mean?”

  “I said you should listen to me. It’ll all turn out to be nothing, in the end.”

  “You really think so?”

  “Of course, of course. If you know anything about the mafia, you know they need to be where the action is. There is nothing here for them.”

  “Luigi seemed to think it was something worth worrying about. He was issuing all sorts of warnings about associating with them. Have you ever had any dealings with the mafia here?”

  He shook his head. “No. But while I agree that you don’t want to get tangled up with them, I don’t think you’ll ever be given the chance.” He looked over the railing at the estate, which was now dark. There wasn’t a single light coming from the location of the mansion, at all. “This town likes to come up with all sorts of wild rumors. Keeps things interesting. But most of them aren’t real. Just stuff to keep the gossip mills churning and keep people talking.”

  Just then, the food came. The plate in front of her had to have been the veal rolls, and it smelled so wonderful that her mouth watered. She dug in—her knife sliced right through it like warm butter-- and took a bite. The Romano cheese, breadcrumbs, parsley, and garlic all melded together in a way that immediately made her want to take another bite. And another. In fact, she could’ve inhaled it all at once. “Mmm. This is delicious. You’re right.”

  “I know,” he said, and when she looked up at him, she realized he was sipping his wine, watching her, his food untouched. She’d already scarfed down three bites.

  “Aren’t you going to eat?”

  “I was just enjoying watching you enjoy your food. You’re beautiful, Principessa. Anyone ever tell you that?”

  No, no one had, except G. But he was such a charmer. She’d never met anyone like him. Someone who was loved by everyone, who had so much adoration, and yet somehow, he was captivated by her, as awkward and ill-at-ease as she could sometimes be. Most people like him flocked together, but she was his opposite in so many ways.

  It was a good match, she had to admit. He could give her confidence, and she could . . . well, she wasn’t sure what she could give him. But did it matter? From the gleam in his eye, he clearly liked her.

  So she decided that if this was a date, she was going to grab the bull by the horns and milk it for everything she could. She set her fork down and took a gulp of wine. “Hey. Do you want to dance?”

  He nodded and led her out to the dance floor. This time, the floor was nearly empty, as the tarantella had ended, and a slow folk song was playing. G took her hand and wrapped a hand around her waist, and lead her around the floor effortlessly, so much so that she didn’t even have to worry. He was a competent dancer. His eyes twinkled. “Not so bad, eh?”

  She smiled. “No. Not at all.”

  In fact, in the moonlight, under the twinkling fairy lights, she felt as if they were far away from everyone else, as if it was just the two of the
m. A year ago, she never would’ve believed this would be her life—dancing under the stars with a handsome Sicilian, a world away from the Boston home where she’d grown up.

  This is really nice, she thought, as the music slowed down, leaving them lingering, still clinging to one another in the center of the floor. She thought that he’d break apart from her and lead her back to the table.

  But he held tight to her, his eyes locked on hers. Then, he started to lean in, closer . . . closer . . .

  And instead of closing her eyes and waiting for the kiss, a terrible thing happened.

  She thought of Mason.

  She stiffened and pulled away, rubbing her bare upper arms. “Oooh, it’s getting cold, isn’t it?” she asked, looking away.

  “Well, it’s—”

  “Let’s go back so I can get my wrap, all right?’ she said, heading awkwardly toward the table.

  “Of course,” he said, following her.

  When she sat down and he looked at her across the candlelit table, there was confusion in his eyes. Obviously. For the last time, Audrey, stop bouncing back and forth! You’re going to need to make up your mind, soon, before you hurt someone.

  He took her hand and massaged it gently, sending shivers up her arm. “You are under some stress, is that it?”

  She nodded and drained her glass. Tomorrow. She’d make the decision tomorrow.

  She had to get to work early, check on Bambino, and then, of course, there was the matter of her other date.

  Yes. Tomorrow, everything would be clearer.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  When Audrey walked into the clinic the following morning, she found Concetta, lying across a couple of hard plastic chairs in the reception area, snoring loudly. The poor girl was twisted into such an unnatural position, Audrey felt a crick in her neck, just looking at her.

  Concetta didn’t even stir when the door shut. Audrey smiled sadly. I should let her sleep. And maybe I should look into turning the back supply room into a bedroom for the overnight staff. Mason would probably love to whip that room into a . . .