Femme Fatale Loved (Pericolo #3) (8 page)

I turn in my seat, trying to contain the sudden panic creeping over me. The closer the airport gets, the more my thoughts start to talk crazy. I keep wondering about Enzo; how angry would he be with me if he knew what I was plotting behind his back. I’ve seen how hostile he becomes when anyone brings up Alessa, but I dread to think of what reaction I’d receive if he knew what I was really up to.

“Calm it!” Zane commands; he’s fierce with his order, and I sink into my seat and listen. “I’m the one who has to deal with Enzo, not you. I’ll tell him you’re working in different bars because you needed the overtime. Allana and I have decided to make lies up that you and she are having a few girls’ days at a spa. Carlo said he’d vouch for you being at the church, too.”

“You’re going to give him the runaround?”

“Basically, yeah,” he replies mirthfully. “It’ll be fine.”

“Will it?” I ask, retreating to the doubtful side. “What if she is taken? What if she doesn’t want to know? What if it’s been too long?”

“Amelia, we walked through hell to be here. Some would have said we would have never made it, but here we are. You have faith in our relationship, and you’re convinced that Enzo and Alessa are a lot like us, so breathe. Have a little faith.”

“Okay.”

I give in and realize he’s right – again.

So I allow small talk to take over and force myself to calm.

When we get to the airport, Zane parks and we clamber out. I look at the vast building, planes departing and arriving, and a hustle of people coming and going. While Zane gets my suitcase out, I watch families come and go, lovers wrapped up in hellos and good-byes and smile wistfully.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing, really,” I muse, looking at him. “We fit in with the norm now.”

“Glad you’re finally seeing it, sweetheart,” he replies, putting his arm out for me to take so we can make our way to the departure area.

We walk in ease, teasing one another about the separation, and we join the correct queue for my check-in. It doesn’t take long for Zane to pull me back, so my back presses against his chest. His arms envelop me, and I hold his grasped hands. He starts to nuzzle my neck, kissing just behind my ear. He only stops when we have to move forward. He shifts to be beside me, moving my luggage forward, a hand pressed to the lower part of my back guiding me forward.

“We can’t do this here,” I say as Zane’s hand cups my ass when we stop moving. I giggle as he grips it, but while I’m aware of the arousal that begins to burn within, I’m also fully aware of the queue we’re in waiting for me to check-in. “Zane,” I groan, falling against his chest, hoping he’ll stop. “You’re insufferable.”

“Getting my fill before I enter my dry spell,” he remarks, sarcastically.

“I’m sure the welcome home will be well worth it,” I tease, gazing up at him lovingly. “I’m not sure how I feel about living out of a suitcase for God knows how long.”

“You’ll have to work your charm on Alessa quickly.” He turns me a little, forcing me to be encircled in his arms, facing him. “She can have you for a little while, but I need you back soon. We have our picket fence dream to continue.”

“I think life made you soft,” I say, scrunching my nose up. “What happened to the man who fought like a man for his girl?”

“Trust me, sweetheart, if anyone wants to try anything with you, they’ll soon become well acquainted with my fist.”

I giggle. “There’s my man.”

“Yeah, here I am,” he mutters, leaning down to kiss my forehead tenderly. “Where I always am.”

A moment of anguish settles among my nervous excitement for what’s to come. I know it’s because I wish he were coming with me, and it’s the first time I’ve been away from him since my return from Italy last year. It’s going to be surreal being somewhere alone with no one but myself for protection. I’ve never had to fight alone, but it’ll be telling if I can keep up the charade I hide behind – my Femme Fatale one.

I may not execute men, but I love being the girl who holds her head high in public and walks with an air of confidence. I don’t want anyone but Zane to see the girl I am beneath it. Behind closed doors, I’m a woman just struggling to work past everything I allowed myself to become. I may be free, I may be alive, but I am not without demons. I have monsters inside that speak for my conscience, that remind me of those innocent people that I killed. My life is perfect, except for the voices that speak without permission, that bellow nightmares into my sleep, and those that attempt to corrupt my happiness.

I have no idea how I’ll be without my support system. I hope my family is not the only thing keeping me from crumpling in on myself. I pray I am still that fierce female who came close to death and survived. I want to be that woman who finally chose between her father and her family.

I want to remain Amelia Abbiati – the girl who defied the odds, defied death, and defied the Dio Lavoro.

***

We’ve sat in a cafe together, joking and laughing about plans for when I’m home. I also quipped about how I would pay him back for the flight, but Zane refuses to accept payment back. He knows the end goal of this mission, and he supports it.

But as my flight number is called, the moment becomes real, and I realize that this is it. For however long, we won’t have one another to lean on. He’ll be here in New York, and I’ll be across the country in California, begging Alessa to trust her heart – a thing I know she won’t be able to do.

“Call me when you get there,” he commands lightly. “And keep your phone near. I’ll be calling you regularly.”

“What are you up to?” I ask, cocking a brow knowing the look he has on his face.

“You’ll have to go and find out,” he tells me, giving nothing away. He leans down, readying to whisper to me. “See you soon, Miss. Abbiati. I’ll miss our morning sex session.”

“You and your hand will be inseparable by the time I’m home.”

He chuckles. “Believe me, nothing feels better around my cock than you.”

As my number gets called again, I decide to break our connection, start the farewell, and prepare myself for the separation anxiety that’ll take over the moment I’m on the plane.

“Guess I had better go,” I mutter, uncertain about leaving him.

He grabs my hand as I turn to leave, but he pulls me back. The kiss he issues is fierce – one for the road, one to last the journey. His hand comes up to cradle the back of my head, allowing him to deepen the kiss. As he pulls away, I feel spent and, somehow, neglected by the sudden end to the kiss.

“Remember that,” he tells me, before grinning wildly at me. He knows exactly what he’s done. “Now go before I stop you.”

“Okay,” I whisper, smiling coyly.

I take my turn to walk away from Zane, knowing this will be the longest time of my life. But it’ll also be one of my biggest fights. It’s time to give back what has long since been overdue – Enzo’s chance of a real life.

Five hours later, I feel liberated to stretch my legs.

I look at the sign welcoming me to Santa Barbara, and I’m amazed at how at ease I am. Stepping out of the airport at the end of my journey feels like I’m stepping out into a totally different world. The humidity feels different, the hustle and bustle is different, and the air feels clearer. I fill my lungs with California air and enjoy basking in this new part of America.

I head toward the line of cabs and prepare myself to get to my hotel in one piece so I can freshen up and begin stage one –
find Alessandra
. I join the queue and watch as one by one they get into the waiting cabs. When it gets to my turn, I’m more than welcoming to the driver as he opens his door to come and help.

“Where to, lady?” I’m asked as my cab driver runs around to help with my case.

“Hotel Milo, please,” I tell him, watching him with my suitcase. “It’s on West Carbillo Boulevard.”

“Ah, seafront hotel,” he muses, offering a smile as he shuts the trunk of his cab. “Very nice for couples but not when you’re alone.”

“Sadly, my boyfriend couldn’t make it to this. It’s more of a girl’s vacation.” I don’t offer him any more information; just proceed to get into the back of the cab.

“Have you been to Santa Barbara before?” he asks as he gets in, restarts the meter, and puts his signal on to join traffic.

“Nope,” I reply. “Never really traveled much outside of Manhattan and New York.”

“Thought I recognized that accent,” he notes, keeping his attention on the road. “You must travel, though, surely?”

“Yeah,” I mutter, feeling a growing discomfort forming. “I’ve been to Italy, but that’s about it.”

“Anywhere in particular,” he asks.

I know he’s making small talk, and I don’t want to come across rude, but I’ve never been in this situation where people make small talk. People always knew me, or at the bar, I was just the girl who served their drinks. I had a sense of invisibility. It was nice to fade into the background for a while.

“Only Amalfi Coast because my family lives there, but it’s been a long time since I’ve been.” I look up to find him looking at me in the middle mirror. “I’m a bit estranged from my family nowadays.”

I see he understands and promptly changes the direction of our conversation. He starts to tell me about the best restaurants and clubs. He tells me where to go shopping and how to locate the perfect spots on the beach. He drivels on about the sweltering heat they’ve been hit with, and all I’m finding is the air in the cab becoming stifling.

When he pulls up to my hotel, he hands me a card, so if I need a cab, I can personally use him. I accept and pay him with an added tip for making me feel so comfortable when really I wanted to fade away. He even helps with my bags again, and if I’m honest, I’m grateful for having such a kind and considerate driver to welcome me to Santa Barbara.

As he drives off, I turn to face my hotel. It’s gorgeous here. The paintwork is simple and cream with the additional color added from accessories and a powder blue reception desk straight in front of me. The receptionist clocks me and offers a welcoming smile. She might notice I’m here to stay as she stands up. I grab my bags and head inside, to be welcomed warmly, and she asks if I have a reservation and under what name.

“Amelia Abbiati,” I comment, setting my bags down by my side. “I have a room here for a week.”

“Ah, yes,” she comments delightfully. “Unusual surname. Pretty, but unusual.”

I must look like my eyes are bulging, as I feel taken aback by that comment. I’ve been so used to people knowing my name that it’s cathartic to find someone who doesn’t shiver at the sound of it. Again, this place fills me with ease.

“Thanks.” I force the words out and grin tightly. “My family’s Italian.”

“Says it all,” she quips, grinning at me. “You have that Italian beauty, but you’re not dark skinned or dark haired like most Italians.”

I laugh, giggling at her. “My boyfriend said exactly the same thing. I’m an anomaly to him.”

“It’s good to keep our men on their feet where we’re concerned,” she jokes, standing again to present a card and a form. “I just need a signature on the dotted line, and the keys are all yours. Did you need one of the bellhops to help you up?”

“Eh, no, thank you. I should be fine.” I know my response is curt, but a life of having help on hand has caused me to like helping myself. I take the pen and quickly scribble my name out before pushing it back. “Is that everything?”

“Yes, enjoy your stay, Miss. Abbiati,” she tells me, taking the receipt to store away. “Reception is open twenty-four hours a day; if you need anything, just call down.”

“Thank you,” I reply, taking my key.

I’m in room 45, according to the leaflet she’s given me. I’m in an end unit with both a beach and pool view. I don’t know about anything else, but I could get used to this sense of escapism. I head to the elevator, push the button, and wait patiently. I notice people coming and going and catch a man at the bar watching me. I feel a blush heat my cheeks and rush into the elevator the moment the doors open. I’m used to men watching me, but it makes me feel awkward, and I hate it. Too many feelings come with male attention, too many memories.

When I find my room, I open the door and quickly close myself away. I put my suitcase on the large bed and quickly search my handbag for my cell phone. When I find it, I waste no time calling Zane, and I sit upon the edge of the mattress.

“Are you there?” he asks, without a hello.

“Yeah, I landed safely,” I say after he answers.

“Good,” Zane replies, sounding distant. “I’m so bored already.”

“Have you lost all purpose without me being there?” I joke, giggling down the line. “I have a large double bed to myself. Don’t know how I’m going to occupy it all by myself.”

“You’re just worried that when you throw all your limbs out, I won’t be in the way,” he quips, a mirthful vibe in his voice.

“Hey!” I’m quick to defend. “I don’t do that. I’m a cuddler.”

“Okay, okay, that’s true, sweetheart. I’m just playing.” I can hear him shoo people off, and the familiar creak of his chair. “How is it there?”

“Amazing,” I gush, falling back. “I could stay here forever,” I comment, staring up at the ceiling. “It’s nice to be just another person here.”

“You loving the anonymity?” he asks.

“Yeah, the receptionist made a comment about my name, but it wasn’t because it scared her or she’d heard stories about my family. It was because she just liked it.” I sigh heavily, and although I enjoyed that part of my trip so far, I miss the others dreadfully already. “It’s so quiet here, though,” I tell him, my tone slightly muttering. “There’re only waves hitting the shore and traffic, but there’re no
people
.”

“You mean there’s no family,” Zane teases, chuckling. “You’re not used to not having me or your brothers around. That’s your problem. You’re so used to having someone somewhere in the house or nearby, and now, you’re miles apart from us all.”

“It’s awful,” I wallow, pouting a little.

“Then get up and find Alessa, so you’re not alone.” I hear how playful he’s being, but he’s also able to motivate me. “And before you continue, I can practically hear the wheels in your head churning out every doubt under the sun like they were on the drive to the airport. Stop it!” he yells, playfully berating me. “She’s like a sister to you, Amelia. You miss her and you know she misses you. It’s time to give her back her family, too.”

“When did you become quite the knowledgeable male?”

“The moment you let me into your life,” he replies, chuckling. “Nothing I know more than the woman I love. Now, do you know where Alessa is from your hotel?”

“She’s about a ten-minute drive, I think,” I reply, remembering the cab driver’s card I have. “I’m going to take a shower then head out. I want to get this ball rolling and sitting in my hotel room isn’t doing that.”

“It’s delaying the inevitable,” he agrees. “Go take a shower and give me a call before you go to bed.”

“I will,” I say, reminding myself of the time difference. “I love you,” I whisper down the line.

“Not as much as I love you, sweetheart. Call me tonight.”

“I promise I will,” I say and put the phone down without a bye. It’s not our thing, and I hate knowing like I’m not going to be heading home to him tonight.

I sit back up, look at the clock on the bedside table, and notice it’s almost three in the afternoon. It’s a perfect time to go and find Alessa. I’ll surprise her and then decide where we go from there. I know she won’t cast me aside and forget me, but I also know she lives under a new name here, so she may be more on guard around me and unwilling.

I’m not leaving, though, until I’m sure she’s heard me out.

***

As I stand under the shower, the spray billowing down to sprinkle me with lukewarm water, my body temperature begins to lower, and I find my body revived and refreshed. As I roll my head around, allowing the water to rush down the curve of my neck without wetting my hair, I still all movement to just enjoy the water spray over me.

I only move to reach out for some body-wash and begin to wash. Again, I still, but only as my hand brushes over my stomach and I feel the slight difference in my skin where scars mar my body. It hits me why I was in such a hurry to make it to California. With the anniversary of Manuel’s death looming, I’m still in as much denial as I was when I woke up in that hospital.

I’m running from remembering.

A year later, I’m so wrapped up in my grief that I’ve become used to it. It’s lived beside the happiness because I allowed myself to wash over any form of bereavement with a smile and a moment to revel in the fact I’m alive. I’m still here and able to live.

I put a hand out to the shower wall, steadying myself for a moment.

Have I been running from my emotions? Have I only tricked myself into believing that I survived the five stages of grief?

I shakily reach for the nozzle and shut the water off. I can’t stay cloistered in that small space with my mind running a million miles a minute when I’m struggling to breathe. Reaching past the curtain, I tug on my towel and make quick work to wrap my slender frame in the fluffy material. Stepping out into the steamy room, I approach the sink and reach up to wipe the condensation away from the mirror’s pane. I find myself staring back at me, and I truly look at the haggard version left behind.

It’s not a lie that I am skinnier than I was. From the effects of stress and grief, I guess, but I notice the darkening patches under my eyes, ones caused by overwork and lack of sleep.

While my life has an effect on me health wise, I cannot deny I’m happy. I lived so long with a false sense of it that when I finally, truly gave myself to the feeling, it has hit me hard. My life isn’t what it was, but it is what I wanted. Standing here, I know that. My life choices led me here because it’s time I give back.

This is why I’m here.

I’m here to restore my brother, offering my family that last missing piece. Alessandra is the last remaining person who can restore us. She was such an important part of our family for so long that when Enzo cut her from his life, he didn’t realize he cut her from ours, too.

I hadn’t even realized that fact until now.

We may have lived the last year building houses into homes, working past the voids in our family unit, and trying to set some roots with real jobs, real responsibility, and real lives, but we haven’t even begun living. Not yet anyway.

My resolve to make this right strengthens with every passing minute. It’s time to hunt down Alessa and really make sense of what her life has become after being a part of our family.

I head over to my suitcase on the bed, quickly gazing out the window to see if the weather has changed. Unlike New York weather, California seems to be consistent. I hate to say it, but I could find myself living on this side of the country, along this coastline in this zip code. The weather is just an added bonus.

I open my suitcase, prepared to dig out a dress to accommodate the weather outside. I stall; my breath stills as I gaze down at one of Zane’s shirts sitting on the top. I hadn’t packed it. I notice a small square piece of white paper, and I waste no time to snatch it away.

I open it hastily and gaze at Zane’s scrawl across it.

You are never alone.

Not even across the country.

This is for when you miss me.

Quando saremo di nuovo insieme, Signorina Abbiati.

Z xx

I feel my heart blossom and swell in my chest, and I find a small smile gracing my lips. Even though I’m miles apart, that man speaking Italian to me drives me crazy. I cannot wait to be back with him, and from his bilingual note, he can’t either.

I have so many driving forces to make sure I don’t forget why I’m here, but I really needed this one. I decide to hurry and grab the dress folded under Zane’s shirt. It’s time to get out and stop procrastinating. I’m Amelia Abbiati; this is the easiest mission I’ve ever had. What makes it easier is that Alessa knows me. She’s not an enemy, and she’s no stranger.