Alessandro gave us an uneasy look. “I don’t like them being here, not with war coming our way.”
“War?” Isabella asked as her mom pulled her to her side. “I thought you stopped. You’re out. That life . . .”
“We’ll explain later,” Alessandro promised as I kept a tight hold of the rosary in my other hand, trying to keep myself calm. Images of my daughter tethered me to reality, though. Brought the fear up and into my chest and throat. The idea of never seeing her again wasn’t something I could stand.
“The safe room is our best bet.” Enzo peered at me as if reading my worried thoughts. “It’s on the other side of the house, far away from the study. Not near any open land or water. It’s fire-and bulletproof. It can withstand a blast.”
A blast? The rosary nearly slipped from my hand. Maybe we’d be safe in there, but what about him and the others if they weren’t with us?
“Dad won’t like this, but I think you’re right. It’s the safest option,” Alessandro agreed. “What about a decoy, though? If they’re expecting we’ll send the women away, why not redirect some of their men away from here, too?”
Enzo nodded, already on the move, guiding me back inside the house. “I’ll have Hudson grab two of our guys. The armored SUV and another one. Two different directions.”
Enzo stole a look at me from over his shoulder as we walked down the hall, slamming into his father in the process.
“What the hell are they still doing here?” Mr. Costa blocked our path.
Enzo explained his reasoning, then added, “The safe room here is a much better option than sending them away. We’re not thinking clearly because of . . . because of Bianca.”
And if they weren’t thinking clearly, did that mean they’d be at an increased risk when “war” happened?
“Fine.” His father grabbed hold of Angela’s and Isabella’s hands, and he led us to the safe room.
It was hidden inside a storage room. Well, behind a shelving unit inside the room was another door. After typing in a code, a door slid open, revealing a staircase.
We went downstairs and were greeted by a vault-like door. One more code. Then we were inside.
The lights flickered on to show a decent-size space, the size of my bedroom back home.
Enzo let go of my hand to face his brother. “Someone has to stay with them down here.”
I set the rosary down on a nearby table and grabbed both his hands. “Can’t it be you?”
“It needs to be Enzo up there,” his father said before Enzo could answer me. “Alessandro won’t be able to kill someone he knows.”
“So you’re saying Enzo can do that?” I asked in a soft voice.
“Yes, if I have to,” Enzo murmured, never losing sight of my eyes. “I’m sorry, Maria. But I won’t let anything happen to you.”
I forced a nod, fighting back tears, then pressed up on my toes to kiss him.
He pulled back, his lips lingering near mine. “I’ll get you back to Chiara, I promise,” he whispered before letting me go.
His mom pulled him in for a hug. Isabella was next. Then he squeezed my arm before heading upstairs after his father said his goodbyes as well.
Feeling alone even though I wasn’t, I looked around the room. There was a daybed, a shelf of food, weapons, and two screens on one wall with a large control panel between them. Lastly, my attention fell to the three boxes near the door. Bianca’s things?
“Is anyone going to tell me what’s going on?” Isabella asked as Alessandro powered on the screens, which was a security system, offering a view of the exterior of the home.
“Can we see inside, too?” I asked as Angela sat on the daybed with Isabella and began sharing the details of our predicament.
“Yeah, but are you sure you want to? It might not be easy to watch,” Alessandro said.
“Don’t you need to know in case they need backup?” I stepped closer, wringing my hands.
“Yeah, but I didn’t think you’d want to see Enzo killing anyone.” He turned to look at his mom and sister, and I spied the gun tucked at the back of his jeans.
“We need to keep an eye on them.” No way could I sit safely in that room and be clueless of what was happening.
Alessandro focused back on the screens and tapped at a few buttons on the control panel. One screen split in half, keeping the view of both the front and back of the home. The next screen lit up with an image of the kitchen, and I set a hand to my chest at the sight of Enzo there.
“How long until Giovanni and Nico are here?” I asked.
Alessandro checked his watch. “Soon,” was all he said, which wasn’t exactly illuminating.
“And if these people come here and start shooting, won’t the neighbors hear? And what if they become casualties?” I thought back to the homes on the street that were fairly spread out, and I was pretty sure none was visible on either side of the Costa mansion, but . . .
“We called the two neighbors closest and told them to quietly leave their homes. And if anyone else happens to see anything and call the police, we have that covered,” he explained.
I nodded, then focused back on Bianca’s boxes. “Do you mind if I have a look?”
“Sure,” Alessandro answered.
“Do you think something in there might help?” Isabella asked.
“They think Nico is responsible for her murder, but we still don’t know why. And Enzo and I were considering that maybe the love story Bianca wrote for the magazine just before she, um . . . well, maybe it was about her and Nico,” I told her, unsure how she’d react to that news.
“Oh.” She frowned. “I was so young back then, but it’s possible she was secretly seeing someone. She’d been acting a little off. Like her head was in the clouds whenever we talked.” She knelt and removed the lid from one of the boxes.
“She printed all her stories out for her editor,” Angela spoke up. “The drafts. Notes from her editor. I helped pack her desk. Everything should be in there.” She gathered around us, and based on her lack of a definitive “no, she’d never love Nico,” I had to believe Angela had a feeling Bianca loving someone in secret was a possibility.
“Here.” Isabella offered her mother a folder, and Alessandro waved his hand, letting her know he didn’t want one. I doubted it was only because he wanted to focus on the monitors. It would be hard to stomach reading Bianca’s notes. To see her handwriting.
“I’ll look,” I offered, kneeling alongside her, accepting one.
I opened it up, realizing the one she’d given me appeared to be the first draft of her final story for the magazine.
There was a bunch of red ink crossing out entire paragraphs. Notes in the margins. Even a conversation on sticky notes going back and forth between Bianca and her editor.
I did my best not to cry as I read a note from her editor on the fourth page.
Editor: No one likes the cheating trope. Don’t have the hero be married.
Bianca’s response: But it’s not like that. She didn’t know who he was or that he was married when they met. And it was an arranged marriage he never wanted to be in.
Editor: I don’t care. Lose the wife or the story is scrapped. The wife always finds out. And then you’ll have a murder mystery on your hands, not the sweet love story you promised me.
“Oh, shit.” I dropped the papers and scrambled to my feet, patting my back pocket for my phone, realizing it must’ve fallen out in our rush to get there. “Can they hear us? Is there a speakerphone thingy in here connected to the kitchen?” Alessandro shot me a puzzled look, then slammed his hand against a button, and I stood and rushed to his side and cried out, “Nico’s wife. I think Nico’s wife is the killer.”
THIRTY-ONE
Maria
“They’re okay,” Alessandro calmly told me.
But it’d be hard to believe anyone in the study was okay until the tendrils of smoke from the blast had cleared out so I could visibly see Enzo and the others.