Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Yeah, what’s she gonna do about that?
Pursing my lips, I reply.
Me: And who is this?
As if he doesn’t have my phone tapped and won’t see this.
Unknown: Don’t play dumb with me. You know who this is. Ask your husband why he didn’t let me see you yesterday. Ask him what Santo’s doing in Tuscany. Ask him to tell you everything.
My blood runs cold. What?
Me: What do you want from me?
Unknown: I will not have your new family rob me of what’s rightfully mine. You’ll meet my demands or suffer the consequences.
Oh no she does not.
I go to type a reply when my phone’s swiped right out of my hands. I blink in surprise to see Tavi holding it. I watch his eyes go from the typical angry look to downright furious.
“Who the fuck does she think she is?” he mutters.
“Hey, I was reading that.”
He ignores my protests.
“She’s just popped her head out of nowhere, like a stubborn weed,” I mutter. “And what the hell is she talking about, about yesterday? I don’t understand. What does she think is hers?”
“Something about your inheritance.”
“My inheritance?” I thought all that belonged to me was the shops, and like I said, she gets nothing. She took my father’s money and ran with it.
“We need to talk with her. Let me check with Romeo to see if he found anything before we do.” He hands my phone back. “Tell her we’re in Tuscany and we can meet with her on a video chat tonight around dinnertime. Should give me enough time to check on things before we do.”
I nod and type out a text, then slide the off button on my phone.
We’re on our honeymoon, and I’m gonna enjoy this.
Tavi isn’t supposed to meet with anyone until lunchtime, so we head to the shops. I buy fine alabaster vases in Scarperia, a small kitchen rug made of panno casentinese, hand-woven orange wool, in Casetino.
“I’d love to shop food next,” I tell him, but we have to meet with his associate first. I’m craving the handmade biscuits from Siena and pecorino cheese from Peinza, as well as some of Tuscany’s signature Chianti.
“I was going to tell you, but we have to visit my family’s vineyard. There, you can take any of the wines you’d like, and we also stock local handmade cheeses and some cold-pressed olive oil.”
“Mmm,” I say, already planning what I’m going to make my new husband for dinner. “Please tell the staff we won’t be needing them to cook dinner tonight.”
“You have plans, baby?”
I smile. “I do.”
As we drive to the vineyards, I can’t shake the strange feeling that we’re being watched. I look over my shoulder a few times, but see nothing.
“Tavi,” I say, as we drive down the long, winding road uphill that takes us to the vineyard entrance.
“Yeah?”
“I feel like I’m being watched.”
“You are, though,” he says, unbothered. “None of the Rossi brothers have brought a new wife to Italy for some time. They’ve been waiting for this.”
“For what?”
He smiles as he takes a sharp turn and continues his drive. “For you.”
But no. I don’t think it’s just the locals or his staff whispering to each other behind their hands, or casting furtive looks in my direction. No… something else is off.
Tavi’s on a phone call, and I don’t want to interrupt him. Something is amiss. I know my mother’s causing drama, but that’s nothing new. Something else is at play. I wish I knew what.
His phone’s ringing off the hook, one call after another, until finally he grabs it and slams the off button; when it powers off, he throws it on the dash and exhales.
I wait a minute before I talk. Give him another minute to take deep breaths. I reason that it’ll help calm him.
“Tavi,” I say gently, reaching for his hand. I won’t fear the man I’m married to. But I also won’t stick my head in a hungry lion’s mouth.
“Yes?” he says, before he lets out a breath.
“What’s going on? Can you tell me now?”
I watch as the crease between his brows deepens. He’s a few years older than I am, but right now, he looks as if he’s a decade or more older.
“Santo’s gone missing.”
I feel as if ice pumps through my veins. Santo, the cold, calculating one, my business partner, the one who follows every move Rosa makes under her brothers’ watchful eyes, the one I would call first if ever I needed to hide a body—he’s gone missing.
“Do you think he’s been taken prisoner?”
He pinches the bridge of his nose with his free hand. “We don’t know. We have hardly any clues. He went missing yesterday at the wedding. He was supposed to be with Leo, told Leo he had to take a call, then he just left. Your mother said something about asking Santo, but Santo’s loyal. We were going to ask him what the hell she was talking about, but then he was gone.”