And it was, despite the cracks forming.
Casso slept soundly, and now he’s up and bustling around the house, making plans, taking calls, acting like if only he can stay one step ahead of death then Fynn will be okay. Elise watches it all with me from the couch in the main living room and she frowns at her magazine, shaking her head.
“He’s going to work himself to death,” she says, “and that won’t help anyone.”
“He needs a distraction.”
“That’s what they all do. Something bad happens so it’s time to shove their head under the sand and pretend like work’s the only way to make it disappear. But Fynn’s still in the hospital and his attackers are still out there.”
“What do you want him to do instead?” I ask her, frowning slightly, surprised by my own defensive reaction. I don’t like that she’s criticizing him right now.
“I want him to deal with his feelings. But I’m aware that’s unlikely.”
I shake my head and stand. “You can’t blame him for doing this best.”
She seems surprised, but amused. “I like that you’re standing up for your man. Good for you, Olivia.”
“We’re all trying to handle this the best we can.” I stand up, trembling slightly. “Casso’s going to find Danil Federov and make him pay for what he did to Fynn.” Although I’m not so sure.
“Federov. The Russian?” Her eyebrows raise. “I recognize that name. Domiano had some business with a Russian name Federov years ago. I think he knew your father as well? I guess Danil’s the son then?” Elise looks mystified. “What a strange coincidence.”
But it’s not a coincidence, is it? Danil’s father, my father, Casso’s father, something happened between them all those years ago and now it’s coming back like ripples in a pond.
I glare at her and walk away. Elise is a good person and means well but her attitude is frustrating sometimes and I can’t handle it right now. Not with Casso hanging on by a thread, Fynn still unconscious, and my own goals tantalizingly close to unfolding.
An idea enters the back of my mind and by mid-morning, I’m standing out on the patio, seriously considering it. Karah joins me quietly and leans her elbows against the railing, looking at her nails.
“You look lost,” she says quietly. “Like you’re thinking about something you don’t want to think about.”
“That’s pretty much right.” I can’t bring myself to look at her. “I’m thinking about doing something.”
“Is it something that’ll help right now?”
“I don’t know. I think Casso might take it the wrong way, but it’s coming from a good place.”
Karah nods to herself. “Sometimes the right thing is hard. Casso’s struggling, we’re all struggling. But you’ve got your own thing to deal with, don’t you?”
“Casso all but told me to drop it.”
“Maybe he’s right, I don’t know. But you’re a decent person, Olivia. I trust you to make the right decision. Anyway, I only came out here to check on you.”
“How are you holding up?”
“As good as I can.” She smiles and touches my arm. I feel a sudden jolt, and it’s almost painful. Since the first day I arrived here, Karah’s been kind to me, even when she didn’t need to be. She tried to make me feel welcome, set up a room to feel comfortable and homey, and tries to check in when she can. Karah’s a good person, and I suddenly feel like I don’t deserve her kindness, her attention, or anything I have in this place.
And yet self-pity doesn’t bring back the dead. Nothing does.
She leaves after a few minutes and I make up my mind. I head inside, up into Casso’s room—my room too now—and grab a bag. I’m packed in five minutes, enough to last a few days at most. There’s cash in his bedside drawer rolled up in wads of hundreds and twenties next to a loaded gun.
I take the money and throw the backpack over my shoulder as I hustle out, go down a long side hall, and take the back stairs. A few staff members spot me but say nothing. What can they do? I’m family now. I go out a back door onto a wide trail of paving stones. Heat’s rolling all over and the slow breeze ripples through nearby palm trees and scrubby bushes. Across the driveway is the garage, manned by a bored-looking guard.
I walk over with purpose, head held high. “I need a car,” I announce.
The guard frowns at me. “Do you have permission?”
“I’m driving up to the hospital to check on Fynn for Casso. Do you want to be the one who explains to the Don that you didn’t let his wife go check on his injured brother?”
The guard looks at me for a very long time and I can practically see the mental calculation. But he steps aside and lets me head in through a side door as the main garage doors roll up.