‘You can’t do this,’ she ploughed on, pouring a handful of dark beans into her cherished caffè machine—her first port of call in the mornings, when strong coffee was a prerequisite for coherent speech. ‘You can’t just sweep in here and go all Big Brother on me. I’m not a rebellious, out-of-control teenager any more. I’m thirty years old. You’re not responsible for me.’
An abrupt silence fell.
Marietta spun her chair around, regret, hot and instant, welling in her throat. ‘Leo, I... I’m sorry.’
His jaw tightened. ‘I will always feel responsible for you.’
‘I know.’
Instantly she hated herself for hitting that sensitive nerve—the one that had been flayed raw by her accident thirteen years ago and had never completely healed. Leo blamed himself. Believed he should have tried harder to keep her at home that night.
The truth was no one could have saved Marietta except herself. She was the one who had sneaked out of the tiny flat she and Leo had shared. She was the one who’d gone to the party he’d expressly forbidden her to attend. She was the one who’d climbed into the back seat of a car with an inebriated driver.
Her decisions that night had borne consequences she had no choice but to live with, but the hell she had put her brother through was a heavy cross she would always bear.
The last of her temper dissolved. Leo loved her...wanted to keep her safe. How could she stay angry with him over that?
‘I can’t just drop everything and disappear.’ She tried for a softer, more reasonable tone. ‘I have a job. Responsibilities. And Ricci’s party is a week from tomorrow. Helena’s had it planned for months. What if this guy hasn’t been caught by then?’ She shook her head. ‘I can’t stay away indefinitely—and I won’t miss my nephew’s first birthday.’
Leo crossed his arms, perched his lean frame on the edge of her low granite bench. ‘Your life could be in danger, Marietta. Have you considered that?’
Now she wanted to roll her eyes, accuse him of being melodramatic—but was he? What had happened today felt serious, even if the polizia were inclined to view it as a prank. And after today’s performance who could predict what kind of sick encore her stalker had planned?
A dull throb started up behind her eyes and she pressed her thumb and forefinger against her lids.
‘When you cannot eliminate the source of danger your best defence is to remove yourself from its path.’
Nico’s deep voice rumbled into the room and she jerked her hand down from her face. He loomed in her kitchen doorway, his sheer presence so commanding, his physique so powerful, that for a moment she couldn’t help but feel a sense of reassurance—of safety—steal over her.
Still. That didn’t change anything.
She couldn’t put her life on hold indefinitely.
‘A week, Marietta,’ Leo urged. ‘Give Nico a week.’
She looked at Nico. ‘And how exactly are you going to catch my stalker if you’re on an island with me?’
‘I have faith in my people. He’s upped the ante and so will we.’
‘And if I insist on staying in Rome?’
‘Then I’ll appoint a bodyguard who’ll shadow you day and night, wherever you go.’
‘And I will stay,’ Leo said. ‘For as long as necessary.’
No. She gave an adamant shake of her head. ‘You can’t, Leo. It wouldn’t be fair to Helena—or Ricci. You should be in Tuscany with them this weekend, not babysitting me.’
He shrugged. ‘They’ll come to Rome.’
Marietta pressed her fingertips to her temples. She knew her sister-in-law well. Helena was a kind, capable woman who wouldn’t hesitate to uproot her domestic idyll for Marietta’s sake. But Marietta’s conscience wouldn’t allow it. This was her problem to handle. How could she justify disrupting their lives when she had an alternative?
A week. Could she forego her independence, abandon her life, for a week? She looked at her brother and saw the deep lines of worry etched into his face. Her safety would give him peace of mind and didn’t she owe him that much? He’d made so many sacrifices when they were younger, worked himself ragged to give them both a chance at a better life. Doing what he asked of her now seemed a small thing in return.
She pushed her hands through her hair. Released her breath on a long sigh. ‘Si. Okay,’ she said. ‘One week.’
* * *
Marietta sat in the front passenger seat of her brother’s car the next morning and chewed the inside of her cheek, fighting the powerful urge to blurt out that she’d changed her mind and all this was too sudden, too unexpected, and she couldn’t possibly travel at short notice like this. Travel—for her—required careful planning, special considerations, and they hadn’t given her a chance to plan a damned thing.