For Daniele I got a few sweatshirts with big brother quotes which, when I told him what they said, made him smile a tiny bit.
Six hours, ten crying fits, three changed diapers (which proved to be extraordinarily tricky), and ten shopping bags later, we returned home. Both children had fallen asleep on the drive to the mansion and didn’t even wake when we carried them inside. Simona in my arms and Daniele in Elia’s.
After we’d brought them to bed, Elia followed me back downstairs. “You have a knack for kids.”
“Thank you,” I said. I still wasn’t entirely sure if he was being friendly… or more. Something was definitely off.
“Loulou!” I called. A scratching sounded behind the storage room door followed by barking. Sighing, I opened the door. Sybil must have locked her in again. It was already much later than I’d planned. Maybe Loulou had peed inside the house again. I needed to figure out a schedule that allowed me to take care of the children and Loulou. I let her out in the garden, Elia always by my side. I slanted him a curious look. “Have you been working for Cassio for long?”
“As a bodyguard? Less than a year. But I’ve been working other jobs for him for close to ten years.”
“Did you guard Gaia too?”
Elia’s face closed off at once. He nodded toward the garden. “Is the dog supposed to dig a hole?”
My head twisted around. “What?” Loulou was indeed digging a hole, half of her small body disappearing in the ground already.
I rushed outside. “No! Loulou, don’t.”
She peered up then continued as if nothing had happened. I snatched her up, grimacing when I saw how dirty she was, and now I was too.
I moved back into the house. Dirt rained down on the floor and me. Loulou’s fur was beyond saving, that much was clear. “It’s bath time.”
To my surprise, Loulou didn’t fight me when I put her in the tub. She just stood there and let it happen. After the bath and towel-drying her, I grabbed the trimming scissors I’d bought and settled on the floor of the entrance hall with Loulou in my lap. It was the room that seemed the easiest to clean. There weren’t any rugs. At first, when I brought the scissors near her body, she squirmed, but eventually when she realized I was trying to help her, she relaxed and let me cut her fur. The matted fur had to make her skin itchy. When I was done, she was half her previous size and looked impossibly adorable. “Done,” I said and released her.
For a moment, she didn’t move. Then she sprinted toward her new basket that I’d set up in the living room and threw herself inside before she began to wiggle happily, her tiny legs in the air as she enjoyed the feeling of air on her skin. Only an inch of fur remained, but I had a feeling it would grow soon. Looking down at my clothes, covered in fur and dirt, I decided to clean up too.
I rushed up the stairs and changed into more comfortable clothes. Black over-the-knee socks, pleated skirt, and the yellow sweater. At once, I felt more like myself.
After checking on our newest drug lab and one of our underground casinos, I headed to my parents’ house because Father had asked me for a meeting. Of course, I knew what it was about.
Giulia.
Before I got out of the car, I sent Elia a text. He called me shortly after. “How’s it going?”
“She’s insecure around me. She seems to notice that something is off, but I don’t think she knows what to make of me just yet. She’s good with the kids and dog.”
“She is?”
“Very patient. Just really lovely.”
Everyone used that word for my wife, and damn it, she was indeed lovely. “Hmm. Don’t come on to her too fast. It might make her suspicious.”
“All right, Boss.”
I hung up and left the car. The door to my parents’ house opened before I got the chance to ring the bell. I gave my mother a look. “Have you been looking out of the window?”
She shrugged. “I was just wondering what you were doing in the car.”
“Working, mother. I’m always working.”
“Even so shortly after marrying that girl?”
“That girl’s name is Giulia and stop calling her girl. It makes me feel old.”
Mother touched my cheek. “You’re not old.”
I stepped out of her reach. “Where’s Father?”
“In the cigar lounge. He won’t listen to me. Can’t you tell him to drop this awful habit? He’s already had three heart attacks. The smoking doesn’t help.”
“Father won’t listen to me either.” The cigar lounge was filled with the thickly sweet aroma of Cuban cigars. Father sat in the armchair in front of the fireplace, a glass with whisky in one and a cigar in the other hand.