When I reach the door of my room, I sense something different, and when I open it, my hands fly up to cover my mouth.
Someone's replaced everything in these quarters with my things from back home.
There are framed photos of my parents and me as a baby. There are fabrics, furniture I recognize. Gratefully, I touch every inch of the things someone has put in here. I feel safe in the embrace of the surroundings I've known my entire life. It's a different prison yet the same one in many ways.
Eleanora taps me on the shoulder and hands me a note in a cream-colored envelope. I rush to open it.
I thought it would make you feel better to have some things from home here. Don't expect me today. We can't look suspicious in front of Nicoletta. -A
I swallow down a groan. I love his gesture, but hate the fact that he refuses to spend time with me. Instead, he's choosing her again. That stupid blonde. Dio, I hate her.
Nevertheless, I decide to busy myself by asking permission to visit Bruno in his office again. Minutes later, Eleanora leads me down the hallway and into the patriarch's office.
Bruno sits behind his desk, looking even more frail and sick than usual.
I start to realize something's got to be up with his health. He looks very pale and tired.
When he sees me, he sits up straighter, a sly smile playing on his lips. "You wanted to see me?"
I bow with respect before taking the seat opposite him. "You haven't called for me today."
"I didn't know you wanted to keep working."
"I do." I nod. "It helps me feel better."
"Then get started." Bruno's kindness is gone, and so is his attention. He points to a filing cabinet. "All the papers from the distillery are in there. I want you to start working on a business plan."
"A business plan?"
"How to get your business back on track. No illegal dealings," Bruno grunts.
"But... why nothing illegal?" I can't help but ask. "Your business doesn't abide by those rules."
Bruno laughs out loud. "Do you remember your nonna, Marzia?"
I instantly stiffen. "Of course, I remember her."
"I knew her too." He nods. "She was a strong woman worthy of respect. Do you think she would like what your father has done to the company?"
"No," I admit. "She hated anything illegal. She only believed in hard work, not crime, or violence."
"So get to work," he tells me firmly. "Make your nonna proud."
Wordlessly, I shift my attention to the filing cabinet. We work in silence for hours. I'm shocked to see just how much Bruno takes on himself, without delegating to his employees or family. He's a hard working man, and I can't help but admire that quality in him, despite all the shit he's put me through.
I knew the Bernardi business was doing well, but watching Bruno, I’m starting to understand why. It's no wonder our distillery is falling apart, though. Father wasn't nearly as meticulous as Bruno, plus he took on risks, made poor investments. Now, Da Costa grappa is paying the price, while the Bernardi family reaps the benefits of Bruno's hardworking actions.
"Your stomach is rumbling," Bruno mutters later. "Are you hungry?"
"Kind of." I shrug. "Let me just finish this stack." I didn't even notice, I was so absorbed in my work, sorting through those files.
"What's your favorite food?" Bruno asks.
"Lasagna," I reply. "Nonna made the best one."
He nods and mutters something into the phone.
I keep working while I wait for the food to arrive. Two maids set up a table for me to eat.
"Aren't you going to eat?" I ask Bruno.
"No," he grumbles in reply. He pours himself a glass of my family's grappa.
I would recognize that bottle anywhere.
The maid brings in a plate covered with a silver cloche and pulls the cover off. I grin when I see it's lasagna, glancing at Bruno. But he pays me no mind, so I decide not to mention his kindness. Still, I'm grateful for the food, eating my fill and calming down my stomach. At least being a captive here isn't that terrible.
Bruno doesn't eat anything, just sips at his glass of grappa.
"You should eat something," I tell him. "It will make you feel better. Less weak."
"I don't feel weak," he replies before a coughing fit takes over. I give him a knowing look which he completely ignores. He stares at the amber liquid in his glass, thoughtfully swirling it. "You know," Bruno speaks up again. "I didn't want things to unfold the way they did, but I had a good reason for everything that happened."
I don't know how to reply, so I just stay quiet, stabbing at what's left of the lasagna and pondering his words. Finally, I decide to ask a question. I deserve to know, "What's going to happen to my family's estate?" I demand. "And the distillery? What's going to happen to them? Are you just going to let my nonna's hard work die off?"