“Goddamn it, Max. Find her!”
“I’m trying my best, okay? I know you have shit to take care of in America, but Chiara needs you, man. She needs you.” Max’s voice gets choked at the end.
“I’ll be on the next flight out. Please keep me posted, Max.”
“Will do.”
I’m about to leave when Enzo stops me. “What happened?”
I run my hand through my hair, feeling useless. “I have to get to Italy.”
“Take the company’s private jet so you don’t have to wait for the next commercial flight out.”
I stare at my friend with unblinking eyes. Then I hug him, almost crying like a baby all over his five-thousand-dollar suit.
“Jesus fucking Christ. Enough with this bullshit already.” He pulls back. “Go get your passport. The plane will be ready for you at the airport.”
“Thanks, man.”
47
Chiara
I shouldn’t be surprised that my grief-stricken brain led me to the place where I had one of the best days of my life: Villa Moretti. Despite always associating the house with misery thanks to my cousins’ antics, the place is now imprinted with memories of Alistair.
I get out of the car and take a deep breath, inhaling the lemony scent that hangs in the fresh air before veering toward the front door. The key is inside a keypad lockbox we all have the code for.
The heavy door creaks as I push it open, the sound echoing in the empty foyer. Without stopping, I go straight to the back, where the valley below is already bathed in morning sunlight. I don’t open the sliding doors but rest my forehead against the glass and let the grief I had been holding at bay take over my body once more. With a loud sob, I cry in earnest, feeling my father’s loss deep in my bones. It doesn’t matter that he wasn’t my biological father. I push the knowledge to a dark corner in my mind. There will be enough time to deal with that later.
I don’t know how long I cry, but my face is soaked and my nose is stuffy by the time the tears have dried out. An unbearable weight presses against my hollowed chest, caving it in. Suddenly, the house feels suffocating. I have to get out.
Outside, I spare one glance at Max’s sports car and decide against it. I need to feel the wind on my face.
The Vespa it is.
When I hop onto it, I remember the feel of Alistair’s body behind me, how his arms wrapped around my waist and his warm breath tickled my skin. God, I miss him so much. I wish I had brought my phone so I could call him and hear his voice. Another tear rolls down my cheek, but I hastily wipe it off.
Revving up the engine, I take off down the path leading back to the winding road, going to the spot where I found Alistair stranded. It’s only ten minutes from the villa. I don’t know what I’m going to do once I get there, but somehow, I know that’s where I have to be.
ALISTAIR
Max picks me up at the airport, looking as bedraggled as I feel. The first thing out of my mouth is to ask if he found Chiara.
“Yes. She took my car, and I finally remembered it has a GPS tracking system. She drove all the way to our family’s villa.”
“She’s in Tuscany? I wish I had known. I would have flown straight there.”
“It’s only three hours by car. Here, I got you a rental.”
“You’re not coming?”
Max shakes his head. “No. I’m needed here. My mother is…. Well, I’d better stick around.”
“I’m sorry about your uncle.”
Chiara’s cousin looks out in the distance. “Yeah, me too. Chiara was the one who found him. She—Dio santo—she was standing right outside his office when she heard the gunshot.”
“Jesus.” I rub my face, worry squeezing my heart in a merciless vise.
“Come on. I’ll take you to the car. The sooner you get to her, the better.”
Max got me a sports car. Maybe it’s his hint that I should put the pedal to the metal.
It takes me a while to get out of the city, but once I hit the highway, I ignore the speed limit, praying I won’t be stopped by the Italian police. I make the trip in two hours instead of three.
I’m about ten minutes from Villa Moretti when I spot a lonely Vespa parked on the side of the road. Pain twists my gut, and I can’t draw air in. I recognize the spot. It’s where I got my flat tire. I park the rental behind the Vespa and jump out. I’m about to call Chiara’s name when I see her lying against a tree, unmoving.
No. No. No.
“Chiara,” I say as I kneel next to her and shake her shoulder lightly. When she blinks her eyes open, a wave of relief washes over me.
She turns her face to mine, her gaze confused. “Alistair? Is it really you?”
I lift her up, bringing her to my lap and cradling her like a baby. “Yes, my love. I’m here.”
She curls her hands in my shirt, burying her face against my chest. Her entire body is shaking as she cries. I kiss the top of her head, holding her tighter.
