When I finish cooking the pasta, I make myself a plate and leave the pot with the rest on the counter. I look around, searching for something to write with and some paper, and eventually find a pen in one of the drawers. No paper though. I take the empty pasta box, tear one side, then sit at the dining table and start writing on the cardboard.
When I’m done, I leave the note on the floor next to the front door, where Mikhail can’t miss it, and go back into the guest room.
I pick up the piece of cardboard lying on the floor and start reading.
I made pasta. I left it on the counter.
I borrowed one of your T-shirts. I hope you don’t mind.
With everything that happened, I forgot I needed to drop by my father’s house and pick up a bag with my stuff. Can you drop me by tomorrow to get it?
We may need to stop by a store where I can buy a change of clothes. I can’t go to my father’s house wearing only your T-shirt.
I couldn’t find coffee in the kitchen. My name is Bianca, and I am a caffeine addict. If you have it somewhere, please message me the location before you go to sleep. I am not the most pleasant person in the morning before I get my hit.
My lips curl slightly at that last line, and I head toward the door to the guest room, which is slightly ajar. Bundled under a thick duvet, Bianca is sleeping soundly, her hair tangled around her head. I lean onto the doorway and watch her sleeping form until the light of dawn starts seeping into the room.
Chapter 3
It’s almost nine when I wake up, and I find it rather surprising that I slept like a log for eight hours in a stranger’s home. When I went to bed the previous night, I was out the moment my head hit the pillow. Might be some bizarre aftereffect of being shot at.
After dropping by the bathroom to take care of my screaming bladder, and to brush my teeth, I head to the kitchen. On the counter next to the coffee machine, I find my note, one corner of it sitting under a bag of unopened coffee beans. Next to each of my notes, there are comments in neat handwriting.
Thank you.
I don’t mind.
Yes.
I called my housekeeper and told her to buy something for you to wear tomorrow until we get your stuff. She will leave it on the counter.
Far right cupboard, the top shelf. But you can put it wherever you want.
Next to the note, there’s a paper bag. I look inside and take out a pair of gray yoga pants and two T-shirts. On the bottom, there is a pack of underwear and socks. There are no shoes, so it looks like I will be pairing my strappy heels with yoga pants and a T-shirt when we go to get my stuff. Classy.
After a small detour to the guest room to put on underwear, I make myself a cup of coffee, grab a banana from the bowl, and climb onto a tall chair at the breakfast bar separating the kitchen and the dining room. I should probably message Milene.
09:22 Bianca: Just checking in to let you know that everything is ok. Did Uncle Fredo survive? Was anyone else seriously hurt yesterday? Are you ok?
09:23 Milene: He is gone. I heard Dad this morning saying Fredo was only spending the Family’s money and I quote, “At least something good came out of that wedding.” Agapito’s lover got a bullet in her arm, but I think that’s it. Can’t wait to leave this idiotic life.
09:26 Bianca: Father won’t finance your college, Milene.
09:28 Milene: Nonna Giulia said she’ll pay for it. Three more months and bye bye Cosa Nostra bullshit. Dad is going to lose it, ha ha! Is everything ok there? I want the full report. How did it go? How is he? Did you have to sleep with him?
09:25 Bianca: He’s ok I guess. Little strange. Doesn’t talk much. He just dropped me off yesterday and went somewhere. Work I think. I haven’t seen him since.
09:26 Milene: Wtf? On his wedding night? I guess you were lucky. I have to go, the teacher is coming over.
There are two more new messages, one from my mother and one from Angelo. I read Angelo’s text first.
02:11 Angelo: Congratulations sis. Who is the lucky groom? The connection here is awful, I didn’t hear half of the things Dad said when he called.
I look at the message and sigh. Angelo never found anything wrong with the tradition of arranged marriages. It was expected, and, therefore, must be done. From what I’ve overheard, Father already arranged for him to marry Don Agosti’s granddaughter. But Isabella and Angelo already know each other. It’s not the same situation, and I would be lying if I said I expected him to be so blasé.
09:29 Bianca: Mikhail Orlov. When are you coming back? And what are you doing in Mexico anyway?
The next message is from Mom. I open it and a bunch of text fills the screen. I groan, decrease the font size, and start reading her essay.