FORTY-TWO |

late afternoon sun, I sat on the patio next to Sofia. Between us was a small table with two half-full glasses of iced tea on it. Sofia reached for hers gracefully, barely moving her attention from the battered paperback that rested open on her thighs.

I took the opportunity to catch her attention, sliding my sunglasses down my nose as I spoke. "I've missed Sicily."

"Have you?" she asked. "I haven't."

Her tone suggested an end to the conversation, but I wasn't ready to let the subject drop. Salvo was still her husband, and still posed a very real problem to us all. When Sofia accompanied us to Italy, it surprised me.

"I didn't think you'd come back with us."

"It's Madre's birthday. It wouldn't be right for me to miss it." She took a sip of tea. "Besides, someone has to keep Arturo and Padre from killing each other."

"Are they likely to do that?"

Sofia shrugged. "Who knows. Arturo isn't the boy he once was, and Padre is even meaner."

"Have you spoken to him yet? I haven't seen him around." I kept my eyes on the distant skyline, desperate not to appear too interested or nervous.

"When he makes an entrance we'll all know about it," she said. "He likes to cause a scene. Show everyone how very important he is."

"I...don't think he wants me here."

Sofia snorted. "He doesn't want any of us here. Well, except for Arturo so that he can be kept under control. Padre never did like the fact that he could think for himself."

Despite the dry heat, I felt a chill creep up my back. I wished Arturo was beside me, rather than sleeping upstairs in our room. Travelling so far had taken it out of him – Amber, too – but I was worried that Giovanni would return at any moment.

I glanced at the house anxiously, craning my neck, but the window to our room was just out of view from where I sat on the sun lounger.

"Stop worrying," Sofia advised, "Padre doesn't do anything in private."

I nodded, forcing my eyes back to hers. "So why did you come back with us? Aren't you worried about Salvo?"

"My husband will make an appearance at some point. He'll show me off like a possession, prove just how much he owns me, but nothing worse than that. Not here, not while Padre is around."

"And do you think he...knows?" I let my voice drop, but Sofia's eyes still tightened. She ran her fingers through her hair, licked her lips, breathed out.

"I don't know."

"And if he does?"

"If he does then it's over." Her tone suggested something darker than their marriage. "Anyway, he isn't here right now. For as long as possible, I'd like to pretend we're on holiday. A regular girls' holiday. Can we do that?"

"You might need to do some persuading with Amber," I smiled, fanning my face to cool down. "She isn't that bad, you know."

"Neither is Cecelia. Not really. She's done some bad things in her time, but nothing worse than the rest of us."

"I feel–" I caught myself, leaning closer while I decided whether to finish my sentence. Sofia's face was open and warm, I trusted her. But something made me change tack. "I don't know how to feel about her. It's like she has this...hold over Arturo or something."

Sofia nodded, closing the paperback on her lap and setting it down on the table. "I'm sure you've been told this already, but Arturo and Cecelia are old friends. They've known each other their whole lives."

"Exactly–"

"But if you could see the way he looks at you..." her sentence fell off as a wave of emotion crossed her face, making her look down.

"Sofia..."

"I'm fine. Sorry." She shook her head. "You don't have to worry. I'd cut his balls off if he ever did anything to hurt you, Florence."

"I wish I could say Dina is such a big fan of me," I joked.

Sofia's eyes widened, like a light had just switched on in her head. "I've got an idea."

In one graceful movement, Sofia swung her legs over the side of the sunlounger and stood, hand outstretched for me to take. "Come on."

**

"And then–" Dina managed to get out through her laughter, "–he asked me why we never had chocolate milk since all our cows were brown and not white!"

"I remember that night," Sofia smiled, chopping an onion beside me as I poured pasta into a pan of boiling water.

Sofia had dragged me into the kitchen and enlisted us as helpers for dinner. Dina was hesitant at first – just like her son, I suspected she liked being in control – but after we'd opened a bottle of red wine she became more and more agreeable. Now she was half way through a hilarious story about Arturo when he was a kid.

"Of course, Gio told him to stop being ridiculous," she continued after composing herself and taking a large gulp of wine. "But I went along with it. Told him that our cow's chocolate milk was so perfetto we sold it straight away."

"His face was priceless," Sofia agreed, sliding the chopped onion into a saucepan.

"So was mine!!" With that Dina began another round of laughter, leaning against the counter for support. She put a hand on my shoulder and pulled me down to her height, as if revealing important classified information. "The next morning–" A pause. "The next morning I found his bed empty, and naturally I panicked. I went looking everywhere, had all of Gio's men out hunting for him the ragazzo sciocco!"

(Silly boy)

"Where did you find him?" I wondered, half knowing where this story would lead.

"Half way across the estate, in the cow barn!" Dina exclaimed. Although she found it funny now, I could detect echoes of ancient anger hidden in her voice. The sheer panic of losing your son when in the mafia would be unimaginable. "I got there before any of the other men, worried sick, and I leaned over the doorway – had to climb over, actually – and there he was! Curled up against a sleeping cow like he was its calf!

"Anyway, when he finally woke up I was prepared to scream at him, drag him home, lock him up forever and ever!"

"But you didn't," Sofia reminded gently.

"No, I didn't. He looked up at me and told me all he wanted was to try the chocolate milk," she chuckled, all of the fire dying from her eyes as the memory faded. "He's always had a way with animals, that man."

"I didn't know that," I admitted softly. "I've learnt so much that I didn't know."

"Yes, well. Arturo has had a lot of girlfriends who didn't know a lot about him." Dina seemed to have become distant again, her smile all but faded. She took the wooden spoon off Sofia and began stirring the sauce. "You'd better go sit down. I'll finish this off. Get everyone sat around the table. Velocemente!"

(Quickly)

I caught Sofia's eye as we exited the room and she shook her head slightly. As soon as we were out of the kitchen, I pulled her to a stop.

"What was that about? Arturo has had a lot of girlfriends?"

"No, he hasn't."

"So why–?"

"Arturo is tough and likes to get his own way, but shall I tell you his one weakness? Well, other than you. His mother. All he wants to do is make her happy."

"And?" I folded my arms.

"And all she's wanted for years and years is for him to find a nice woman and settle down. Obviously Arturo had other plans, but he had to at least give her hope."

"So he had...fake girlfriends?" It all sounded so bizarre and outlandish, I was struggling to believe what I was hearing.

Sofia shook her head. "Not fake, exactly. But not really real, either. There were women he liked, women he liked to fuck and take to fancy dinners. But it was never how it is with you. They were always looking for something – danger, money, power. He was never really interested."

"Never?"

"I promise. Come on, we need to get everyone down for dinner."

"You find Cecelia and Amber, I'll grab Arturo?" I suggested, feeling more than usual the urge to be held by him. "Come on," I pleaded when Sofia began to pout, "girls holiday, remember?"

"Fine. But if one of us doesn't make it down to dinner, I'm holding you responsible."

**

When I got back to the room, I eased the door open so as not to wake Arturo suddenly. I walked to the end of the bed and stood looking at his sleeping form, revelling in the cool air blowing from the air conditioning unit. I wiped the sweat from my brow and listened to the comforting whir of the ceiling fan.

Arturo was dressed only in his boxers, body tangled in the thin white sheets. I could see his bicep curled beneath a pillow, the tight muscles of his abdomen disappearing under a layer of cotton. His hair was mussed, lips lightly parted as he breathed.

I came closer to the bed and sat on the edge of it, reaching over to brush the curls out of his face. "Arturo," I whispered, tracing my thumb over his cheek until I saw his eyelashes flutter. "It's dinner time, love."

He rolled over, blinking steadily. "Call me that again."

"What? Oh, um. Dinner's ready, love."

Even though his eyes had closed again, he smiled.

"Arturo," I complained, "we're going to be late. Everyone will think–"

"Will think what?"

"Never mind." I glanced over to the door to check I'd shut it.

"They'll think," he said around a smile, grabbing my hand, "that we've been fucking. And you know what? I want to fuck you."

"Arturo," I whined, knowing I couldn't hold out for very long when he talked like that, not when he looked so perfect tangled in those sheets.

Arturo placed my palm flat to his chest. He moved it down slowly, his fingers between mine, gently over the ridges of his torso and down more. "I want to fuck you this much." I could feel the bulge of his erection beneath the sheets, he was hard.

I swallowed. "Your Madre–"

"Shh baby." He started moving my hand up and down, eyes still closed, and let out a low groan. "I love you. Fuck I love your hand on me like that." He moved our hands under the sheets, so I could feel the warmth of his skin. "Please, baby, let me in you."

Even I couldn't deny the desire that sentence had sparked. I couldn't deny that I'd never wanted anything more in my life.

I nodded silently, and somehow he knew, though his eyes were still closed, and his hands moved to my hips, pulling me up against him. We didn't need to say anything, we didn't need to speak, we needed each other. When he pushed my panties aside I kissed him, slow and light and sloppy, let him slide into me easily like we were always meant to fit.

Then we just lay there a while, minutes, seconds, an hour, completely still, feeling each other, out of time. It didn't matter.

"This is perfect," he breathed.

And it was.