Page 19 of Single Malt Drama
Marco
The late afternoonsun cast a glare on the polished white marble floors, and white leather sofas, and crystal vases—with what else but white lilies. Crossing the room in my filthy Converse felt like a sin against nature, only there was absolutely nothing natural about the antiseptic-like mansion.
Home sweet home—not.I hadn’t thought of my parents’ place in the Garden District as home since I’d left for college. Actually, it’d always felt more like a museum than a place people lived their lives.
“Hello?” My voice echoed through the cavernous foyer.
No answer.
The paranoid side of me reared its ugly head. My folks had a small staff led by mine and my brothers’ former nanny. As far as I knew, Hildie hadn’t taken a day off in the last thirty some-odd-years.
Someone should be here. Hell, Enzo and Shanna should be here.“Hello? Anyone home? Hildie? Enzo?”
Again, no one answered.
Dragging my new roller bag behind me, I walked farther into the house. Two dirty glasses sat on the kitchen counter along with two plates. The signs of life gave me hope. I checked the pool and deck.
Empty.
The den. Also empty.
Where the hell is everyone?My phone buzzed in my pocket. I hit answer and pressed it to my ear. “Marchionni.”
“Sir, this is Sanford. We are held up in Canton, but should be cleared for take-off soon.”
Sanford, AKA my father’s pilot, had worked for our family for as long as I could remember. He’d put up with our demanding schedules, spur of the moment vacations, and less than legal activities for twenty years. Never in all that time had I heard him sound so unnerved.
Nico. My chest tightened. “What happened?”
“Giancarlo Lazio and four of his men searched the plane.” He drew a breath. “We were able to hide Nicolina. She’s shaken up, but safe.”
Thank Christ. “Tell me she’s not still planning to drive to Louisiana.”
“She’s asked to accompany us to New Orleans.”
“Good.” I rested my hip against the counter. Knowing Nico was in good hands took a weight off my shoulders. “And the elderly couple?”
“That’s part of the hold up. Nicolina insisted we wait to take off until she gets word they made it to their destination.”
The mental image of Nico bossing around the flight crew made me smile. “I see. Is there anything else I should know before I speak to her?”
“No, sir.” Sanford chuckled. “She’s a brave one. The flight attendant hid her in the special cargo hold. She was down there nearly two hours and didn’t make a sound.”
Two hours? Two freaking hours?I would have lost it after five minutes if someone shoved me inside a metal box. “Are you certain the Lazios are gone?”
“Yes, but we’re keeping her in the master suite until after we’re off the ground as a precaution.” He lowered his voice. “Mr. Marchionni, this is none of my business, but does your father or Gabriel know about any of this?”
“Gabe knows, but I’m counting on your discretion not to mention it to my father.” I trusted the pilot with my life. He’d kept more than a few of my secrets over the years, but smuggling a mafia princess into the United States was a little different than not telling my parents about my VIP membership in the mile-high club.
“Of course, sir.” He cleared his throat. “I will personally keep her safe until we land in New Orleans.”
“Thank you. I’d like to speak to her.” I hung my head and waited for Nico to come on the line.
“Marco…” Her voice cracked. “Did Sanford tell you what happened?”
I felt every freaking mile of the distance between us. I never should have let her leave Comiso alone. I should have been there. “Yes. How are you holding up?”
“I was so scared.” She sighed. “You were right before. It is too dangerous for me to be on my own. Would you…would you mind if I—”