Chapter 49 The Ice-cream Shop
ARYA’S POV
"Marco, are you sure this is the right place?” Christabel asked, trying to look over me to the window and I chuckled, helping her onto my lap.
"It is! I promise, this time it's the right one," Marco said, tapping furiously on his phone. “At least, that’s what the GPS is saying.”
Matteo's looked at us through the rearview mirror, and I didn’t miss the look of irritation on his face. His jaw was tight as he checked his watch again. The other guard beside him looked equally unimpressed.
"How do you even survive?" Christabel demanded, though she was grinning now. "Plus you claimed you knew the streets very well.”
"I haven’t been here in ages.” Marco admitted sheepishly. "But I do know it’s definitely this way. Probably."
"Probably?" Matteo's voice had taken on a dangerous edge. "We've been driving for thirty minutes now!"
Marco apologized, promising this was the last turn. He led us around another corner, and suddenly his whole face lit up. "There! See? I told you!"
And there it was, a charming little gelato shop with a striped awning and a queue of people spilling out the door, the sign above reading "Dolce Paradiso" in curling script.
"You actually did it," Christabel breathed, sounding genuinely shocked.
"Ye of little faith!" Marco huffed."I always come through in the end!"
"After getting us completely lost first," I teased as the car parked a safe distance from the shop.
I climbed down first and helped Christabel out of the car, and the three of us moved toward the shop, my mouth watering at the thought of cold, sweet gelato.
We were laughing as we pushed through the door, the bell chiming overhead, and the blast of air conditioning was amazing compared to the cars own.
The shop was exactly as charming inside as it had looked from outside with pale blue walls, white tile floors, and a long glass case displaying dozens of gelato flavors in every color imaginable.
I was about to head straight for the case when I noticed Matteo and the other guard filing in behind us, and my smile faltered.
I turned to face Matteo, frowning. "Are you seriously coming inside too?"
Matteo just bobbed his head. "Just following orders, Mrs. De Santis."
“This is ridiculous." I muttered but Matteo said nothing, walking to a table with the other guard in tow.
I gritted my teeth, determined not to let this ruin everything. Christabel and Marco had already moved to the gelato case, and I forced myself to push past my annoyance and join them.
"Oh my God," Christabel was saying, her face pressed almost comically close to the glass. "How are there so many flavors? How is anyone supposed to choose?"
"Start with pistachio," Marco suggested, pointing to a pale green gelato. "You can't go wrong with pistachio."
"And this?" She pointed to another. "Gelato? Isn't it all gelato?"
Marco and I both burst out laughing, and even the woman behind the counter smiled.
"Gelato is just the Italian word for ice cream," Marco explained, grinning. "That one is 'crema', just plain cream flavor. It's a classic."
"This is too much pressure," Christabel groaned dramatically. "I'm going to need to try everything."
"Please don't," I said. "We'll be here until midnight."
In the end, I ordered strawberry, Christabel went with both pistachio and chocolate hazelnut after much deliberation, and Marco got something called bacio, that he insisted was "life-changing."
We found a small table near the window, and I tried very hard to ignore Matteo sitting a few tables away from us.
The first bite of gelato was absolute heaven, and I scooped another creaminess into my mouth, letting the chill settle on my tongue.
"This is amazing," Christabel mumbled around her spoon, her eyes closed in bliss.
"Told you it'd be worth it," Marco said smugly, though he ruined the effect by immediately getting gelato on his nose.
I laughed, the sound surprising me with how genuine it felt. For a moment, I could almost pretend things were normal.
"So," Marco said after a while, his eyes searching my face. "How have you been?"
The question was simple enough, but something about the way he asked it, the way he leaned forward slightly, made me pause.
"I've been... fine," I said slowly. "Adjusting."
"Adjusting," he repeated. "That’s one way to put it. How is he treating you?"
My eyes flitted to the guards who were having their own hushed conversation and I shrugged. "It could be worse. He acts civil sometimes but most of the times he’s a…”
"A what?" Marco asked and I shifted uncomfortably. wanted to talk about everything but Giovanni.
But I guess he was really worried about me.
I glanced up at him, studying his face. "You know how it is with these Mafia men.”
"About the mafia…" Marco pressed and there was something odd in his time that made the back of my neck prickle. "How powerful is he? Do you know anything about how he operates? And why did he bring you here all of a sudden? I don’t think it’s solely because of the honeymoon.”
The prickling sensation grew stronger. "I… I don’t know but I guess he’s really powerful. Why?"
"Just wondering." Marco shrugged, but it looked forced. "I mean, the guy is know for his family name and power, right? Must be intense, being forced to live with someone like that. Do you ever see anything? His business, I mean?"
I set my spoon down slowly, my appetite suddenly gone. The way he was asking these questions and the way his eyes kept darting to Matteo and back, none of it felt right.
"Marco," I said softly, "what are you doing?"
His smile widened, but it didn't reach his eyes. "Nothing! Just catching up with you, that's allowed, isn't it?"
I didn't answer, just watched him, and after a moment his smile cracked slightly.
"Okay, let’s discuss about something else.” Christabel cut in brightly, clearly sensing the tension. " This gelato? Best thing I've ever eaten. Arya, you have to try the pistachio."
She held out her spoon, and I took the bite she offered, grateful for the interruption even though I could barely taste it.
"You've got a little..." Christabel gestured to her own mouth.
"Here," I said, reaching over with my napkin to wipe the corner of her mouth, and she swatted my hand away, laughing.
"I meant you, not me!"
We dissolved into giggles, and I felt some of the tension ease, though I couldn't shake the wariness that had settled in my chest. When I glanced at Marco again, he was staring at his gelato and his was jaw tight.
After a few more minutes of forced conversation, I pushed back from the table. "I need to use the bathroom."
"Sure," Christabel said. "Want me to come?"
"I'll be fine." I shot a pointed look at Matteo, who had straightened slightly at my movement. "I assume my shadow will follow me even there?"
Matteo's expression didn't change. "There's a clear line of sight to the bathroom door. I'll wait here."
I rolled my eyes and walked away. The bathroom was in pristine shape so I took my time, letting the cool water run over my hands as I stared at my reflection in the mirror.
What had Marco been doing? Was he trying to get information? But why?
I was dabbing at my face with a paper towel when the door opened, and I looked up expecting to see Christabel.
Instead, Marco slipped inside, closing the door quietly behind him.
"Marco!" I jumped back, startled. "What the hell?"
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he said quickly, holding up his hands. "I know this looks bad-"
I scoffed. "Bad!? This is the ladies' bathroom!"
"I know, I know, but I don't have much time." He glanced nervously at the door, then back at me, and suddenly pulled a phone from his pocket. He pressed it into my hands. "Take this."
I stared down at it, then back up at him. "What-"
"I'll text you tomorrow where we can meet. Properly, without..." He jerked his head toward the door, toward where Matteo was waiting. "The guards make it impossible to really talk."
"Marco, what is going on?"
He stepped closer and his eyes were intense, almost desperate. "I'm really happy to see you, Arya. There's so much I need to tell you, but not here. Tomorrow, okay?"
Before I could respond, he leaned in and kissed my cheek, and then he was gone, slipping back out the door as quickly as he had entered.
I stood there, frozen, the phone still clutched in my hands. My cheek tingled where his lips had been, and my mind was racing, trying to make sense of what had just happened.
What the hell was Marco involved in? And more importantly, what was I now involved in by taking this phone?