Chapter 48

By the time we touched down in Sicily, I didn’t completely hate Emiliano. I almost forgave him. If I didn’t have such a deep connection with him, I would’ve strangled him while he napped on the plane. He *saved* me all those years ago. My soul was forever intertwined with his.

Black SUVs were waiting for us on the runway when we exited the private jet. The midday sun offered little heat and I was freezing in my little dress. Emiliano gave me his jacket and opened the door for me before getting in on the other side. He held my hand as we both silently watched the Italian scenery zip by out the windows. The ride was quiet and peaceful.

Until we pulled up to the Greek inspired house Emiliano tried to buy for me the other day. My blood started to boil. I looked at Emiliano and asked through gritted teeth,

“What the fuck are we doing here?”

Emiliano looked amused which made me angrier. He chuckled and said,

“Calmati, Hera. This is our safe house for the time being. Diego doesn’t know I own this house.”

I started to put the pieces together,

“Diego? The son of Don Santiago?”

Emiliano’s cheerful face turned to darkness and he just nodded his head. My mind raced. Diego made a comment to me at the club a few months ago, about hearing I (pretending to be *Anka*) was kidnapped. It makes sense now that he would’ve known I wasn't the true *Anka*.

When the door of the vehicle on my side opened, I was startled to see Emiliano. I didn’t even hear him get out of the SUV. He grabbed my hand and escorted me to the front door. I tried not to hold my anger for this house as I passed through the threshold.

As a safe house, it was full of busy people. They were dressed in all black. Some had laptops and headphones sitting at the kitchen bar, some had guns and ear pieces stationed by every window and door. A chef was in the kitchen preparing food. Seeing the house alive made me forget its original intent.

Emiliano led me over to the table in the dining room, the one room on the main level that didn’t have any goons in it. He pulled a chair out for me and I took a seat, then he sat next to me. He stared at me as I looked around at our surroundings. Really taking in the awe of the architecture of the house.

It didn’t take long before the chef approached our table with the respected work of art they created in the kitchen. I was pleased to see a beautifully plated serving of lemon chicken, drizzled in tzatziki sauce, topped with wheat pita bread slices. I blushed and looked at Emiliano,

“Greek food?”

I asked. Emiliano blushed and smiled. He was pleased with himself and the shy confidence he displayed in that moment was extremely sexy.

The chef returned to our table with two glasses of white wine. Emiliano asked the chef in Italian,

“Posso avere la grappa?”

*“Can I get some grappa?”*

The chef smiled and replied,

“Ovviamente!”

*“Of course!”*

The chef went to the kitchen then quickly returned with a glass of grappa for Emiliano and set it next to his Sauvignon Blanc then asked us if we needed anything else. We shook our heads and the chef returned to the kitchen.

Emiliano took one bite of his lunch then washed it down with his grappa. He finished his whole glass in one gulp and motioned for the chef to return with more alcohol.

I finished my plate before Emiliano, due to the sole fact that after every two bites of his meal, he demanded more grappa. By the third request, the chef left a whole decanter of the alcohol on the table. Which Emiliano finished off before concluding his meal.

I couldn’t help but roll my eyes when he stood from the table and nearly knocked it over. I was so annoyed. I tried to help him stand straight but he insisted he was sober enough to do it himself. I watched as he swayed and stumbled from the dining room to the living room.

He crashed down on the couch and reached for his little wooden box off the coffee table. Emiliano retrieved a joint and a lighter from the box and lit it right there in the house. His staff surrounding us, deep in their tasks, did not seem bothered by Emiliano’s behavior at all. Which told me they were used to it.

I took a seat next to him on the couch while he continued to puff on his joint. He tried to pass it to me but I refused. That seemed to piss him off because he had his free hand around my neck and was on top of me, pinning me down on the couch.

“Emiliano, stop it!”

He stared into my eyes with black orbs of fury, I stared back with a tensed jaw. He finally let me go and sat up in his seat. I quickly shot up and shuffled myself so I’d be at the farthest end of the couch, to be out of reach of Emiliano. However, the couch was very small. Our knees still touched even though I was basically hugging the arm of my side of the couch.

Emiliano set the joint in the ashtray on the coffee table then looked down as he rested his elbows on his knees. He breathed a few times then looked up and over at me and said,

“Hera, I’m sorry.”

He tried to place one of his hands on my thigh but I jerked my leg away. Emiliano whistled and made a spin with his right index finger. The focused busy goons surrounding us all left without saying a word. Some retreated upstairs, some went outside. But within 30 seconds, the house emptied, and it was just us two.

Emiliano sighed and melted down to the floor. He was on his knees and faced me and continued,

“I’ve been through so much in my life. But nothing like these last couple of months. Anka has completely broken me.”

He tried to grab my hand again but I pulled it away and looked over to my right at the fireplace. I stared as the fire used the wood as fuel to engulf the room with heat. I hated hearing Emiliano talk about *her*. Even if he was bad mouthing her, I still hated that she existed and ruined any hope of being with Emiliano. I clenched my jaw while I thought of the little girl who ruined my fairytale.

Emiliano studied my face and asked what was wrong. When tears escaping my eyes and flowing down my cheeks were the only reply Emiliano got from me he started apologizing again,

“I’m sorry! I wish I could take it all back. I wish I never laid my eyes on Anka. I wish I wasn’t so desperate to meet the woman in my head that I took the first girl that looked like you.”