Page 19 of Forgetting the Enemy
“Why what, Zaira?” I get the feeling he’s avoiding my question on purpose.
“Why are you taking me to your home and not my home?” I ask bluntly. I am tired of his beating around the bush, trying to avoid answering my questions. He is being guarded with me, and I hate it. I have a feeling that with Michael, a more direct approach will work best.”
“Because you are safer with me.”
What? What is that supposed to mean?“Safer?”
Just as a black Audi R8 pulls up out front, Michael responds, “Zaira, I know you have a lot of questions, and I promise I will give you answers. First, let’s just get you home and settled, then we can talk.”
Reluctantly, I agree. And I realize as soon as I stand to get into the car, I don’t have much of a choice. My legs are wobbly, and my head feels like it’s being beaten on with a hammer. Everything begins to spin, and I have to sit back down.
Michael immediately comes to me. “Are you all right?”
“Yes, just a little light-headed. Dr. Siegel said it would be normal for a while until the swelling goes down.”
He takes my arm. “Here, let me help you.”
I don’t have the strength to fight him, so like a good girl, I get into the car with Michael’s help. He’s very attentive in making sure I am comfortable. He walks around to the driver’s side of the car where Sainte is standing. They trade keys, and Michael gets into the car. Ricco and Sainte leave.
Once Michael gets settled into the car, he says, “We’re just gonna wait here for a sec until those two get the bikes. And then we’ll be on our way.”
I smile at him, offering no other response. The noise in my head is deafening, and it’s just better to remain quiet.
A few minutes later, I hear the Harleys before I see them. Damn, they are loud. When Michael spots the bikes, he pulls away from the hospital. One of the bikes leads us, and the other follows behind. It’s as if we have an escort or that we are being protected or something. That’s another question I need to ask Michael.
Before I can ask, a familiar feeling washes over me, like I’ve seen this type of protection before. And then it hits me. These men, Sainte and Ricco, are not Michael’s friends or even just his employees. They are his bodyguards.Who is this guy?
Michael doesn’t speak the entire time, and I’m too intent on taking in my surroundings to care. After driving for about twenty minutes, I realize we are on the North Shore of Long Island. I have to stop in amazement at the oddity of the things I’m remembering. The confusion is bewildering.
Driving through the winding streets of The North Shore, we pull up to a majestic, gated Tudor mansion. Michael pushes a button on his visor, and the gate opens. Through the speaker system in the car, I hear a man’s voice say, “Welcome home, Michael. Your father would like to see you.”
I am completely mesmerized by this feature as Michael responds, “Thank you, Jude. Please tell Pop I need to get Zaira settled first and then I will meet him in his office.”
“Will do, sir,” Jude replies.
After pulling into the circular driveway, we veer to the left. We drive several yards and come to a garage. It is unlike any garage I could ever imagine. It has ten bays.Who owns this many vehicles?I think to myself. The door to the second bay opens, and Michael pulls the car in. He turns toward me and says, “Welcome toProprietá Terriera de Vitali.”
When he speaks in Italian, it’s sexy, and his voice is music to my ears. I could listen to him talk to me in Italian all day long and never tire of it.I think about this for a while and then it occurs to me.How do I know that’s Italian?
He gets out of the car and walks around to my side. After opening my door, he reaches his hand in and helps me stand. “We have a room prepared for you in the west wing. I’ll escort you there, and I suggest you get some rest. You’ve had a busy day. I’ll be back shortly and give you a tour of the house and grounds. Are you hungry?”
“No, I’m not hungry. Actually, if it is okay with you, I would like to lie down,” I reply.
“I think that will be best for now. We’ll get a good hot meal in you at dinner.” He walks me to the door and through the house. The house is massive, with dark wood accents and vaulted ceilings. I am in awe, but the one thing impressing me the most is the stained-glass window on the landing of the grand staircase. It is the most stunning thing I have ever seen. The staircase is one of those that have two flights of stairs on each side and meet at a landing in the middle. I think I have seen this staircase before, but as quickly as the realization comes to me, it’s gone. The landing has windows that look out the back of the home, with five panels of stained glass in the center. There is a row of benches aligning the window, all upholstered in red velvet. Opposite the window is a single flight of stairs leading to the upper floors of the house. The dark wood accents the window and the entire staircase. The beauty of it leaves me speechless.
When we get to the top of the stairs, Michael turns left, and we walk down a long hallway. He opens a door on the right and says, “This is your room. Make yourself comfortable and be sure to get some rest. There are toiletries in the en suite bathroom that should get you by for now. After you’ve rested, we’ll get a list together of the things you might need.” He kisses me on the cheek and says, “Enjoy your rest. I’ll see you soon.”
Okay, maybe I am more to him than just an acquaintance. If not, why would he be so outwardly affectionate?
My headache worsens from all the questions in my head, and I decide Michael is right; a good rest will do me good.
