Elsa
On the morning of the fourth day, Gabrielle comes to the house at around eleven in the morning. He has been coming every day to check up on me, I don’t know whether to make sure I haven’t run away or for my well-being. I am reading a novel in the living room. We talk less and I try not to ask about Marcello because he would have told me if there was any news about me that I had to know.
His cell phone rings, and then he excuses himself and leaves the room. He talks for a couple of minutes before returning.
“You will leave for Sardinia today, Elsa.”
I send him a surprised look. “What? Why?”
Gabrielle smiles at me apologetically. “The Don’s orders,” he shrugs.
“Are we going to meet him there?”
“I don’t know. I have only been told to put you on the boat.”
Knowing very well that asking more questions won’t yield anything, I head toward my room.
A few minutes later, I tie my hair in a high ponytail and put some mascara on-I am getting more tanned by the day, which means I need less makeup. I put on dark blue denim shorts and a scanty white top that barely covers my breasts. Today’s outfit is a bit of a declaration-I refuse to be elegant. Besides, I drop the underwear. As for shoes, I pick out wedge sneakers. I put on sunglasses and grab a bag. When Gabrielle walks into the room. He stops, rooted to the spot, and gazes at me for a while.
“Are you sure you want to go out like this?” he asked awkwardly. “Don Marcello won’t be happy.”
I spin on my heel nonchalantly, slide my glasses halfway down my nose, and shoot him a disdainful look.
“What makes you think I care? After he left me for three days?”
I turn my back on him and head out.
My absurdly expensive watch tells me it is 11 a. m. when Gabrielle shows me the car I will be driving in.
“Aren’t you going with me?” I ask, pouting like a little girl.
“I can’t, but Claudio will tend to you during your trip.” He shuts the door and the car drives off. I feel alone and sad all of a sudden. I miss Marcello so much but I am so mad at him for leaving me again just like that.
My driver, Claudio, who doubled as my bodyguard, is not too talkative.
I grab my phone and dial Mom. She seems calmer now but isn’t too happy to learn about my absence from home for the last couple of days. I haven’t been talking to Rosa at all. I have called Zio to let him know that I am fine and to remind him not to panic. I can surely take care of myself, and as much as I know, I am more than safe where I am. When I told him I was at Marcello’s place, she was quiet for some time. I think I look like those slaves they set free but won’t go because they have loved their masters. I sound stupid. But Zio respects my decisions. He told me he hadn’t got a hang of Marcello but he has talked to his assistant to let him know he insists on having a meeting with him. I know he is looking out for me, but I won’t stop him from meeting with Marcello. This is between two capos.
When we finish talking, the car takes a turn off the highway. Claudio drives steadily, expertly navigating the narrow, picturesque streets in the enormous SUV. At one point, he hits the brakes, and I see we are in a large port filled to the brim with luxury yachts.
An elderly man dressed all in white opens the door for me. I send the driver a questioning look, and in response, he nods to me, allowing me to step out.
“Welcome to Porto di Palermo, Elsa. I am Fausto and I will take you to your boat. Follow me.” The man gestures at me.
When, after a short while, we stopped to board the yacht, I raised my head and gaped. Before me was the Sapphire. It is much bigger than the boat Marcello took me to meet with whoever that guy was. I have already forgotten his name. It all seems like ages ago.
Most boats in the port are white, but this one is a cold steel gray, with tinted windows.
“The yacht is nearly three hundred feet long. It has twelve guest cabins, a Jacuzzi, a cinema, spa, gym, as well as a large pool and a helicopter pad.”
“Not too shabby,” I mumble, picking my jaw up from the floor.
When I enter the first of six decks, I find myself in a grand living room, only partially roofed. It is elegant but very minimalistic. Most of the furniture is white with steel-gray details. The floor is made of glass. Then there is the dining room and the stairs to the bow and the Jacuzzi. Most tables are laden with vases filled with white roses. I focus on the one without any flowers. Instead, there was a gigantic ice bucket filled with bottles of Moët Rosé.
Before I finish the tour of the deck, Fausto shows up next to me with a glass filled with the champagne. Do they all think I am some kind of alcoholic, and my only way of dealing with free time is binging on champagne?
“What would you like to do before we set sail? A tour of the rest of the yacht? Some sunbathing? Or maybe you’d like lunch?”
“I’d like to be left alone, if that’s not a problem.” I put my handbag down and head toward the bow.
Fausto nods and leaves me. I stay on the deck, observing the sea, slowly downing my glass. Then I have another one, and one more, and so on until the bottle is empty. The hangover I was still suffering from starts dissipating, but only because I am drunk again. I have been taking bottles of wine to my bedroom every day and the wine cellar never seems to run out since they make their wine at the estate.
The Sapphire leaves port. As the land disappears over the horizon, I can only think about how I regret ever letting Marcello drag me back to his life again. I dream of not meeting Marcello and not becoming his priority kind of burden. I could have lived my normal life in my normal world instead of sitting here, caged like a bird. But I have tried it for the last week but I didn’t enjoy it at all because Marcello changed everything. What was my normal is no longer my normal. I don’t feel comfortable in the house where I was born and raised. I don’t trust the woman who pretends to care more than my real family. Fuck this! I would have rather never been saved by Marcello that night.
“What the hell are you wearing this time?” I hear the familiar voice behind me. “You look like-”
I spin and nearly bump into Marcello, who is standing right behind me. I was pretty tipsy already, and I stumbled, falling to the sofa.
“I look how I want and it’s none of your business,” I mutter. “You’ve left me without a word and you’re treating me like some doll you play with whenever you feel like it. But today that doll wants to be left alone.” I get up from the sofa clumsily, grab another bottle of champagne, and stagger toward the stern. The shoes I had on don’t make walking any easier, and I realize how pathetic I must be looking. I kick them off angrily.
Marcello follows me, calling out, but his voice fails to penetrate the buzz in my head from the alcohol. I don’t know the ship, but I need to escape him. I run down the steps and… that is the last thing I remember.