Sienna
Giovanni’s hands are tight on the steering wheel. We bump along the road and after climbing one of the steepest hills, I see a lone structure in the distance. It’s ten more minutes until we reach the long stone bridge that connects what appears to be an island, upon which the Adams house is situated, to the mainland.
And I’m in awe.
“This is your… house?”
He only nods once and when I glance at him, I see how his brows are knitted together.
House.
This house takes my breath away. It’s not a house at all, but a fortress or castle, even. It must be hundreds of years old with stone walls that match the current color of the dark sky. And as we drive over the bridge, I wonder if we should, it’s so old.
I glance at Giovanni again and I see him differently. In Las Vegas, he’s big. He’s brutal. He’s in command.
Here, he’s all of those things, but he’s a Highlander first. Born and bred here. It’s obvious now. Rough and rugged and fierce, but different.
Less sophisticated, less polished. Wild, like the landscape.
Even his name, it fits.
“Mother-fucker,” he mutters, his lip curling as he looks at the house.
The bridge gives way to a large circular courtyard. There are two other vehicles parked here. It’s strange, the cars too modern for this ancient place.
I’m distracted by the beauty of the castle that appears to be part ruin. The far walls have crumbled into the water beneath, but there’s smoke coming from two of the six chimneys and lights are on in the small windows of the first floor.
There are three floors in the front part of the building, more in that tower in the distance. But is the tower, too, crumbling? I can’t tell from here.
Giovanni climbs out of the SUV and I open my door. He doesn’t retrieve the duffel but comes directly to my side, eyes locked on the castle.
“It’s cold here,” I say, hugging my arms to myself. It’s nowhere near as warm as Vegas.
“It’s always cold here,” he almost snaps, wrapping his hand around the back of my neck.
I stop, make him turn to me.
“Why did you bring me?”
He doesn’t answer right away but smiles a rueful smile and his eyes, even though they’re on me, are distant.
He leans down, squeezes his hand around my neck and brings his mouth to my ear.
“Because I’m going to need to fuck the desire to murder my half-brother out of me.”
With that, he pulls back.
I know I should be offended but this is the first insight I’ve had into his life. And it’s a big one.
He has a half-brother.
And he hates him.
I remember the photograph I’d found tucked inside his book. Remember the man holding the baby. Is that his brother?
I open my mouth to ask him more, but the sudden sound of dogs barking breaks into the quiet day, interrupting us. I startle and I don’t know if Giovanni sees that, but he takes my wrist, pulls me behind him.
We both turn to what a quick count tells me are eight golden retrievers running our way, six puppies and two adults.
“I don’t believe it,” I hear Giovanni say and I see the smile on his face. It’s one that makes his eyes shine.
He releases me and crouches down to greet the dogs, petting them and even laughing when the pups lick his face.
When they come to me, I pet them too, but am more curious about Giovanni’s reaction to them. So different to the cool, collected man I’ve come to know. The one who doesn’t let anything personal show. Ever. A man who is passionate, but so guarded.
I realize I don’t know anything about him that doesn’t have to do with me.
He finally straightens, giving one of the mature dogs a final pat on the head. “There was a pup I left behind,” he says. “I’m going to guess these are the next generation.”
“They’re sweet,” I say, as one of the puppies, tail wagging frantically, licks my face. “And enthusiastic.”
I stand, and when he turns to the door, the smile and ease from a moment ago vanishes, replaced by something heavier.
We walk toward the imposing front doors, two heavy wooden doors with black ornate iron hinges and studs, almost as if they came from a century ago. Maybe they did.
He doesn’t bother to knock, which surprises me, but pushes the door open and immediately I smell the scent of wood burning and food cooking.
We step into the entry and stand on a carpet so worn, it’s almost threadbare. I can see the stones beneath in some places. The walls, too, are draped with carpets or maybe they’re made especially for the walls. I’m not sure, but I don’t have time to think or ask about it because I hear footsteps. And soon, a man appears.
A man as tall as Giovanni.
As big.
As beautiful.
The one from that photograph, just a little older from when that was taken.
And each man, upon seeing the other, stops, eyes hardening.
Tension thins the air around us.
No, not tension.
This is something else.
Something more.
Hate.
The man must be a few years younger than Giovanni but the similarities in features, in stance, in the ferocity of their gazes, leaves no question that these two are related.
“Well, well,” the man says in his heavy Scottish accent. “The prodigal son returns.”
Giovanni releases me and steps toward him. “Prodigal or not, I’m laird of this house.”
“Not yet, you’re not, brother.”
I grip Giovanni’s arm when he takes another menacing step forward. But when we hear another set of footsteps, he stops.
An older man appears. He must be in his seventies and he’s dressed formally in a dark suit. He stops upon seeing Giovanni, surprise in his eyes. A moment later, he smiles warmly.
Giovanni takes him in, and nods in greeting.
I wonder if he can speak. If he’s able to because his eyes betray his emotions. I wonder if the others can see it. See the loss.
“Welcome home, Giovanni,” he says, extending his hand to shake Giovanni’s before moving in to hug him. It takes Giovanni a moment to hug him back. “Your father would have wanted you here.”
“Don’t humor me, old man,” Giovanni says, stepping backward. “My father turned his back on me.” His accent, it’s stronger here, that deep burr that belongs only to the Scots making me sit up and take notice.
But maybe it’s the anger in his words that makes him sound so harsh.
The brother snorts and starts to say something, but the old man raises his hand to quiet him.
“Now’s not the time, Declan. Your brother’s had a long journey.”
The older man hasn’t taken his eyes off Giovanni once. When he finally turns to me, when he steps toward me with a warm smile, I see a slight resemblance. It’s not as strong as it is between the brothers.
“Miss,” he says, coming close enough to shake my hand. “I’m Benjamin. Giovanni’s grandfather.”
“Grandfather?”
I meet Giovanni’s gaze for one moment before returning my eyes to Benjamin.
“I’m Sienna. Sienna Williams.” I wonder if it sounds strange when I say that. The Doe. It sounds strange to me. But maybe that’s because I’ve been using Chase for such a long time and I’m not exactly sure why I tell him my real name now.
“A pleasure to meet you,” he says.
Declan snorts and when I look at him, I find him watching me, his dark eyes unreadable.
But then he shakes his head and turns on his heel to disappear into the house. The tension physically lifts from the room once he’s gone.
“A bedroom’s been prepared-” Benjamin starts, but Giovanni cuts him off.
“I’ll be taking the master.”