Page 3 of Her Ghostly Embrace
“He did.” Marc grabbed her arm and squeezed. “You didn’t want to go with him. Father said he took you.”
“Okay,” Gia agreed, trying to pull her arm free.
Marc didn’t let go. “Did you see Ma with him before?”
“Yeah.”
Marc’s hold tightened, and he looked scared. “Don’t tell Father. He’ll be angry.”
“Okay.” Gia’s eyes watered. She wanted to leave the blanket fort. Everyone had been so angry lately, but Marc wasn’t usually like this.
“Good,” he agreed, releasing her. “Sorry. Let’s play.”
Gia wasn’t sure how accurate the memory was. She certainly didn’t remember the man now, let alone her mother meeting with him. But the conversation with Marc was long enough ago that it was before her migraines began, so perhaps she could trust it.
Had Marc really seen the kidnapper, the supposed Jeffrey Lockwood, before the kidnapping? With their mother? He’d been aware enough of what that meant to keep it from their father.
Was this the reason no one ever talked about Letti Balzano? Not out of respect for their father’s loss, but due to fear of invoking his rage?
Gia closed her eyes. This was ridiculous. She shouldn’t let some faceless guy’s lies get under her skin. She was probably twisting her memories to fit the seed of doubt the call had planted. It wasn’t as if shewantedto be related to Franco Balzano. She was seeing what a deep, hidden part of her wanted to see.
Wasn’t she?
Gia grabbed her phone and played the voicemail.
“Hello, Gianna. This is your Aunt Susan’s lawyer again. Before you delete this, please listen. Your aunt has left her entire estate to you, including documentation regarding your parentage. You need to know the truth. Call me.”
TWO
GIA
Gia was still sittingon the bathroom floor an hour later when Marc came into her room.
“G?” he called.
“In here.”
Marc’s head poked through the doorway, his hair and beard trimmed short, every line as sharp as the cut of his suit. “What are you doing on the floor?”
Having an existential crisis. “I can’t be fucked today.”
Marc snorted. “Get up. I’ve got your food.” He held out a hand, his family crest ring glittering in the bright bathroom lights.
Gia grabbed his hand and pulled herself up.
“You’re freezing. How long were you sitting here?” Marc stared at her, his usually concerned expression more assessing than usual. Or was it Gia’s imagination?
She pulled away and ducked around him to grab a hoodie off the clothes pile on her armchair. The smell of tomatoes and garlic filled the room, and sure enough, a brown paper bag sat on her dressing table. Gia grabbed it and took the food to her bed.
Marc’s focus didn’t leave her. “If you need help getting up, you can always call Salvator.”
Gia’s spine stiffened. “I can get off the floor by myself. I just didn’t feel like it.”
She bit back the part about not wanting to call Salvator. Marc and her father both liked to pretend Salvator wasn’t her minder. A fucking babysitter, like she was still a damn child. He was herdriver. Anassistant. Anerrands man.
Whatever you wanted to call Salvator, he was always there. And sure, Gia needed help more often than the rest of the family when her migraines came out of nowhere and took her out of commission alarmingly fast, but Salvator’s presence often felt more like that of a guard than an aid. And not a bodyguard, which was another job everyone claimed Salvator filled. No. He was her prison guard. Keeping track of where she went and with whom.
Not that Gia went anywhere these days.
