Page 2 of Captive Heart: Armani
“We still have a long way to go on the scrapbook,” I point out. “Let’s do this.”
Feeling more composed, I reach for the bin of stickers and notions and begin sorting through it with a smile plastered on my face. Inside, though? My stomach is churning, my mind racing. If my theory about Juliana/Liliana is correct, it’ll blow up the Bellanti family’s whole world. And what about Juliana? Will she still align herself with the Bruno clan? Or will she have a sudden change of heart? If I’m right about this, she’ll be forced to reevaluate her entire identity. Her entire life. But that doesn’t mean she’ll automatically consider herself a Bellanti.
And who’s to say the Bellantis would even welcome her back? She’s been conspiring against them for years; working with their enemies to take the Bellanti empire down. Blood is supposed to be thicker than water, but maybe the Bellantis won’t feel that way.
The only thing that’s certain is that I have to investigate. And quickly. Right now, I’m the only one who knows about this, so I have to use that to my advantage while I still can.
“Are there any other pictures of their sister?” I ask as casually as possible.
Frankie sets down the length of lace she’s cutting and rifles through the stack of old photos. “Only one. It’s in here somewhere. Um…here.”
She passes it over to me. In this one, each of the Bellanti children is reaching up to place an ornament on the Christmas tree. The girl’s back is to the camera, but her face is turned to reveal her profile. Her nose and the tip of her chin are prominent, while the rest of her features are hidden by her thick tumble of hair. But it’s enough. I don’t need to see her entire face to recognize the slight upturn of her nose and the shape of her chin. It’s Juliana all the way.
“These pictures are flooring me,” I say sincerely. “Armani never talks about his past. This is probably the closest I’ll get to catching a glimpse of his childhood.”
“Yeah.” Frankie sighs. “I just wish I could believe this was a happier time for them. And in a lot of ways, I’m sure it was. But I also see that perpetual frown on Armani’s face, the way Dante’s body language is always tense or protective. And Marco’s always smiling or covered in mud, but who’s to say how much their mother was able to shield them from their dad?”
I nod. “The few times Armani has mentioned his father, he’s made it pretty obvious that they all had a really hard time growing up.” Lowering my voice to a whisper, I add, “Who wouldn’t, when your dad is a mafia boss?”
“Honestly,” Frankie whispers back, “I think their dad’s funeral was the first time those boys felt truly free.”
Her words chill me. As rough as my own childhood was, I never worried that either of my parents would physically hurt me. Or that my dad’s day job involved ordering executions. I didn’t have to grow up surrounded by crime and armed men and violence and blood. My heart aches for Dante, Armani, and Marco. Their loss, their grief, their fear. All those lost years.
“I’m so glad they had each other,” I murmur, my eyes tearing up.
“Me too,” Frankie says, reaching across the table to give my hand a gentle pat.
As I put together a photo collage of the christening reception, the wheels in my head keep right on turning. Juliana is stubborn, strong-willed, and honestly dangerous. How am I supposed to tell her that I think she’s the Bellantis’ dead sister? That she’s currently doing everything in her power to destroyher own brothers? It’s not too much of a stretch to suggest that she doesn’t know the full story of her family, but it’s news that she will not receive well.
What if she doesn’t believe me? I doubt her ego will let her accept the possibility that her uncle Sergio brainwashed her when she was young and impressionable and spent the rest of her formative years twisting her for his own gain. Hell, he still is. Right down to her impending marriage to that Russian mobster.
Oh God.
I need to speak to her.Now. But I also need to figure out exactly how I’m going to approach her with this. Because I know Juliana, and I know how quickly she freezes people out when she feels threatened, insulted, or misunderstood. I have to play my cards just right or else she’ll kick me to the curb before I have the chance to explain everything I know.
The urgency of the situation makes me restless, but I don’t have a plan of attack figured out yet. I’m also reluctant to cut the scrapbooking session short. Frankie had been so angry when she found out I was a spy for the Bruno family, and it killed our relationship. Once I declared my allegiance to the Bellantis, she’d finally started to thaw a little. And then today, she’d offered an olive branch by asking for my help with the baby’s scrapbook. I’m desperate to stay on the right foot with her.
“What do you think? I didn’t glue anything yet,” I say, sliding the collage toward her.
“It’s perfect. The courtyard was so pretty. And there are so many good candids in here of all the guests.”
“Your sister did an amazing job decorating. As usual.”
“She really did,” Frankie agreed. “I’ll start gluing this together.”
I take a fresh piece of scrapbook paper and begin picking satin rosettes out of the notions box. As innocently as possible, I ask, “Did Dante ever tell you what happened to their sister?”
I’ve heard the story, but I’m hoping to learn something new that I can use when I approach Juliana.
Frankie shrugs. “He said she died in a boating accident. I’m not sure if he said it was a drowning or if I just assumed that part myself. I don’t have the details, of course. I never pry.”
“Right. Me neither. Armani’s also barely said two words about it. Which, I get it. That kind of thing scars you forever. I wouldn’t want to talk about it either.”
But maybe the Bellanti brothers never got the full details. Why would they? They were kids when it happened. And it’s unlikely their father would have filled them in on the horrible details of their mother and sister’s deaths.
Baby Lili begins to fuss in her bassinet. Frankie leans over and picks her up, gently lays her against her shoulder and begins to pat her on the back. I watch the tender moment and smile when I catch Frankie’s eye.
“I need to feed her. Maybe we should call it? We got a lot done so far, but we can finish up another time.”
