Page 56 of Promised to the Don of Naples
The staircase opened onto a short corridor. There were three doors, and the one at the end was ajar.
Luca went straight to it and pushed it open.
And there was Matteo.
He was sitting in an armchair by the window, reading. A loose white shirt, light cotton trousers, bare feet on the stone floor. The book fell from his hand when the door opened.
He saw me first.
"Bella?"
It was a whisper. It wasn't even voice—just air.
He stood up slowly, as if his body had forgotten how to get up from an armchair. His eyes—black like my father's, only warmer, they'd always been warmer—began to fill with tears.
"Luca."
"Matteo."
"Madonna."
"Sit down, Matteo."
"Luca, I can explain…"
"Sit down."
Matteo sat down.
It wasn't a choice, it was Luca's tone. I'd never heard that tone—that one specifically.
It wasn't the Don's tone he used with Bianca, much less the firm tone of the office. It was a colder tone, older, that came from somewhere in him I didn't yet know.
I took two steps forward to go to my brother, but Luca put his hand on my elbow.
"Bella. Wait."
"Luca, he's my brother. I'm going to hug him."
"In a moment."
I looked at him. For the first time that morning, with the eyes of someone who'd just recognized something she hadn't seen before.
He hadn't come to Capri to reunite with his childhood friend, but to ask questions.
And he was going to.
"Luca…"
"Bella. Sit down too."
Luca walked over to Matteo, stopping in front of the armchair. He didn't pull up a chair, just stood there, looking down, both hands behind his back—the posture of an officer in an interrogation.
"Matteo."
"Luca, listen…"
"Shut up. I have two questions," Luca said plainly. "You're going to answer both. If I feel you're lying by a single syllable, I take you out of here carried, not walking. Capisci?"
