Page 19 of Secrets of the Brother
Whoever attacked Renata could still try to kill Milana.
Or go after the rest of Renata’s family.
Bianca.
Whatever it took, I had to get her back on a plane to America where she would be safe, as soon as possible. Especially before she drew any more attention to herself than she did today with that slap in the church.
Aunt Gabriella patted my cheek. “I think my work here is done. I’m off to bed. I need my beauty sleep.”
As she reached the threshold, I called out to her. “What is the other word?”
She turned with a frown. “What?”
“You said there are two terrible words, what is the other one?”
She gave me a sad smile. “If, darling. Perhaps the worst word of all… if. I will say one more thing.IfBianca is the one you want, don’t make your mother’s mistake and turn your chance for a life of love and happiness and passion into anif only….”
“It’s not that easy, Aunt Gabriella. EvenifI were able to convince her I didn’t kill her sister, there are still countless obstacles, not to mention what people would say….”
After the warmth of her touch had faded, cold hard reason had returned.
A future with Bianca was not possible, at least not yet.
I had to face that fact. I couldn’t cause her more pain by exposing her to another scandal, not to mention the unknown threat that was still stalking my family and hers.
She was better off far, far away from me.
Aunt Gabriella waved her hand dismissively. “Posh. It’s always been my experience that the type of people who get talked about… are the ones having the most fun in life.”
She winked and then left.
I turned to look out over the silent piazza.
I needed to get some sleep.
Tomorrow morning, I had to let my family know I wasn’t a murderer.
Then I needed to enlist their help in kidnapping Bianca.
CHAPTER6
BIANCA
Iwas awakened by the sound of crunching paper.
Crap.
I sat up and looked down at my cream silk nightgown. It was covered in dark gray smudges. I pulled back the covers and surveyed the damage.
Although I was in school to complete my Master of Fine Arts in Graphic Design, my first love was still sketching with charcoals.
My small box of charcoal sticks had tipped over while I slept.
Several of the delicate sticks had broken in half and been crushed into a fine dark powder that was now ground into the sheets. I tilted my head back and groaned. If my mother found out I was sketching in bed and ruinedyet anotherset of sheets I would never hear the end of it.
I slipped out of bed and pushed my unruly hair back from my face.
Gathering up the broken pieces of charcoal, I replaced them in the slightly crushed box and stashed it in my nightstand. After surveying the full extent of the damage to the bedding, my only choice was to yank the blanket and pillows off the bed.
