Not Mine to Keep (The Costa Family)

Six Days Later

I stared in a daze at the “30” on the vanilla-frosted cake. “Cake?” Cake? Really? My eyes sealed shut as I revisited the last six days since I’d been paraded through the FBI’s New York field office for the purpose of Armani and the others believing I was in danger of being detained for life.

My father-in-law and I were discreetly let go after Armani was processed, and negotiations between Armani and AISE were underway now that Armani was back in Italy.

The Costas had been cleared of any involvement, of course. Gabriel and Leo were still behind bars for the sake of appearances for the time being. And Marcello never made it to Italy, or even to the next morning.

All that mattered to me right now, though, was that my husband was still missing. Seven days without him. And day by day, I was slowly losing it.

“Callie.” My aunt murmured my name, and I opened my eyes. She swapped a sad look with my mother-in-law. I was seconds away from taking the cake from the counter and throwing it against the bay window in the kitchen, hating the sun shining down over the water, making it sparkle. Hating everything because my husband was gone. So screw cake and sunshine.

My aunt rounded the kitchen island, reading me well enough to know I was having another breakdown. I’d lost count of how many times I’d broken down that week.

Javier had brought my aunt to stay with us only after Armani and his main guys were no longer in the US and were with Italian police.

Izzy and her father had spent all week focusing on the search for Alessandro, contacting everyone they knew for help in locating him. My only contribution had been to find a Romanian history expert who knew all about the old tunnels, and he’d offered up possible exit points as to where Rocco and Alessandro may have escaped.

With the historian’s help, The League managed to track the exact location where the video had been taken in the woods near one of the tunnels’ exits. Professional K9 trackers were brought in and sniffed out the spot, finding Alessandro’s blood there.

My aunt hugged me, but my arms remained limp at my sides as she whispered, “I’m so sorry. I thought you could use a distraction after all you went through this week. It’s your birthday, after all.”

It had been nice having her there, but between her and my mother-in-law channeling their fears and nervous energy by cooking nonstop—and force-feeding Javier and his men—I was just done, ready to tap out.

“I probably smell,” was the unrelated brilliance that came from my mouth as I tried to unglue myself from her hold. “I’ve showered maybe twice this week.” Spent most days in the same pair of singing cherries PJs Javier’s men had packed for me. “It’s Alessandro’s birthday, too.” That was what bothered me most about the cake. “A four should be here instead.” I pointed at the candles on the cake. “He’s forty today.”

My mother-in-law quietly opened a drawer, took something out, then came back over. She placed a “4” and “0” next to the “30.” “For when he’s back. We’ll wait.”

“I’m so sorry,” I apologized to her. “The hell you’re going through and yet staying so strong somehow, and I’m a mess and can’t keep it together. I just need a minute alone.” I hurried for the hallway before anyone could stop me. The second I was in Alessandro’s old room, I shut the door, threw myself on his bed, brought my nose to his pillow, and inhaled.

I’d found cologne on the dresser, so I’d sprayed it on the pillows, my pathetic attempt at pretending he was with me when I slept. I’d never heard of the brand Creed before this week. It was a different cologne than the one he kept on the vanity counter at the penthouse. There was a guy riding a horse next to the name Aventus on the label; it somehow felt perfect for Alessandro, and I’d latch on to anything “him” I could get right now.

“Mrs. Costa?” someone called out before I’d even had a chance to wedge a pillow between my legs and curl into the fetal position.

“Wrong room,” I called back, recognizing Javier’s voice, tightening my hold on the pillow.

“Callie Costa,” he corrected. “Can I talk to you?”

“Do you know where my husband is?”

“No, but I’d like to see you anyway.”

“Yeah, okay.” I couldn’t be a jerk to the guy, who’d been kind to me for four weeks. He’d also helped distract my aunt by allowing her to feed him a “taste of the South,” as she’d called it. They were both single and in their fifties; if my world didn’t feel like it was ending right now, I’d be the one playing matchmaker between them.

The door cracked open, and it wasn’t until I abandoned the pillow and sat upright that he came in.

At the sight of the familiar guitar case in his hand, I sputtered, “Why do you have that?”

He set it on the bed. “Alessandro said that if he didn’t make it back, to give you this on your birthday.”

“No,” I shot back, staring at The Legend’s guitar my husband had said he’d give away our first night in New York. Clearly, he hadn’t listened. “He’s coming home.”

“Of course he is, but it’s your birthday, and an order is an order. So here it is.”

“I hate him for doing this,” I whispered, crying as I went to my knees and opened the case. Inside was a handwritten note from him, too.

Calliope,

“Storms make trees take deeper roots.”—I had to look that one up. Dolly Parton’s a wise woman. I see why you like her and her music.

And I promise you, we’ll get through this storm together. Even if I’m not there with you . . . I’m there with you, you know?

Love, your husband—a royal pain in your ass, just like you’re a pain in mine.

Alessandro

P.S.—You don’t really hate me, and you know it.Published by Nôv'elD/rama.Org.

The note fell from my hand when Izzy flew into the room and yelled, “They found him! Well, they found Rocco, at least.”

“Where is he?” I stood, trembling with shock, and Javier hooked his arm with mine for support.

“They caught Rocco on CCTV footage in Slobozia earlier today. Looks like they’re still in Romania. Crazy enough, they ID’d him while walking by a car from the reflection in the passenger-side mirror. Once they had the location, they were able to track him to an abandoned-looking home outside the city. There are civilians in the area, so they have to be extra cautious when they move in. Plus make sure they’re not being—”

“Set up,” I finished, my nerves getting to me again.

“My brothers and Hudson are moving into position. A quiet approach from the front and back. There’s a basement there, so they think that’s where Alessandro’s being kept.” She gestured for me to get a move on. “We’re heading to the airport now. Enzo had our other jet sent back the other day in case we needed it.”

“Wait, we’re going? Finally?” I went for the buttons on my PJs, anxious to change.

“Assuming my brother needs to go to the hospital after, we should—”

“Of course,” I blurted, then stopped the job of finishing unbuttoning at the realization of what I was doing in front of others. “But Javier, will you stay here and watch my aunt? I know the government said we’re no longer in danger, but just in case?”

He nodded, then reached for the note from the bed and set it in my palm before curling my fingers over it. “Go get your husband back.”