We were going to stay here for a while, as dad said, so I decided on some online cooking courses.

I missed cooking, I missed the aromas and scents of spices around the house.

Oh, and yeah, I missed the hms and wows and yammys of my dear ones when we were all around the dining table having my specialties.

So, dinners were mine to cook, every evening delighting everybody with a new Italian dish.

Enzo never called back, if you must know, but I knew he was fine, still alive, as dad used to say after talking to him every evening over the phone.

And I didn't call either. I wouldn't know what to say. What was there to say since I left him go without a word when he said he loved me and felt the distance growing between us?

In the past week I've gone through a bitter heart missing him, illness not knowing about him, anger for never being called, never being sent a message.

And it has been so boring even though grandma is such a sweetheart, planning all sorts of activities and cocktails pool parties with her, mom, and aunt Tea, while uncle Mike and dad were keeping tabs with Italy events.

Today I've stayed out at the pool almost all day, heating my skin in the burning sun and daydreaming about the Don. My Don.

A shadow is stretching in front of the sun, darkening the emptiness under my eyelids and I wince looking at my dad, shading my eyes with my palm.

"Sweetheart, a call for you," he says with a warm smile and passes me his phone.

I stop breathing for a moment, wondering who could call me on dad's number and secretly hoping that Enzo is reckless enough to want to talk to me.

I stretch my arm for the phone and crack a guilty smile while taking the phone.

"Hello," I say, with a shaky voice and heart beating fast, hoping I will hear Enzo's voice.

"Hey, princess, how are you?" grandpa Marce says from the other end of the line.

"Hey, Grandpa. I'm good. What about you? How are you over there?" I ask while hearing Enzo's voice in the background, talking Italian in that ravishing deep voice.

I suck a sharp breath and say grace for having the chance to listen to that only voice that can make butterflies race in my chest.

"Papà, dobbiamo andare," I hear Enzo saying closer to the phone, and clicks of weapons in the background. (Dad, we need to go).

My heart clenches in anxiety at the sound and my breathing becomes a sort of struggle.

"We're good, princess. Everything is fine, just wanted to hear you, that's all. We have to go now. Take care, Eve. And don't be a brat ass to your dad," he chuckles.

"I can't promise you that, Grandpa. You know I'm rotten spoiled," I reply to him sweetly and a burst of laughter breaks on the phone.

"That's what I'm saying, pumpkin. Oh, uncle Enzo says hi."

"Well, tell him..." I try to say, but it has been obvious right from the beginning the call isn't one of chatting.

"Alright, sweetheart. Just go easy on your dad and I'll see you soon. Okay? Bye, princess," he cuts it short.

"Bye, Grandpa," I reply and hang up.

I squeeze the phone at my chest as if the words of Enzo that I've just heard can imprint themselves in my mind and my heart the stronger I press on them.

As thrilled as I am to hear his voice, I feel sliding on a slope of sadness that finds its echo in a void filling my chest, and little by little, that void becomes anger, and anger becomes sorrow, and sorrow makes me miss him till my heart bleeds.

It has been a week since we're here, seven days since I've seen him last, seven days of feeling lonely, empty, and lost.

Lost from the path I thought he built just for me. Silly, stupid Eve!

He has never called me once, couldn't spare a moment for a call or a text and I can only read that as pure distancing. And it hurts.

I've thought that it will be a few days matter, that soon we'll be back to NY and all the commotion of Italy is done and Enzo will be free to come back but I don't see any plans for that.

We're all staying here like frozen in time, waiting, for fucking seven days, feeling like forever.

I've asked dad one evening how long we'll keep staying on the island, but he hasn't been very happy with my question, his eyes darkening with a million thoughts in his mind reflected into that long glare he has given me.

He has only said that it's not the time to go back, so the uncertainty hangs even heavier in my heart.

Two weeks and five days today and the anxiety I've felt till now, dreaming about the day Enzo will be back, is being replaced with fear and anger and a tint of disappointment.

Dad is still talking to Enzo every evening. I know that because I'm eavesdropping whenever he's alone in his office, much like I'm doing right now.

"Eve, what are you doing?" mom asks, standing behind me, making me jump out of my skin with a deep stuffy sob.

"Shh," I tell her, placing my index to my lips, asking her to hush so I can hear better, and she bursts into a spree of laughter.

"You never changed, sweetheart," she says and grabs my hand, pulling me after her towards the kitchen. "Come on, grandma made ice cream."

I love grandma's ice cream. Or rather I love ice cream, in general. Proof of that is my always curvy hips and firm butt.

Yeah, I like to call it firm even though one can easily pass it as chubby. I don't care. Not when it comes to ice cream, and so, I dash my curiosity away, not for the ice cream but for fear of making mom suspicious.

"Hey, girls," grandma says cheerfully while filling ice cream in some blue cups.

"Hey, to you too," I tell her and pull her into a hug.

It smells delicious, vanilla and mint. She knows I don't like chocolate and she never uses it. Pfff, this is why I'm a brat, spoiled by everybody.

"How is grandpa Marce? When is he coming back?" I ask, taking one cup and feeding myself the heaven's sent ice cream.

Probably I sound tenser than I've meant because I see mom glaring at me through her eyelashes, making me feel my face burning.

"You could never get a word from that old man's ass even if you cut him an arm. I don't know honey, but he's fine and that's all I want to know for now," she replies handing mom her ice cream cup, sitting next to her.

"That's great," I reply and take my ice cream, exiting to the patio, my heart beating against my chest, stifling my breath, as sharp noise runs from one eardrum to another through my brain.

I crash in one of the armchairs, eating my desert quietly and gazing at the sunset, giving myself time to restore my breath.

I don't know for how long I'll be able to hide this turmoil I'm going through.

Sometimes I feel I'm at the end of my powers and can see myself bursting and if that happens, Italy is where I'll end up at.

I raise my nose to the wind, filling up my lungs with the evening breeze and hoping that I can hold on for a little longer when suddenly my serenity is chased away.

"Marce!" I hear my grandma shouting and I jump on my feet, knees buckling under me but still strong enough to enter back into the kitchen where I see grandma crashed in my grandpa Marce's arms.

"Grandpa..." I whisper and wander my eyes around the room to see Enzo.

He must be here. He must be back. He promised he would be back.

Once standing next to both of them, grandpa Marce wraps an arm around me, hugging both me and grandma at the same time.

My grandma is a sobbing mess, so much unlike her as she seemed always composed and cold since we came here but now, all the waiting, the worries, and fears spring out, turning her into melting butter in my grandpa's arms.

She cries out loud, shaking while grandpa Marce hushes her, whispering in her ears, smiling.

"It's okay, Genny. It's okay, I'm here now," he says, placing a kiss on her temple and then on my forehead.

I can sense that everything has gone good back in Italy or else grandpa wouldn't look so happy being back and still tears fall from my eyes, unable to stop them and I don't think I even want to.

I'm grateful to see grandpa back, but I want to know about Enzo. Why doesn't someone fucking ask about Enzo?

"How is Enzo?" grandma asks, lifting her eyes to her husband, and my breath hitches in expectation of grandpa's reply.

"He's fine. He still needs to fix some things. But it's over now," he says.

"Marciano," I hear my father saying, not surprised at all to see him.

I will never understand this need for secrecy with fucking mafia men.

They always keep us in dark, always oblivious to their businesses like we are some fucking illiterates that can't understand.

For protection, they say, but I'm sure it comes from their stupid need of always being in control, fucking tough dons and bosses.

Both men hug under my burning stare, deeply shattered by the broken hopes of having Enzo back.

Then comes mom's turn, lifting herself on her toes and embracing grandpa Marce with affection.

"It's good to have you back home, Marce," she says.

"It's good to be home," he replies.

Dad and grandpa leave almost immediately to dad's office after all greetings are done. Things to talk about, they said, and we decided to retrieve each in their own room, not before I grabbed one more share of ice cream, decided to stuff myself with it till I feel all numb.

It isn't very late, but I feel exhausted, and I've been sleeping like a new baby born lately, most probably the pecks of spending time around the house, almost always having nothing to do.

Once in my room I pull off my top and shorts and walk straight to the bathroom for a shower before my sleep, abandoning the ice cream on the nightstand, shifting my mood to feel like not having it anymore.

Usually, a shower sobers me up, but this time it's the very best friend of a sleeping pill.

I hear the soft ding of a text message coming through while walking into the bathroom, but I chose to ignore it and finish my shower before drying my skin with a fluffy towel, putting on a nightgown, entering my room, and rubbing another towel on my hair.

"Hey, princess," grandpa says, and I jump out of my skin, expecting nobody in my room.

"Sweet Jesus! Grandpa!" I shout, pressing one hand on my heavy chest where my heart was jumping.

"Aw, sorry princess," he stands up from the bed with pouted lips, walking towards me and hugging me sweetly. "I'm sorry, kid. I didn't mean to scare you this much."

"Damn, you really did scare me," I tell him, leaning against his wide chest while he pats my head with care.

"Who could have been?" he asks, chuckling.

"I don't know. Some hitman?" I say with mockery in my tone, pulling myself from his arms and dropping the towel on the bed, happy that I'm dressed when getting out of the bathroom.

Which I don't really fancy. I rarely do that when I'm alone in my apartment.

"Grandma says you were not yourself these days," he continues, shoving his hands in the pockets of his suit pants, top buttons of his shirt opened, and tie hanging unfastened on both sides of his neck.

"Grandma still spoils me," I smile.

He comes close to me and cups my face with his large palms.

"Grandma loves you, princess. We all do. And we do worry when our princess is sad or... worried," he says and his voice holds so much love together with a tint of questioning, which, of course, doesn't go unnoticed.

I curl my arms around his neck and glue my face to his chest, being so sure that his intense stare will make me spill all the frustration I've collected these weeks.

"I know, grandpa. It's so good to have you back."

He takes back my face in his hands, unhappy that I try to avoid his look. He stares deeply into my eyes with millions of meanings and smiles back at me.

I know he tries to tell me something, and my chest clenches in heavy breaths.

"Enzo is finally fine, and he'll be back soon," he says, and I can see his eyes saying more than his tongue.

"Grandpa... " I open my mouth to speak. I want to tell him about me and Enzo.

I want to tell someone that Enzo is reigning in my life and my heart, and I'm tormented by this loneliness that is engulfing me since he has left.

"I know, princess," he says, and I skip a heartbeat.

He knows about us, and he's not even surprised, he's not disappointed, he's not angry.

My sobs that I'm unable to hold back anymore transform me into a peal of laughter of relief and I'm sure I sound like a mess between crying and laughing because grandpa chuckles and kisses my forehead.

"He'll be back to you when he's ready, Eve," he speaks the only words that can comfort me right now, the only words I've wanted to hear.

"Oh, Grandpa," I sob again and crash to his chest.

My eyes sting with tears falling down my cheeks and I'm so grateful grandpa Marce holds me in this protective, warm hug, giving me the time to shed all the heavy worries I've bottled up all of this time.

"Thank you, Grandpa," I reply in a whisper and keep pouring my sorrow, engulfed in his arms.

*****
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