“La leonessa esce a cacciare,” he says with deliberation. “So, the lion comes out to prey.”
“I’m sorry,” I say quickly. “I just don’t know what to do. Where is Felisa?”
He turns away from me, his chin dipping toward his chest, his eyes staring blankly at the space in front of him. “She left. She quit.”
“She quit?!” I can’t help roaring.
“Yes,” he says, softer now. “She is gone.”
“Why? What happened?”
“It was, how you say, a long time coming.”
“You knew,” I say, pointing my finger at him. “You knew this was happening, that’s why we were sent away today.”
“Yes,” he says thickly. “I knew something was wrong. She was trying to fight with me. I didn’t want to fight with you all here. So I sent you away. Then we fought and she quit.”
“But why?”
He eyes me and gives me a sour smile. “Because I am no longer the son that she raised. And she is no longer welcome here. I don’t need anyone to compare me to the man I once was. That man is gone. I hope you understand that. Capisci?”
“Non capisco,” I tell him. “And I never knew the man you were before. I barely know you now.”
“Then let’s keep it that way.” He attempts to get up but lists to the side. I go to him, trying to help him out of his chair.
“Get away from me,” he yells, violently shrugging out of my grasp. “You can’t help anyone. You’re useless.”
I immediately let go and step back. “I am not useless,” I tell him, my mouth gaping a little at the pain in my heart. I know they’re just drunk words but they hit home and hit deep. My father, when angry, would call me useless all the time. Stupid and helpless. Always telling me I had to grow up. He was right about it, too—all of it—but I was trying now. I was really trying now.
“I can manage on my own,” he adds, trying to get up again. “I have so far.”
I take in a deep breath and try to ignore the sting of his words, which still flare inside me. “Managing is not the same as living,” I tell him.
“Oh, just go to bed,” he tells me, leaning with both arms on the desk, head hanging forward then rising up and down. As angry as I am, I can’t leave him here in the study. I don’t really trust what he’s going to do; he seems too volatile, and I don’t trust the alcohol in his system. If something were to happen to him, then Alfonso and Annabella really would have no one left.
I take in a deep breath and come back over to him. “I will go to bed once I put you in yours. Capisci?” I wrap my hand over his arm and try to pull him up and toward me. It’s like trying to move a pile of bricks. Eventually, though, he stops muttering Italian protestations and gets up. He smells like gin and cigarettes and lemons, yet somehow it’s almost the best smell in the world.
Together we stumble out of the office and into the hall, nearly colliding with the opposite wall. I’m steady on my feet but he’s so much larger and taller that when he goes in one direction it’s nearly impossible not to go with him.
When we round the corner to the stairs, I look up and my heart grows heavy. Alfonso and Annabella are standing together in their pajamas, watching us. They don’t look scared but they don’t look happy either.
“Try to walk straight,” I whisper harshly into Derio’s ear as I adjust his arm around my shoulder. “We have company.”
Derio looks up to see his brother and sister and his lips press together tightly. He swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing. He’s going to hate himself for this in the morning, I can already tell.
“Andate a letto,” he says to them and I wince when he slurs. “Presto.”
The twins continue to stare so I repeat what he said. “Go to bed, please.” I pause. “I will come see you in a minute. Your brother is fine, he just isn’t feeling well. I’ll bring sorbet.”
Like before, the treat gets them moving. They slowly go back to their rooms just as we reach the second floor, throwing little glances at us over their shoulders. They didn’t seem that upset or shocked, just worried. I wonder how many times something like this has happened. If someone like Lenora said he had a reputation in town for drinking, my guess is this isn’t the first time.
I open the door to his room and manage to flick on the lights. His room is gorgeous and huge, with an enormous king-size bed, a bathroom fit for a Roman emperor, a sitting area, and a spacious balcony. I have no time to soak it in, though. I quickly move Derio over to the bed and help him onto it. He collapses in a heap.
“I’ll be back,” I tell him, moving him so he’s on his side before I close the door and leave the room.
The children are back in their rooms like I asked so I quickly run downstairs and fill two small bowls with blood orange sorbet. Before I head up, I take a moment to breathe. My heart is racing a mile a minute, threatening to burst out of my chest. Felisa has quit, which means for the time being I’m in charge of the twins. There’s no way around it. Even when Derio wakes up tomorrow hungover but sober, I’m going to be the one who has to step up. At least until they find a new nanny, because they all know that’s not my job. That’s not even close to my job.
But for tonight, I don’t have a choice. And I really don’t want the children to suffer anymore. As I run the bowls of sorbet up the stairs, I can’t believe I’ve suddenly become one of those bleeding-heart won’t-somebody-think-of-the-children types, but it’s happened.