Sante

Chapter 2-3

As the car pulled up to my mother’s home, I closed out my messages and blocked Sante to avoid another situation of back and forth arguing.

“Thanks for the ride.” I gave him forty dollars and closed the door behind me.

My mother had only been in this house for the past ten years after my brother got elected and made it as a congressman. When he told us what he wanted to do, I thought he was crazy and lost his mind, being in the public eye like that, but he wanted to give my mother a better life. I put my key in the door, it chimed, and I heard laughing that made me feel like I made the right decision to stay here and recuperate away from everything.

“Rena! Honey, why didn’t you call?” Mom placed her glass of wine down and pulled me into her arms.

Darla Clark was the rock of our family and the only person I trusted besides McKayla with my life. She’d been my confidant, teacher, and friend in my corner, who got me and my brother through the rough times once our dad walked out on us.

“It was a last-minute thing. Did you cook?”

“I would have fixed up your room if I knew.”

I dipped a wooden spoon in the sauce and tasted the spicy flavors on my tongue.

“What are you cooking?” I avoided answering her question.

She tapped my hand to drop the spoon, picked up the plate, and poured sauce and noodles on a plate with a fork.

“Last time I talked to you, McKayla was getting married and pregnant.”

“She’s eight months old now.”

“Wow, that's great. Send her my love.”

“I will.” I removed my purse and put it on the counter.

“So.”

“What?”

“Why are you here?”

I dropped my fork.

“Why can’t I just come to see my mother?”

“You can always come home, but I know my child and you’ve never just dropped over without notice.”

She sat next to me on the island, as I looked around the kitchen and saw the updated renovations she’d made on the kitchen.

“I lost my job.”

“How? You loved that job.”

“Someone got me fired.”

“What! Who?”

“It’s not important.”

“Anything that happens to you is important. Do I need to call you brother?”

My brother thought of me as the screwup, even if he didn’t show it in front of my mom. He was the oldest at thirty-six. I, however, being thirty with a desk job that, according to him, wasted tax payers dollars with lies.

“No, leave it alone.”

Her brow hiked in suspension.

“Rena, tell me what’s going on.”

“Nothing is going on. I need to get some sleep and look for a job tomorrow.”

“How long are you staying here?’

I took the last bite of spaghetti and picked up her bottle of wine to pour myself a glass, gulping it down.

“I have enough savings to cover my apartment for six months, so I might as well cut the lease now and move back here.”

“Okay, get some rest for the night, and we’ll pick this up tomorrow.”

“You’ve always made the best spaghetti.”

“Glad I could feed you. Now finish up, then get some rest.” She hugged me again, and we chatted over her friends' problems with their kids.

“I remember when you used to dye your hair, and it would be all over the counter and your clothes,” she reminisced, and I laughed.

“I found my color red and haven’t changed it since.”

“No men in your life?”

“Nope.”

Knock! Knock!

“Who that be? Are you expecting anyone?” She wiped both sides of her mouth and headed to the front door.

“McKayla is the only one who knows where I am.”

“Maybe that's her!” she called out, opening the door.

“Hello, is Rena is here.”

I choked on my wine at the sound of his silky-smooth voice. How did he know I would come here? I jumped out of my seat, slid to the side of the wall, and peeked down the hall to see if it was him and pulled back.

“s**t!” I went to the back door with my purse and opened it slightly to make it seem like I left. The house was two stories with a basement, so I slipped in the side door and locked it behind me.

“She is. Can I ask who you are?”

“Sante Calabresi.”

“Oh, are you Savio’s brother?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

I heard the voices getting louder.

“She’s right here… Rena!”

“Did she drive here?” Sante asked. I heard a chill in his voice.

“No, a car service. Has something happened?”

“I’m sorry to say, but Rena’s stolen money from my family,” he lied. My blood was boiling, and I was ready to give him a reason to get shot since they missed earlier.

“Rena would never steal from anyone,” Mom told. I felt a nervous tightening in my throat.

“That’s what I thought, but some information was found that points to her.”

“Is this why she was fired?”

I opened the door. “No!” I shouted, marching in the kitchen. My mother didn’t see the smirk on his face, and I wanted to completely wipe it off with my g*n.

“Rena, what’s going on?” Mom asked.

“Nothing, he’s leaving.”

“Actually, I came to take you with me.” His eyes were fixed upon me.

“I’m not going anywhere with you.”

“The police were called, Rena. I’d hate to press charges.”

“Wait, maybe we can pay it back. How much was it?” Mom went to grab her checkbook.

“He’s lying, Mom.”

“Ten million dollars isn’t something I would lie about, cara.”

He’d used Italian when I lived with him for those few weeks, and he had taught me some words, and cara meant dear. That was his favorite to use on me when I pissed him off or made him laugh. Right now, nothing was funny. The measures he was taking to get me out here only meant he would kill me to cover up the shooting today. My only concern was my mother and how she would be treated once they got rid of me.