Page 38 of Veil of Vengeance

“Here.” He extends his arm, gloves in his hand. Looking down, I get a better look at them to know that they’re gardening gloves.

“You garden?” That’s such a stupid question. Of course, he gardens. His answer is a raised eyebrow.

“Take the damn gloves, Valentina.”

I grab them as I look around the second floor. There's a lot of greenery in here, but there’s also the colors from the vibrant flowers that are planted around. The greenhouse is huge, big enough that it has a row of olive trees. When I look back at Emiliano, I find him still looking at me, this time with something akin to curiosity. He shakes his head and moves toward the cape bushes, dropping to his haunches. I follow behind him and watch him pull out dead leaves before he feels the soil.

“Aren’t you going to wear gloves?” I ask. He doesn’t turn around to answer me, so I walk closer till I’m close enough to see the side of his face.

“No,” he says as I pull the gloves on.

“Why not?” I pry. Emiliano sighs before looking at me from his position.

“Because I gave you the only pair I have.” Something in my chest warms at the fact he gave me the only gardening gloves he has.

“What about your hands?”

“You worry about yourself, and I’ll take care of myself. Any more questions, Miss Moretti?” His question is sarcastic, but it doesn’t do anything to diminish the gratefulness I feel for his kind gesture.

“No.” I shake my head, fighting off a small smile.

“Good. Now, would you like to plant something? Or would you like to cater to the plants that are already here?” Planting? That piques my interest. I don’t know why I’ve never thought of picking up gardening as a hobby.

“What can I plant, exactly?” I ask him. He stands up, which causes me to step back since he’s around a foot taller than me, maybe even more, and I’m just under 5’5”.

“There’s violet, cape bush, and bougainvillea seeds. There’s also thyme and some lavender seeds left over, if I’m not mistaken. I also have some zinnia seeds.” He counts off. I follow him as he makes his way toward a small cabinet near the olive oil trees.

“What do you suggest?” I ask. It’s a bit overwhelming, especially since I’ve never actually planted anything.

“The zinnia seeds are known to be one of the easier flowers to grow. So, I suggest those, unless you want to choose something else.” He turns his head to look at me, and I shake my head at him.

“Right, then zinnia seeds, it is.” He opens the top drawer of the cabinet and pulls out a medium-sized pot, placing it on the table that’s positioned near the cabinet, before turning back around to grab a small bag and a shovel. He sets them on the table as well. Emiliano opens the bottom drawer, which is bigger than the top, then pulls out a large bag of soil and puts it on the table. There’s a small spray bottle on the table as well, which is halfway full.

“You don’t actually need to have the gloves on for this specific process, but if they make you more comfortable, then keep them on.”

The gloves are huge, so I opt to take them off; they’d only be an obstacle instead of helping. He watches me take them off before he turns toward the table.

“You’ll need around three quarters of the pot to be filled with soil.”

I grab the shovel, and when I try to move the soil bag close to me, it only moves a couple of inches before Emiliano pushes it with the palm of his hand till the bag is closer to me.

“Thank you,” I mutter as I shovel the soil into the pot until it’s three-quarters full.

“The soil needs to be tamped, but not to the point that the water runs out from the bottom of the pot.” He grabs the small spray bottle and spritzes the soil three times, then reaches his hand and feels the soil. Emiliano sprays it again once before putting the bottle down.

“Can I ask you a question?” I ask as I grab the small bag of seeds and pour out three small seeds.

“That’s a question in itself,” he points out, before sighing, “Only if I can ask you questions.”

“Fine. Why do you guys live in New Hampshire if the heart of the Camorra is New York?” I ask. Emiliano grabs the shovel again and puts some more soil in the pot, covering the seeds.

“New York is our home, and it was where we lived before the attack in Ohio, but after my Pop’s death, it became too dangerous to keep my ma and sister down there. We didn’t know who was an enemy and who was an ally.”

“But why did New York become too dangerous if the attack was in Ohio?”

His eyes make their way to my face before an amused gleam enters them.

“It’s my turn to ask. Why are you trying to get close to my family?” he asks. I turn my head back to the pot, grabbing the small spray bottle.

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