“But we’re not talking about outsiders, are we, Mrs. Cosenza? We’re talking about you. And, clearly, you’re one of us now.”
“Am I? To what end? I’m Rem’s wife, yes, but that hasn’t stopped your family from trying to kill me. Fromyoutrying to kill me.”
“Me?” The whiskey could be getting to me, but I swear Aldo looks shocked. “Do, tell—what have I done to try to harm you, Lena?”
“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.” I don’t need alcohol to feel fire in my veins. “I’m not going to sit here and itemize the near-death experiences I’ve had. You know so very much about me and my life, there’s no way you don’t know what’s been happening or why. Especially since you were the one who ordered Rem to kill me in the first place.”
I’m shaking in rage, my grip on the rocks glass so tight I’m vaguely aware it might break.
In contrast, Aldo has become preternaturally still. A lethal calmness has settled over his face, the air around him practically vibrating with repressed violence. Gone is all pretense of the suave gentleman. The Aldo Cerreti I’m looking at is a brutal mob boss, through and through.
When he speaks, his voice is low, quiet, absolutely bone-chilling. “Take a breath, Lena, and repeat that very clearly. Exactlywhatdid I order Rem to do?”
Somewhere in the distance I hear shouting, banging, the sound of a fight, but Aldo pins me in place with his eyes as a roaring sound fills my head. Maybe it’s the whiskey. Or stress, fear, lack of food. Whatever the reason, my brain isn’t working fast enough to understand the subtext of what’s happening.
Aldo is clearly enraged by my accusation that he wants me dead.
I’m clearly insane for inciting a murderous mob boss. And delusional because, through the blood slamming in my ears, I swear I hear Rem’s voice somewhere nearby.
“Kill me,” I say. “I’m supposed to be dead. And Rem is the one who was supposed to kill me.”
No sooner do I say his name than the office door slams open and Rem storms in, two guards limping in behind him.
“Lena.” He calls me and I’m halfway to his arms before thinking. The secrets, our fight, my need for space and time and a return to sanity—it all feels meaningless as soon as I see him.
In this moment, I want Rem more than anything else in the world. I’m about to launch myself against him when Aldo gets in the way.
The older man grabs my shoulders, blocking me as I try to reach his nephew. I’m fighting, pushing and shoving as hard as I can, but Aldo’s grip is unbreakable. I manage spot Rem over his uncle’s shoulder and what I see stops me dead.
Aldo’s guards have their weapons drawn. Two guns pressed to the back of Rem’s head.
I lose my breath so fast I can’t scream. Shocked, I go limp. Aldo seizes the opportunity and drags me across the room, well out of Rem’s reach. The entire time, the older man keeps hisbody between me and my husband. Like he’s protecting me from something.
Like he’s protecting me from Rem.
Time stretches. I look between Aldo, Rem, the guards. Slowly, too slowly, I realize we’ve made a mistake. We’ve gotten it all wrong.
Aldo confirms it when, voice hard, he asks me, “Why the fuck would I order Rem to murder my own daughter?”
36
LENA
Imean, there are only so many twists and turns and gulps of whiskey a girl can take before she throws up. I manage to shift to the side just in time, sparing Aldo’s shoes the worst of it.
Thecapomutters in Italian.
Despite the armed guards, Rem comes closer, his voice full of concern. “Shit,piccola. Are you okay?”
Not really, no. But I don’t feel like I’m going to throw up again, so I give him a weak thumbs-up with one hand as I wipe my mouth with the other. A moment later Aldo hands me a handkerchief, the edges so sharply pressed they could cut.
Stepping away from my embarrassing mess, I wave off all offers of help as I make a beeline for the window behind Aldo’s desk. It swings open without a fight, and I suck down the frigid night air.
I attempt to block out the heated argument that’s happening behind me, Rem and Aldo talking rapidly in Italian as I rest my forehead on the window casing. Eyes shut, I try and fail to block out the word that’s hammering itself into my skull.
Daughter.
The men are getting louder, one of the guards daring to intercede. I hear someone curse as furniture topples over. I look over, my growing irritation beating out all other emotions. “Hey. Hey!” I shout, “Stop!”