Page 78 of The Mad Don
And I laugh, not because anything is funny; it’s because this is wild, all unbelievable, ridiculous, insane, and I’m the only one in the room who can see it.
“Are you stupid?” I look at him over the barrel. “Are you actually stupid, or are you pretending because I need to know?”
I throw my arm out toward Fabiano.
“He found her, he found her body, and he didn’t call a hospital; he didn’t try; he gathered men, and he pointed at me first. That’s time, Giovanni! Time she might have had, and he spent it building a story instead of saving her. Why, why would he do that? Ask yourself why!” I scream.
“Shut up!” Fabiano’s voice splits across the room. “Don, do not listen to her.”
I keep my eyes on Giovanni. His face is empty. His whole body is rigid inside that suit, holding something shut by force. He doesn’t look like he cares about what I am saying. But I still try.
“Think, just think for one second — if I wanted her dead, I’d have done it myself; I wouldn’t use a cook. Why would I leave a witness that would be caught so easily?”
“Nonsense.” Fabiano turns to him. “Don, you must not be deceived. ThePakhanused her as bait. He sent her here knowing she might be able to get to your sister. He might want to discard her after.”
I’m looking at Giovanni’s face and screaming internally for him to see it. It’s right there; it’s in front of you. Look at the snake beside you.Look at him whispering in your ear!
But I know why he can’t. The one person he built his whole life around is dead, and a man whose heart is in pieces does not think straight.
“You killed my sister,” he says through his teeth.
He pulls the trigger, the sound rips through the room, and I shut my eyes and wait for it, for the pain, for the darkness, but there’s nothing. The ringing fades, and I’m still standing. Nothing hurts.
I open my eyes. The wall beside my head has a hole in it. Fabiano’s face drops; he doesn’t try to hide the disappointment. He wants me dead.
Giovanni lowers the gun an inch.
“I’m going to make you regret this,” he tells me. “By the time I’m finished, you’ll be begging me to do what I just didn’t.”
He turns to Fabiano.
“Give her food, water, and maids around her every hour, watching every move. Not a hair on her head is touched.” His voice drops lower. “I’ll end this myself.”
He leaves the room as I cry out. “Please — please listen to me, Giovanni, please?—”
Fabiano stands there looking at me, and the smile he’s been swallowing all morning finally spreads across his face. Then he’s gone, and the lock turns over.
I lower myself to the floor. My hands won’t stop shaking. I get them into my clothes, pull out the watch I have hidden for emergencies, and tap an SOS directly to Kirill.
Nothing makes sense. But under the noise, two things stay clear, and I hold onto them like they’re the only things left.I didn’t kill her. Kirill didn’t kill her.
I pull my knees in and press my face down against them, and the thing that won’t leave me alone is that he couldn’t even look at me.
Chapter Twenty-One
Yana
The days pass, and I don’t touch the food. They bring it twice a day. Bread, water, sometimes a warm drink. It sits by the door, goes cold, and the maids take it away untouched and bring more. I drink a little of the water when my mouth gets too dry to swallow. That’s all.
I sleep on the floor because there’s nowhere else. When I fall asleep, I dream about Lucia.
In the dream, we’re in the garden again, and the sun is out, and I’m trying to tell her I’m sorry. I’m sorry I couldn’t stop it. I’m sorry I wasn’t fast enough. I’m sorry I came into your house and got close to you, and it killed you. She doesn’t look angry. She looks at me and turns and walks toward a light at the edge of the garden, and I call her name, and she doesn’t stop, and I can’t move my legs to follow. I wake up with tears running down my face.
Today, I sit on the floor waiting, and the door opens. It’s Fabiano who comes in. He has a smirk on his face, and he comes into the room and stands over me where I’m sitting against the wall.
“How are you, my lady?”
I don’t answer.
