Page 77 of The Mad Don
“Yes, Don.”
They drag me toward the door because my legs won’t take my weight. How is she dead? How?
I turn my head as they pull me out. Giovanni has sat down on the edge of the bed beside his sister. He bends forward over her and puts his face in his hands.
And for the first time in years, a tear runs down my face.
* * *
The room I am locked in is dark, and the floor is cold. I was thrown in there, and the door shut behind me, leaving me in total darkness.
My back finds the wall. My knees come up. I let my head drop forward against them, and I stay like that, folded over, my hands hanging loose between my feet. There’s nowhere to go. There’s nothing to do with my body, so my body does nothing.
Fabiano set me up; it has to be him. Who else would be bold enough to pull this? But why is he so hasty? He was so careful, poisoning her so subtly; why did he become careless overnight?
Unless I made him careless, and he wanted to get rid of her before she could stand in front of Giovanni with both legs working and say Fabiano was making me sick. I pushed him, and he killed her. My heart sinks at the thought.
Lucia is dead. I press my hand against my mouth. I don’t believe it. I won’t. I press my hand harder against my mouth until it hurts.
Get up. Get up, Yana. Crying doesn’t help her, doesn’t help anyone; get up. I make myself stand. My legs are tired; they hold me anyway. I need to get out of here. If Fabiano has gone to such lengths to set me up, he won’t just let me be; he will try something soon.
I think about Giovanni. He’s clever; he’s the cleverest man I’ve ever met. So, he’ll take her to a hospital. If anyone can see through this, it’s him.
Please see through this.
The doors open suddenly, and the light floods in. Giovanni steps in with Fabiano behind him.
I run across the room to him, and I take his hand.
“Did you take her to the hospital? Tell me you took her.”
He smiles, and for one second, the hope is so big it hurts.
Then I see his eyes, and the second dies. It’s blood red.
“She’s been officially declared dead,” he says.
The floor feels unsteady. No. No, that’s — no, that’s not —”
He laughs; it’s a sound tinged with bitterness.
“The lab came back. The porridge was poisoned.”
“What?”
“You poisoned my sister.” His voice climbs. “In front of me. Have you no fear? None?”
The last word hits the walls.
“I didn’t!”
My voice is desperate, and I can’t make it stop. “I would never, I would never have hurt her or you, Giovanni, I swear to you, I would never —”
“I trusted you.”
I fall back a bit at the words. Fabiano puts a gun in his hand; Giovanni cocks it and puts the barrel to my face.
“Give me one reason,” he says, “why I shouldn’t paint that wall with your brains?”
