Page 116 of Dark Alliance
Carlo rubs the back of his neck. “I don’t want to imagine that.”
“But just picture it for a second. Can you?” He hesitates, then dips his chin. “That’s what my life is right now.”
“I’m sorry for both your losses.” Carlo’s a sensitive, genuinely sympathetic man.
My heart shatters a little from putting him through this scenario, but self-preservation is a powerful motivator. “Now, imagine that Frankie killed your father?—”
Frankie jerks back. “I would never!”
I flinch from my spot on the bed. I’ve never heard Frankie Jr. or Sr. raise their voices. Father and son have always shared the same quiet, mild temperament.
Carlo flexes his jaw. “Frankie would never do anything like that. He loves his uncle, and my father is a good man. Frankie would never hurt him. Or hurt me by killing him. We’re like brothers.”
Frankie pats his cousin’s shoulder before addressing me again and repeating, “I would never.”
Even though I realize I’m stoking their anger and this could blow up in my face, I continue to push. “But, Carlo, imagine if he did.”
“I love my uncle. I’d never do such a thing.” Frankie scoots closer and lowers his voice. “And you’re making me very angry by suggesting I?—”
“Angry enough to kill your uncle?” This could end with another backhand to my face, but I can’t stop. I need to break them.
My throat tightens, my palms slick with sweat.
Carlo moves closer, his hands clenched. “Stop talking about Frankie like that.”
“You know me, and you know my father.” The veins on Frankie’s neck bulge. “And I’m not some kind of psychopath!”
I study each man. Their blood pressure has collectively hit the roof, their olive skin darkening with rage.
I rise up on shaky legs, my calves flush with the bed. Despite my t-shirt and underwear being the epitome of revealing and not being a tall woman, standing is a show of power. “So, neither of you can imagine a world where you,” I nod toward Frankie, “kill his father?” I motion to Carlo.
“No!”
Their shout echoes in my ears. “Until recently, neither could I.” I finally have their full attention. “My mother died when I was nine years old, and last week, my only brother murdered my father so he could take over the family.”
The cousins visibly exhale, and I swear they both lose an inch in height. What a shock to learn that the man who issues your orders could be a cold-blooded, patricidal murderer.
I battle tears as I state my heartbreaking reality. Regardless, if I hope to get out of this, I need to vocalize my pain. “Nino’s trying to pass my death off as a suicide because my father changed his will. He wasn’t dying anymore. He was poisoned, and we’d found the antitoxin.” I step forward, flexing my hands at my sides. “Connor Gallagher’s the one who discovered the truth. He saved my father’s life. Eduardo was recovering, which was why he was able to attend the gala at the Cosmopolitan last weekend.”
“But Gall?—”
“Why would Connor Gallagher kill the head of the Ricci family when he and Finn Gallagher were forming an alliance with us?”
No one has an answer to that question.
I suck in a breath. Maybe this is working. “Nino gave the Roguilins carte blanche access to the Blue Hook Port, which we were planning to open back up to the Irish Kings.” I look directlyat Frankie. “Does it track, Frankie, that Connor would then kill Eduardo?”
He chews on his bottom lip, his freckles stark on his wan complexion. “No.”
“Carlo, does it track that Connor would save my father’s life and negotiate an alliance with us only to sneak into his room and slit his throat the very same night?”
He shakes his head slowly, his dark curls swirling around his head.
“You know what this is, right?” I gesture to my silk pajamas and the notebook on the dresser with the suicide letter.
They bow their heads. They do.
“I’m the last obstacle standing in the way of Nino’s reign. He’s silencing me.”
