Page 45 of Mafia King
It has to be, but I dig myself deeper anyway.
“Grazie,” I say, then add the last lie of the conversation. “I won’t let you down.”
“Bene. Allora.” He kisses my cheeks. “I will take a swim, and after that, if you’re naked, I’ll paint your cunt the same color as your throat.”
Together, we laugh at his silly analogy, then he kisses my lips quickly. Without another word, he goes out back, leaving me alone to slide the fob from the table, wondering why he gave me the car now for a drive tomorrow.
He must trust me.
Poor guy.
12
VIOLETTA
I haven’t driven a car in ages, but the smooth satisfaction of controlling such a powerful object is a fast reminder of how it felt to be free.
Not free enough to stop for a pregnancy test. Or not sneaky enough. Maybe I’m just not brave enough.
There’s nothing to beat myself up about. My period’s late from stress. By the time I get the test, the sheets will be a mess.
“With your parents here, Zio Angelo’s house is too crowded,” I say to myself in the rearview mirror, testing out a cheerful tone for the duration of a red light. “And Santino’s house is too empty with just the two of us.”
At every intersection, I change it up, testing casual distressed, and with a conspiratorial wink. They all sound like baloney, so I give up and figure I’ll let it come to me as it comes. I’ll go with the flow, the way I used to do in nursing school.
I pull up to the house as the sun is getting low in the sky, but the Virgin Mary grotto in Angelo and Anette’s front yard is lit as if it’s the dead of night. At her feet sits a vase of two dozen white roses.
First, Damiano will put the debt money into escrow as an act of good faith, then send flowers. When her father confirms the escrow, he’ll give them to the Virgin.
Shit. This is the Virgin getting white flowers. Not the church. The front yard grotto.
The money is in escrow.
Am I too late? Has the date begun? Does it matter? Once the money is moved, dinner’s just to grease the wheels of the system before it’s time to crush someone.
The minutes that ticked away with Santino’s dick in my mouth could have been used to save Gia. My fingers tighten around the wheel. I push the brake pedal hard at the thought that he did it on purpose—as if I’m within my rights to betray his trust by coming here when I’m not supposed to, but he can’t do the same for his own purposes.
But he could have held on to the car keys.
He could have kept me home by fucking me for hours.
No, Santino did not keep me home an extra ten minutes to sabotage me, but idling in front of the house is self-sabotage at its finest.
Parking the car across the street, I firm my resolve.
I couldn’t protect Rosetta. I won’t lose Gia.
Breathing in a little more courage and out a little more fear, I approach the gate, stopping at the shrine to the Virgin for a word.
“I’m getting you out,” I say, then hop up the stoop to knock with confidence and determination, as if the glue that keeps my insides together isn’t failing.
“Violetta!” Gia throws open the door and smushes herself onto me. We double-kiss cheeks and she beams like one of the Virgin’s new flowers, unaware that she’s getting creamed in a game of bullshitball. “What a great surprise!”
She lets me in and closes the door. Though she’s in heather gray lounge pants and a matching hoodie with a bubblegum pink crown on the left breast, her face is made and her hair has recently experienced the attention of a curling iron.
“I needed to make sure you’re perfect for your date.” I wrangle the most genuine smile I can fake. “And Santino was like…” I mimic his voice and accent, pantomiming him flipping me the keys. “‘Take the car to her, eh?’”
She laughs.
