Page 57 of Mafia Queen
“You’re worth something to me.”
He’s right, and he knows it. The argument is over. I can be leveraged as motivation for surrender or consequence for an attack. But they have to catch me first. Not needing me to admit what’s obvious to him, Santino goes outside to talk to the shadow man who stood over Marco a few hours ago.
Finished with the bandage, I stand. “Stay off it,” I say to Vito.
“Sure.” He stands with a smile that acknowledges what we both know. He has no choice in the matter. “They seem like good people, your aunt and uncle.”
“They are.”
He goes outside, running to the tall building where the men sleep. Probably getting a shirt that’s not cut to shreds.
The couple who raised us are good people. They did everything for us. They made my sister and me their own. If I thanked them with every breath I have for the rest of my life and died with thanks on my lips, it would not be enough.
I go outside and find Santino at the side of the house, by the outside door to the basement, with a man whose back is to me, talking, talking, talking. I’ll die of starvation waiting for a polite moment to speak.
“Excuse us,” I cut in.
“Forzetta,” Santino says firmly.
But I don’t look at him. I’m locked on the dangerous blue eyes of his companion. He’s the one from the room with Marco. In the light, he’s harder and even colder, and the shadows don’t hide the way the tops of his ears end in a straight line, as if God stopped printing them out before he was finished. The man is bristling—holding back some kind of energy that’s not necessarily risky to me personally. I get the sense he’s used to releasing that energy by ruling over a faraway kingdom.
“This is Dario Lucari,” Santino continues. “Business associate from New York. Dario, this is my wife. Violetta.”
My name is more than a name. It’s a warning that I’m off-limits.
“From last night,” Dario says with a hint of a snarl, as if he’s still mad about the interruption. “You didn’t have to bother. We were going to get what we needed out of him.”
“But I got it quicker.” I turn to Santino, who’s directing a narrowed eye at Dario as if he’s trying to decide whether or not he likes where this conversation is going. I put my hand on his arm. “Please, five minutes.”
“Bene,” he says, pulling me away. “I’ll correct how he spoke to you.”
“Whatever,” I say. “He’s irrelevant. I have to get my Z’s.”
“No.”
“You can come with me. They know I love you. They’ll trust you,” I plead, but make no headway. He’s still stone-faced. I hold his lapels as if that will keep him still. “When we came, they weren’t ready for us. He built a bed for me, and I wouldn’t sleep on it for months. I thought it would break some kind of spell, and I wouldn’t be safe again.” I speak so fast I’m breathless. I have so much to get in before he’s pulled away. “And I wouldn’t let him pick me up. Not for the first year. Then I did, and he threw out his back. For weeks, he was on the living room floor, on the phone with his foremen and clients. He told them he spent his whole life moving lumber and brick, but this little girl…” I press a hand to my chest. “This littlepatatinahad a spirit heavy enough to break him.”
“Okay,” Santino says.
“Okay we can go?”
“I’ll go.”
“No,” I say. “Take me. Don’t leave me here waiting for you.”
“Do I have to lock you in a tower?”
“There isn’t a tower in the world that will keep me away from you.”
“You mean there isn’t one that will keep you safe.” He looks away from me, then back, changing the light on his face so I can see the dark rings of exhaustion under his eyes. “One trip.”
“There and back. Done.”
We kiss on it, and I believe him.
16
SANTINO
