Page 39 of Pocketful of You
"Your boyfriend?"
Numb, I nodded. "He shot him, too."
"Your father?"
Another nod. "He likes to do that."
"Yes." Sympathy flickered in his eyes. "I am aware."
"So, did you kill him?" I asked, drumming my fingers on the arm rest of the chair.
"Who?"
"My father."
"I am a man of my word," he replied. "Your father walked free eleven nights ago, along with your brother."
"That was a mistake."
His brow arched. "You think?"
"I know." I looked him straight in the eyes. "He'll come back and kill you first chance he gets."
Raffaele's lips twitched. "To save his daughter?"
"No." I shook my head. "He doesn’t care what happens to me. He cares about his pride and you wounded it. You made a spectacle of him. He'll be furious and vengeful."
"That is true," he agreed. "And he can come when he is ready to finish this. I will be waiting to settle the score."
I shrugged. "It's your funeral."
What did I care anymore?
I didn’t.
I couldn’t.
I didn’t have anything left inside me to give.
"I remember you as a much happier child," he mused in a melancholy tone.
"I don’t remember you at all," I replied, lifeless.
"You were three years old the last time I saw you."
I stared blankly back at him.
"I am saddened by how your life turned out, Ramona." He sighed heavily. "You had such a different future ahead of you."
I stiffened. "With your dead son?"
"You loved Giacobbe and he loved you." He smiled. "From the moment you laid eyes on one another, you were inseparable. It was fate. A solid match. Two of the most powerful Catalinian families coming together." A soft laugh escaped him. "You even held hands in the crib as bambinos."
I narrowed my eyes. "You're sick."
"You really do not remember him, do you?"
"How could I?" I hissed. "I was ababy."
