Paolo was right. We had much in common.
“No sarcastic quip now, wife?” Romeo stalked out of his chair and pressed against my side. He loomed over me, but I refused to look, gaze pinned on the darkness outside. “Do you save those for The Gardener? I know you must know him. But what I can’t work out is how or why.”
Reality crashed over me, and bitter acid coated my tongue. He underestimated me again. I had shown him, subtly, who I truly was. But he had missed it. I couldn’t understand the disappointment I felt.
His heat pressed against me, closer than ever. But I had never been so alone. He claimed to love me, but he couldn’t, not when he didn’t know who I was.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” I tore away from his drugging warmth and hurrying from the room.
“I’m going to find out, Anita. I’m going to learn everything.” His challenge rang out after me.
Romeo did not threaten me. Nobody had managed what he claimed yet, and he’d already proven he couldn’t see what was right in front of him.
10
Matteo Orazio was not a patient man, but he was happy to make me wait.
His office walls were painted forest green, the back lined with heavy mahogany wood bookcases. My father hadn’t cracked one spine of the thick books stuffed into the shelves. He probably had no idea what subjects they were about. They were a puzzle piece my dad fit together to perfect his reputation for strength and austerity.
Growing up, he ruled the house with a firm hand. Everything had its place. The only time I’d ever seen him lose his temper was when I’d broken into his office and played with a carved wooden truck. Its wheels stuck on the shag carpet, letting out a horrible squeak. The sound had alerted him, and I still had an aversion to the dark puce color his cheeks turned. I wiped away imaginary spittle, the memory coming back to me with a violent wave.
My mom said I could only play with my toys when he was away from the house. Which, admittedly, was often. Matteo Orazio preached restraint, and he lived it. My elbows used to poke through my threadbare shirts before he would allow my mom to replace them.
My mom said it was because of the war, but even as a child, I didn’t understand why she spoke in a whisper all the time. My dad was strict, but he never hurt her as far as I knew. Sometimes I wished I had hair like hers, glossy blonde, streaked sun-bleached gold. Her gaze became heavy with resignation as, over time, I transformed into my father’s mirror.
My dad scribbled his signature on the last letter in his pile, blowing on the dark ink as he flicked me a cursory look.
“I don’t have an appointment for you on my schedule.Cosa vuoi?What do you want?” His attention dropped to the letter, which he folded into a perfect half, dragging his finger along the edge. He was wearing a chunky gold ring on his pinkie finger, a fat ruby nestled in the middle. He would have beaten me as a child if I ever mentioned wanting to flaunt wealth like he was doing right now.
But many things had changed since he became close to Lanton Vani.
“Do I need an appointment to see my dad?”
His nose wrinkled with distaste, and he leaned back, lacing his hands over his barrel chest.
“Don’t be smart, it’s disrespectful. Now tell me what brings you here.”
I didn’t know how to bring up what I wanted to say, so I opted for bluntness.
“Lanton’s first wife, Diane. Did she ever come to see you about him? Did she have a discussion with you about Lanton?”
My dad rattled out a beleaguered sigh. His shirt sleeve hitched up, and a gold chain slid down his wrist. His lip curled up fora beat, like he expected me to say something. He still wore his wedding band. It was scratched and dull compared to his new jewelry. My mom’s had been the same, only smaller. Diamonds were a luxury, not a necessity. This new flash had Lanton’s thick fingers all over it.
“I see you’ve been indulging Bruno. Lanton has been more than forgiving about Bruno spouting off false rumors. If he’s not careful, that will stop soon, and I won’t step in to protect him.”
I scrunched my eyebrows together, feeling wrong-footed. The desk between us was a line I couldn’t cross and there was no love for me to appeal to. The only thing my dad understood was hard work and respect. Or he used to.
“I’ve heard things.”And seen the depraved and horrific truth of them.
“Lanton’s a pig. I won’t deny that.” My father’s taut belly shook as he laughed. “Lord knows he’s gotten worse. But he’s my oldest friend, Romeo. He’s been by my side since you barely scraped my hip. If you can’t look at things logically, maybe you’re not cut out to take my place. Perhaps you need another year in Italy.”
My back snapped straight as I thudded into the chair. When I was thirteen, he’d sent me to our distant relatives in Italy, with the express desire to ‘make me a man.’ My connection to my heritage had frayed over the hellish three hundred and sixty-five days I was there. It didn’t matter that I spoke fluent Italian or had the name Orazio. My relatives broke me down with a viciousness I didn’t deserve, and I’d promised I would never return there. Was he threatening me? My dad’s gaze was unwavering, and I struggled to maintain the same composure. I’d been training to take his place from the moment I was born. I hadn’t truly ever considered it, not until I learned the truth about how my mom died. Our rivals, the Donatos, had plucked her off the street, tore strips off her until there was nothing but her blood-soaked, long locks. Whatever was left of her had beentoo mangled to identify conclusively, but it had come at the same time the Donatos were trying to gain more territory. I’d still been too young to understand the vengeance that built in me. I knew I would do whatever it took to protect those in my territory. Now, he was threatening to take it away from me.
“He beats his wife.” I thought I could appeal to his gentlemanly manner, but my dad only shrugged. The dismissive movement carved a hole in my chest.
“What kind of business do you think we’re in, Romeo? He took the girl in from the street. If she truly feels abused, she can get a divorce and leave. Nobody is making her stay there. Whatever things you’ve heard about Lanton, it doesn’t matter if it stays out of the public and the law. But regardless, this is a waste of my time.”
That was when I realized. What if Lanton wasn’t the only monster? I’d thought my father had been blind to his best friend’s poison, but what if he was complicit as well? The door to the office swung open, and the subject of our conversation sauntered in. He slapped a hand on my shoulder, unperturbed by interrupting.
