I swallowed the gag that choked my throat. Did Matteo slip into his son’s house to lecture me on how to be the perfect pristine wife? I’d already tried that disguise on, and it chafed like an ill-fitting pair of shoes. Romeo didn’t want me sweet. He wanted me as I am.
“It can be hard.” Matteo turned his back on the window and folded his arms over his chest. “You know, to live with regrets. I had a fight with Romeo’s mom the day the Donatos took her…I’m sure you heard the rumors about what they did to her. I’ll always regret that my last few words to her were a threat.”
A threat? He rubbed a finger over his knuckles, following the undulating line. The movement was so innocuous and his tone so light, but I didn’t forget who I was dealing with. This man had ordered my cousin killed, and he’d do the same to me when he realized who I was. This wasn’t a pleasant visit with his daughter-in-law; it was a warning and raid.
“What did you fight about?” I let my lungs empty with a slow shudder. His paternal demeanor soured, and his fist slammed down on the counter. The container of pistachios toppled and scattered over the counter.
“Don’t make the same mistake Rosetta did, Anita. She was the love of my life, but she tried to sway me. Keep your pretty little head free of worry, except for what meals to serve Romeo.” I managed to quash the wrinkle my nose made. If this was how Romeo grew up, it was no wonder he never saw me capable of being The Gardener. His dad didn’t even see me as a person but a doll to make his life easier.
“Don’t you worry. I meet him at the door with a whiskey in hand, every night. Neat, just how he prefers it.” I stretched my lips in a practiced smile.
He hummed his approval, waggling a finger at me.
“That’s exactly right. A husband expects a wife to serve him, and in return, he’ll take good care of you.”
Vomit coated the backs of my teeth, and I let the bitter, acrid taste sit in my mouth for a moment. I didn’t want to forget his insulting, condescending words. I wonder how he would react if I told him Lanton confessed to killing his wife. Would he be so pompous then?
A door slammed in the back of the house, and my shoulders snapped back. I tossed an uncertain look toward the sound. For his benefit, not mine. Unless Paolo had hidden, things were about to get very interesting.
“Have you seen your cousin recently?” Matteo’s expression turned sly.
“Which one?” I collected up the discarded pistachios, tidying away the mess as if I were a perfect little housewife. If Romeo could see me now, I smiled to myself.
“Paolo.” A shaft of light illuminated the thinning hair on the top of his head, still jet black, thick with a wave like Romeo’s. He tapped the gaudy pinky ring on the sink, and the chink it made was jaunty.
“Not since last week. Is something wrong?”
There was a scuffle down the hall, the sound of muffled fists being buried into unwilling flesh. Soft grunts and dragging heels preceded Paolo being muscled in by two guys. He’d landed a hit on one of them, a red mark glowed like a dot of blush on the apple of his cheek. He scowled and wrenched Paolo upright. My cousin was wise enough not to say anything, feeling his jaw with a tender knead. Matteo pursed his lips, shaking his head, slow and disappointed. His gaze slid over to me with a sigh.
“I’m afraid there is, Anita.”
I wished I was a crier. I flooded my eyes with a line of wobbling silver, but not the hysterical gush I wanted. Matteo was gentle as he wrapped an arm around my shoulder and ushered me into the lounge room. He marched me into the sunken lounge, his knee catching on the glass side table. The guards followed, dragging a subdued Paolo with them. Matteo patted the plaid cushion of the sectional, and I wobbled into a tense seat beside him.
“I apologize, Anita, I’m sure this is all very barbaric to you. But this is the world we live in.” Matteo dipped his head witha performative grimace. His eyes were smoky ocean glass as he waved one guard over.
“I want my cigars.” We all waited at his leisure as the guard hurried to supply Matteo with a box of cigars. The grandfather clock ticked in the hallway, and I wondered if Romeo was alright. I knitted my fingers together and glued them to my lap.
“W-what’s happening? Have I done something?” I was proud of the warble I produced in my voice. The guard shoved Paolo to the ground, planting his foot on his chest with a grunt. Paolo winked at me as best he could with a swollen eye. Matteo licked his lips and lit his cigar with a croon.
“Oh, Anita, darling. It’s got nothing to do with you. It’s unfortunate, really.” He sucked in the smoke and hissed it out through his teeth. “You see, Romeo disobeyed a direct order I gave him, and I need to understand why.”
My fingers coasted over the silver chain of my bracelet, and I longed to unlatch the needle. Show him what The Lady of Death could do. But they outnumbered me despite my desire for vengeance. My veins were hot with a frantic pump of blood and dizzying adrenaline.
“What has he done?” I widened my eyes.
Matteo leaned forward and chucked my chin, speaking soft and slow, as if I were a child.
“It has to do with Paolo. You’re very close to him, aren’t you? He visits you often, sometimes daily. I noticed you have a new greenhouse built in the backyard. Romeo hasn’t touched a plant in his life, so it isn’t for him. Do you know what your cousin does there? The true self he hides so well. I’m going to find out anyway, so you may as well tell me now.”
He reached out to touch me again, and I shied away, pressing my pointer fingers into the corners of my eye. It gratified me when irritated tears sprung forth in abundance. My gaze lockedon the pulsing tendon in his throat, and I wanted to slide my needle there.
I shook my head, knowing there was nothing I could say to sway the man. Words were nothing but noise out of my painted lips. He waved a hand with a gusting sigh, and the guards swung their boots into Paolo’s slumped form. Each land of their fists, each swing of their heavy boots, stoked a wildfire inside of me. The flames licked up the walls until I could taste the ash on my tongue.
“Tell me what you did to Lanton, you little prick.” Matteo tapped his cigar on the edge of the glass table, staining it gray. Paolo didn’t respond, curling his head under his arms as he waited for the beating to continue.
“Don’t do this. He’s innocent,” I begged as the guards aimed brutal kicks at his stomach.
Matteo waved off my cries, staring at Paolo as if he could discern the answers in his splitting skin. His lower lip was plumped and split, and his face colored like tenderized meat. I vibrated with impotent rage. Matteo blew out a gust of smoke.
