“He’s a demon,” she said, lowering her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. “He’ll poison you!”
Alessa blinked, for a heartbeat leaning forward with the tug before managing to straighten herself. “A … what?”
Ignazio made a more familiar grunting sound.
The woman’s one-handed grip tightened and she tried again. “A demon, yes!” She turned a shockingly hateful glare on Ignazio and smacked the Frappuccino cup still in her other hand against his chest so hard the plastic crunched and little bits of blended mocha-colored something splattered the air. “He has the spirit of Hell in him, this one!”
Alessa couldn’t help but to gawk at the unexpected sight. Just for a second. But she caught the woman’s wrist before her newly freed hand could join in tugging on Alessa’s arm. “Ma’am,” she said, forcing out the polite word, “if he has anything like that in him right now, it might be because some random woman just came up and assaulted him with a used Frappuccino cup. You don’t get to claim religious high ground, or any high ground, for that.”
The woman’s eyes went wide for a beat. “Oh, no,” she said on an exhale. “What have they done to you?” She sucked in a breath immediately and kept going. “No, it’s not too late. You haven’t been here long enough for this soul-sucking place to ruin you. There’s still—”
“Clarisa,” Ignazio finally said, growling the name.
The woman—Clarisa, Alessa assumed—froze.
“You’ve overstayed your welcome. Get the fuck off the Cavallo’s property.”
Clarisa drew a sharp breath and her arms shook. “I do not heed the Devil,” she whispered forcefully. “I do not heed the Devil.” She snapped her stare back onto Alessa. “Don’t let the devil’s sons ensnare you. You are a daughter of our Lord. I can see it.”
Oh, fuck.Clarisa was that type.
Alessa tried to rear back and Clarisa didn’t fight it, and a strange, brief moment of pause hung between them.
Then Clarisa said, “And clean yourself up, dear. You’re a mess.” She crinkled her nose, eyes riveted to a spot on Alessa’s shirt, before turning and striding away.
Alessa’s mouth fell open, but too many seconds passed before she found her voice. “That bitch.” She dropped her gaze down to her own shirtfront, anyway, despite knowing Lambert’s loogy would still be visible on the cream blouse. It washer fault for wearing such a stainable color on a workday, anyway.
“That was pretty tame,” Ignazio said as they resumed walking. “At least she didn’t threaten to beat you over the head with her bag of Bibles.”
“I think I’d have shot her.”
“Don frowns on that in public.”
Alessa shrugged. Technically so did her boss, but she was pretty sure, in the situation she was imagining, she could talk him into siding with her. Probably it was best she didn’t have to test the theory.
She parted with Ignazio where the casino opened into the hotel, promising to text him when she was ready to go, and went straight to the elevator. Despite that they’d both seen Crazy Clarisa ambling off into the parking lot, she didn’t feel comfortable dragging her feet. The phlegm sitting just beneath the breast of her shirt probably had something to do with that.
She was barely back in her suite when her phone rang, buzzing insistently in her pocket.
Alessa pulled it out and felt concern stab her chest at her parents’ number on the display. They knew she had been sent out of state on family business. Why would they call unless something terrible had happened? She hurried to accept the call even as her father’s strained voice replayed in her memories.
“There’s been a … an accident. Alfonso, your brother, he’s … he’s gone. He’s gone.”
Heart in her throat, Alessa dropped to thenearest sofa. “Yes?”
“Oh, Alessa!” Her mother’s voice was too chipper, the way it was when she played hostess. “I wasn’t sure if you’d answer, but I thought, it’s about lunchtime where you are, so maybe—”
Confused, Alessa said, “I’m working, Mom. Lunch is whenever I can squeeze it in. Always.”
“Well, yes, but…”
“Butwhat?” Alessa forced her tone to soften. “Is everyone okay? Did something happen?” Her mother didn’t sound hurt, unless she was high on pain medication. But what about her father? Her father wouldn’t have hesitated to jump in front of some punk Ink Blot if one of those asshole gangsters had actually come to their house, and actually threatened her mother. They wouldn’t be the first De Salvo soldiers to suffer, even fall, for this bizarre and fucked up war.
Except her mother had never been a soldier, never done field work. Her mother was just a mafia wife. And her father was retired. And Al….
It was just her now.
“Oh, no, no, everything’s fine,” her mother assured, as if the question were silly. She let out a small laugh. “Honestly, I was just worried about my baby. You’ve never traveled so far without anyone else, and you … haven’t been right lately.”
