Antonio is half retired now, hence spending most of his time smoking stogies, playing bocci, and gambling on horse races down here at the DiCampo Street Social Club—one of the hundreds of little “private clubs for Italian guys” in Brooklyn.But growing up, he was one of my main bodyguards, which means I’ve spent acrazyamount of time with him.
He pulls back from the hug with a huge smile on face. He shakes his head, making a clucking sound with his tongue.
“What’s this I hear about my littletesorobeing an old married woman now?”
I blush and roll my eyes, raising my hand. The diamond that Bane slipped onto my finger in his dad’s back yard a week ago glints in the light, and Antonio whistles approvingly.
“Okay, I was going to voice my objections to you marrying aRussian,” he chuckles, “but it seems he’s treating you good with a ring like that.” His brow furrows. “Heistreating you good, yes?”
“Yes,” I smile. “And I’m sorry you weren’t at the wedding! It was a small thing with just family—” I frown. “Not that you’re not family?—”
“Dove,” Antonio chuckles, shaking his head. “It’s okay.” He looks me up and down with a big smile, then moves back to the easy chair he was sitting in before I arrived. He pats the empty one next to him. “So what’s got a classy, married lady like you coming to see your old nanny?”
I laugh and hold up the cardboard box in my hands. I open the lid, and Antonio groans in pleasure.
“Tell me those are De Farro’s?”
“Obviously,” I snort.
He grins widely. “The best bombolini in New York? For me?!”
“Who else?”
Antonio wraps an arm around my shoulders and hugs me. “Atta girl!”
When he looks at me, and sees the way my lip twists, he lifts a brow. “Okay, whyelsedid you want to come see me today?”
I glance down at the floor for a moment, then back up at Antonio. “Can I… I wanted to ask you something about that night.”
His smile slowly fades.
He knows what night I mean.
Antonio shakes his head and looks away. “I don’t like talking about that night.”
“Please? I’m trying to remember?—”
“Yeah, and I’m trying toforget,” he growls. “The sight of you chained to that wall, head shaved, dirty, scared…” He scowls. “I think of that nightall the damn time. There’s not a day that goes by that I don’t wish I could just forget it.”
Antonio was the first one through the door that night. From what I’ve heard murmured by some of my father’s men, Antonio’s also the one who shot Lorenzo first, right though the head.
“I know,” I say gently, putting a hand on his arm. “But… I really need to know something, and I can’t remember. I need you to remember for me.”
Antonio scowls, but then slowly, looking away from me, he nods. “Okay, what do you want to remember?” he growls.
“You heard about the Cielo family and their?—”
“Fottuti figli di puttana,” Antonio swears. “Yeah, I heard. Your papa is taking care of that shit, yes?”
I smile and dip my chin. “Myhusbandis, yes.”
He nods. “I like this Russian more and more.”
My mouth twists. “Apparently Lorenzo’s throat was cut?”
The words hang heavy in the silence that follows. Slowly, Antonio nods.
“It was. We came in hot, you know? And when I saw that son of a bitch, I just pulled the trigger and didn’t stop until my mag was empty. But…” He looks at me with a dark expression. “Yeah, his neck was cut wide open. Blood fuckin' everywhere.”
