“What was she like, after all this time?” A yearning in Maximus’s gaze appears briefly before he pulverizes it, like taking a booted heel to a cigarette. “Are you sure it was really her?”
I remove my phone from my pocket, enter the passcode, and hand it to him. Rafael leans over and watches as Maximus scrolls through the handful of pictures I took without anyone noticing. I did it for proof because I knew this conversation was inevitable, but I also did it for myself. Whenever I thought it was all a hallucination, I’d simply look at the images of her and everything would solidify in my mind.
The current Aida murdered the memory of my mother, Aida Dragonetti, and I need to lay it all to rest. Once and for all.
“It’s her,” Maximus whispers. He clears his throat and slides my phone across the desk for me to take. “And did she say anything else? Other than wanting the money to save her boss?”
I shake my head, my hatred toward Aida flaring at the twinge of hurt that passes over my brothers’ faces. “She met our father when she was seventeen years old. My guess is she decided later on she didn’t really want to stay married, and most likely did it to get away from her family in the first place. Or to come to America.”
The somber expressions on my brothers’ faces cause my chest to ache and my blood to boil with rage. “With that being said,” I say, keeping my tone mild despite the war raging within me, “I’m not sure Caruso is guilty of all the things we originally thought.”
Maximus leans forward in his chair and every trace of sorrow in his gaze disappears at the very mention of his father-in-law. “I’m killing that motherfucker for what he did to Emilia and her mother, may she rest in peace.” He crosses himself and then says, “We can do it together or I can do it alone, but either way, he’s going to die.”
I nod in understanding. “After learning the details from our mother about the past, I no longer have the clarity I once did, concerning Caruso.” Maximus gives me a disgruntled look and Rafael simply tilts his head in confusion. “I think he should be killed,” I say. “That hasn’t changed. I’m just not sure I need to be there when he dies.”
“I assisted you with Nardone’s cousin,” Maximus says to Rafael, “so you can reciprocate when I go after Emilia’s father.”
Rafael nods. “Yeah, I got revenge on that fucker for Carina, and there’s nothing that feels more satisfying.” He grins. “Other than being inside my fiancée, of course.”
“Then it’s settled,” I say, ignoring his remark. “Rafael, you’ll be with Maximus when he takes on Caruso, who no longer holds Nardone in high esteem. With them divided, I’m shifting my focus to Violetta’s father. I plan on killing him for the same reasons Maximus has concerning his wife. Nardone did not treat Violetta and Carina well and his daughters deserve recompense.”
Rafael slams his fist on the desk, earning a look of warning from me. “Why do you get to kill him? As you said, he was an asshole to my future wife as well as yours, which entitles me to get in on the fun.”
“I thought it fair that each of us kills the main offender to our wives,” I say with a diplomatic air. “And I didn’t say you couldn’t help, but since you already did away with Ugo, I want Paolo Nardone.”
Rafael folds his arms and leans back in his chair with a disgruntled curl to his lips. “Fine, but I want to be there for the torture part. It’s my favorite.”
His petulant tone, along with his expression, reminds me of a child who has been denied candy. My lips twitch with amusement. However, all of my mirth fades in the blink of an eye when the doorknob turns and the door is pushed open with a great deal of force.
By the time the newcomer steps inside the room, there are three firearms pointed in their direction, aimed directly at the heart.
“If you’re going to shoot, don’t miss,” my mother says with a raised brow.
My brothers and I lower our weapons, but none of us stow them away. I get to my feet, taking control of the situation while Rafael and Maximus get hold of themselves. Not that I can fault them. Seeing your mother alive and well after believing she was dead is difficult to come to terms with.
“What are you doing here?” I ask. “And I might add, without my permission.”
Aida slowly pulls her gaze from my brothers and it’s with great reluctance. The gray of her eyes is bright with emotion, but she blinks it away and marches toward my desk. I eye her with suspicion as she approaches and my mind fires rapidly with potential reasons as to why she’s in my house. The most logical motive is the need for money.
She has a better chance of finding it at the end of a Glock than in my pocket.
“I came to give you these.” Aida sets down a manila folder in front of each of us. They’re filled with a large stack of papers and my fingers twitch to open the folder and find out what’s inside. “I’m sure Tristano told you everything we discussed while he was in Guatemala, but what the three of you don’t know is that I’ve watched over you this entire time. Open those and you’ll understand.”
“Is anthrax still a thing?” Rafael mutters when reaching for his folder.
Maximus’s gaze darts from him to my mother and then lands on his set of papers. He wordlessly opens it and takes hold of the first sheet on top. I give in to the urge to do the same and then stare at the paper.
It’s a newspaper clipping of me, from the time I won the science fair in the fifth grade, shortly after my mother left. My father escaped with us and we’d gone into hiding, yet somehow Aida knew where we were. A niggling suspicion slithers along my senses as I go through the folder, staring at each of the pages. They vary from school accomplishments to awards achieved during sports and the dates range from shortly after my mother “disappeared” until recently when Rafael’s engagement announcement was printed in the newspaper.
I slowly lower myself into my chair as the significance of this bombards me. After scanning my brothers’ faces, they too, are coming to the same conclusion and it’s staggering.
Our mother has watched over us our entire lives.
“There’s something I didn’t tell you, Tristano,” she says, breaking my train of thought. “My former fiancé not only threatened to kill the three of you and your father if I ever went back to him, but the other reason I never returned is because I was pregnant with his child, andnotby choice.”
The impact of that statement, heavy with things unsaid but inferred, leaves me temporarily frozen.
She lifts her chin and inhales deeply. “He raped me, repeatedly, and I couldn’t go back to your father in that condition, aside from the pregnancy. Then there were the threats hanging over all of you. I wasn’t going to put my family in danger, no matter how much I missed you,” she says, her words no more than a whisper. It feels like a confession.
