My wife’s hands started to shake, but she didn’t lower them. The bullet must have just grazed her skin. It stuck behind her in the wall.
“Put your fucking guns down!” Mari shouted.
“Or both of us die!” Alcina screamed.
“One,” Mari said.
“Two,” Alcina said.
Scarpone and I both set our guns on the table, our hands forced, and stepped away from it.
“If we kill you both, then one of us will not be forced to hate the other for the rest of her life. One of us will not be left without our other half, while the other goes on to be whole.”
If we kill you both.
They were going to kill each other.
“Fuck me,” I muttered.
I could see it on Scarpone’s face. He never saw this coming either.
“We want your words,” Alcina said, keeping the gun steady.
“Swear on Saverio and Eleonora,” Mari said, doing the same. “You don’t have to love each other, even like each other, but you have to pretend, for the sake of the kids.”
“I swear it—”
We both started to talk at the same time and then stopped.
“Really?” Mari said, shaking her head. “Capo, you go first.Onlybecause you’re older.” She rolled her eyes at me.
He cleared his throat, looking at his wife. “I swear it on my son. This ends here.”
“Corrado,” Alcina said.
“I swear it on my daughter,” I said, meeting her eye. “This ends here.”
Both guns dropped, and the breath moved easily in my chest. I went to Alcina, looking at her arm. She moved it out of my hold, giving me a look that could have killed.
She slapped me behind the head and then started cursing in Sicilian. I stared at her, not truly understanding. Sometimes when she got that way, I couldn’t make out a word of it.
“You made your point,” I said, finally getting a word in.
She set her hands on her hips, fuming at me, and then she threw herself into my arms. I caught her and brought her close.
“Stop crying,” I said, the urge to whip her ass and comfort her at war. I wasn’t sure how to feel about all of this yet. It was hard to process what just happened. I almost lost my wife, my entire family, in one night.
“It keeps bleeding,” Mari said, pointing at Alcina’s arm.
Blood stained my hands. The smell of salt and iron was thick in the air, mixing in with the perfume of the candles still burning on the table.
Amadeo—Vittorio Scarpone—Mac Macchiavello—my sister’s husband—Capo—whoever the fuck he was—had his hand on Mari’s neck. He took one look at her face and grabbed her before her knees gave out.
“Tito,” he said, holding his wife’s limp body in his arms.
I nodded, looking at Alcina’s arm. My jaw clenched. She needed stitches. “We’ll meet him at one of the places.”
We both went for our guns, and Alcina made a noise deep in her throat.
