A young boy on a bike that was unknown to the neighborhood had delivered the package. With all of the commotion from the night before, the boy was overlooked on the monitors. He strolled up, took the steps two at a time, set the package down, and then took off.
That was as far as Guido and I got before it was time to pick up Maggie Beautiful and Aberto from the airport.
It was hard to concentrate on anything else, though. My instincts told me that it was Nemours. He had delivered a rose with a toe tag before, in Italy, right before Scarlett and I moved to New York.
I hid the evidence from Scarlett, but I knew that we would have to sit down and talk soon—the truth was never easy, but it had to be said. Her behavior could contribute to either Nemours or Ettore getting close enough to snatch her.
“Take our picture here with your vintage camera, Scarlett Gorgeous!” Maggie Beautiful said for the hundredth time, breaking through my thoughts.
Maggie Beautiful insisted that we take Aberto to see the Statue of Liberty from Liberty Island and then bring him to the Ellis Island Immigration Museum. Aberto claimed he had a long-lost uncle who emigrated from Italy to America in the 1800s, and he wanted to see if there was any record of it.
We took the ferry across the Hudson’s choppy waters. The wind soared around us. The temperature sliced with frozen knives against the skin. It was so cold that the taste of winter was on the tongue, and I could smell damp, frozen earth deep inside of my lungs.
A scattering of pure white snow dotted the area around the Statue of Liberty, and all of the trees were barren, nothing but black silhouettes against the bustling Manhattan skyline. Numerous tour boats cruised around the river, all vying for the same location. An American flag seemed to brighten up the overcast day; in the distance, its waves were a welcome sight.
Scarlett had been quiet most of the day, and so had I. Maggie Beautiful had filled the silence, but as she sat next to Aberto and listened to the audio of the history of the islands, Scarlett took the opportunity to stand on the edge of the boat, taking a picture of the Statue of Liberty in the distance.
I followed her, standing behind. We were inching our way closer to a place of peace again. The fight had been so intense that it had made us stumble back a few paces.
She put her camera away, but instead of watching land close in, she watched the water. It purled underneath the boat, dark and threatening. Not to me, but to her. She wasn’t fond of water or cars.
“You made me worry.” I sighed, sticking my hands deep into my pockets. “I fucking hate it.”
She shook her head, like she was shaking out of a trance. “What? When?”
“Last night.” My hands didn’t feel right, hiding, so I wrapped my arms around her, pulling her closer, breathing her in.
“You worry me all of the time,” she whispered, her hands slipping over mine. We intertwined our fingers together. “This.” She nodded toward the water. “Scares me to no end.”
“Tell me what about the water scares you.”
“That you are at her mercy. And there’s not a damn thing I can do to stop her from taking you, if she decides to.”
“Her?”
A hint of a smile touched her face. “Water seems like a woman to me.”
“Yeah, but aren’t we all at someone else’s mercy? We all have someone or something that leads us. Someone or something bigger than who we are.”
Liberty Island came in closer, Lady Liberty standing even taller, her flame held high, and as she did, we seemed to inch even closer to peace.
Four hours later, we had made it back to our brownstone and were getting ready for a night out with the entire Faustifamiglia.
Scarlett showered and changed into a fitted, slate-colored dress that ended right above her ankles. The top crossed, showing off the cross around her neck—it had been my grandmother’s. Seven diamond bracelets on her wrists caught the light and set off the gold in her skin. Her nails were almost black. Her heels were bright red and high.
Before we left, she looked up at me and fixed the side of my hair.
“There,” she said, staring at the spot.
“Thank you, baby,” I said. She blinked a few times and then turned for me to help her into her evening coat.
She rode shotgun in her Range Rover. The vehicle was hers, but she hardly used it. She enjoyed riding her bike or walking instead. But it was roomie enough for the four of us, and it had been customized to withstand a siege, thanks to Rocco.
Maggie Beautiful and Aberto sat in the back seat. Maggie Beautiful kept leaning over her husband, pointing out the sites she wanted him to see. “Yes. Yes.” He kept patting her. “I see, Margherita.”
A slow song came on the radio, and a few seconds after, Scarlett slid her cool hand against mine and then wove our fingers together.
I put her hand to my mouth, inhaling before kissing her skin. Keeping her hand against my lips felt right, and I kept it there for a while, until I was forced to let go. Traffic in the city was vicious. I could feel her eyes on me as we navigated the streets.
