Scarlett rested her forehead against the window—she closed her eyes tight and took deep breaths, the glass fogging and then clearing, fogging and then clearing.
“You’re safe,” I said. “If you need anything else, the man there will give you a number to call. But not mine.”
“But your wife is dead!Oh! Did your uncle kill her?”
I wanted to slam my head against the steering wheel. I knew the night had been long, but damn. She still believed Nemours was my uncle.
Scarlett’s eyes popped open. The two men in the back seat looked at each other, their faces showing nothing but confusion.
“No,” I said. “She’s not. That man lied to you. My wife is with me.”
Donato took the phone from her then. Small mercy. I gave him direction on what to do. Number one on the list was not telling her where we lived. Then we hung up.
“How did she get your number?” Scarlett asked.
“Nemours,” I said, glancing in the mirror and then switching lanes. “He gave her a phone to use.”
She thought about this for a few minutes. I hadn’t told her about the mysterious text that came to my phone right before one of the men called about our women being in The Club.
“Has he called you before?” She asked.
“No, not call, but he was in touch.”
“He texted you.”
I nodded. “The night you were at The Club.”
“What did it say?”
“‘It’s late. Do you know where your wife is?’”
As realization washed over her, her face became even paler in the darkness. “He was there—at The Club. That’s where Nemours saw her with you.”
“Yeah,” I said. “He knows Ettore is after me again. He claimed that he was my uncle.”
“And that I was dead.”
“Same theme as the rose,” I said. “And don’t say that word again. I don’t want to hear it, especially when you’re the noun in the sentence.”
The rat’s focus was on driving me mad, making me insane enough to do something to get me locked up or dead. More to the point, he wanted me out of the way.
We drove the rest of the trip in silence. We were almost there, so the macabre scene in front of us soon replaced the tense quiet.
Big spotlights highlighted the lot. Yellow crime tape, neon in the night, fluttered with gusts of wind. The coroner’s van was joined by enough police to form a small force. A few news crews were parked here and there, waiting for a break.
Scarlett sat up taller. “What’s going on?”
I narrowed my eyes as we drove past. “I’m about to find out.”
Parking was slim, but I was able to secure a spot close enough for us to see. Before I got out, I gave Guido and Nino instructions. Guido was to take the driver’s seat, Scarlett was to stay put, and Nino was the second lookout.
“I need to stretch,” Scarlett said, going for the door.
“Wait for me to meet you on the other side.”
While I stood with Scarlett as she stretched, Guido took the driver’s seat. Nino stayed put, his eyes narrowed against the darkness, on high alert. Scarlett had made us coffee before we left, tea for her, and her cup on the hood made wafts of steam rise. Cinnamon floated in the air.
I fisted her baggy sweater in my palms and pulled her closer. “Kiss me,” I said.
