It didn’t sit well with me. This bastard not telling me where she was and then telling me what another man did to my wife. The first should have come easy and the second hard, but it was the exact opposite. Though Livio was out to avenge his wife, and he despised the group he was with, there was no doubt that he despised us too.This, what Enzo had done to my wife, coming from his mouth, I believed. He wanted to hurt me in the worst way possible. This was one level below telling me that my wife was no longer living. And I had no doubt that, to persuade him even further in his reach for vengeance, Enzo had told him that Marzio had had his parents killed. Livio lived for ghosts alone.
The only thing stopping me from ripping the heart from his chest—because he didn’t come to my wife’s rescue—was the fact that he was in with them and giving us information. I understood his explanation, but not his point. At least he would’ve died in her honor, if it came down to it, honoring himself. But Livio’s plan was self-serving. If anything, Scarlett had made his life harder, to a certain degree.
Livio had started to walk then. At my question, he paused his steps. All of the men became quiet.
Three words emerged from his mouth that tightened the noose around my neck. “She fought him.”
Then he left.
Rocco and the other men hovered around me—maybe to keep me from breaking his neck. We watched him go.
“We will have to watch that one,” Rocco said. “Enzo today. One of us tomorrow.”
“He resents us,” Tito said. “And Enzo as our head! Cha! That is a branch that should have been cut a year ago! No honor!”
No words would come, the thoughts in my mind going back and forth—what that monster had done to her and all of the reasons why Livio didn’t stop her from being assaulted. Payback for the loss of his wife was high on the list. We had failed to keep her safe.
The night moved in painful slow motion. As soon as the first signs of dawn were on the horizon, I slipped into one of the robes and one of the masks Donato had gotten for us. The masks reminded me of pillowcases with the eyes cut out. Not even my nose was visible.
The crowds were thick around the church, processionals making way through the streets. Jesus on the cross, men bearing His weight as He died, all because of Judas Iscariot.
Our men were dotted here and there, men who were trained as Donato was. He had instructed them to act only if the chance presented itself. Spataro must’ve felt secure to bring her to a celebration of this size, which meant that she would never be alone.
I felt her before my eyes found her. We had been walking toward the church, and I spotted her close to the entrance. Guards surrounded her. Enzo kept his hand to her back as he spoke to an older woman who gushed about something.
Donato urged me forward with a shove to my back. Too stunned to move, all I could do was stare. She had her own clothes on, clothes from our villa in Tuscany.
I recognized the dress.
She had lost a considerable amount of weight. Echoes of her bones were visible. She wore the dress like it belonged to someone else. I had seen her that thin before, sometimes when she practiced too much and her food intake had gone down. It had always concerned me.
Accompanying the thinness was a cough that made me wince. She had turned her head to avoid infecting the woman before her. The woman patted her shoulder and asked her something in Sicilian. Enzo answered for her.
She coughed again, but this time her eyes searched the crowd.
Subtle, baby. Good job. You feel me. I’m here.
I narrowed my eyes. A blossom of blood seeped through the side of her dress, staining the fabric red. Some spots were close to brown, where the blood must’ve dried. Another subtle movement from her. This time she pretended to itch the bleeding spot. She was adjusting something, bleeding from the side of her breast.
“Scarlett,” I whispered.
My entire world went black with red spots. I hadn’t realized that I lost it until Donato caught me by the shoulder before I charged the crowd.
“Let me speak to her instead,” Donato said in my ear, squeezing my shoulder. “We cannot risk this.”
Without words, even behind the mask, he knew the answer. I’d maim him if he attempted to stop me.
“Talk to the woman,” Donato nodded to the man we had been staying with. “Find out what was said.”
The man wasn’t masked. He seemed to know people, some stopping him to make small talk. When he went to approach the old woman standing close to Scarlett, a man put a hand to his chest, shaking his head.
The old woman frowned for a moment and then seemed to excuse herself from the conversation. Enzo put a hand to Scarlett’s back, and she tried to twist to move his hand, but he refused. Taunting her. He led her into the church, followed by a group of men.
The man we were staying with began to speak to the old woman, and for a while, some of Spataro’s men watched, listening. Smart. If he had nothing to say, they’d know he didn’t belong.
It appeared that whatever they spoke of didn’t alarm the men that he was sent in as a decoy. After a while, Spataro’s men turned their backs, their attention focused on the entrance to the church.
The conversation lasted until he lured the old woman closer to us. Then he asked her, in a conversational tone, what she had said to the beautiful American woman. The old woman who had spoken to Enzo had no English, only Sicilian. She said, “The woman has the most beautiful eyes. But she is sick. I tell her maybe she is pregnant, but she does not understand me. Her husband does. He knows. Such a beautiful couple.”
