“Change your clothes. We’re going out for the night.”
27
Rosalia
Iwas quiet as we made our way toward Harlem.
Earlier, Aniello had told me where in the city we were going and how to dress. I’d pulled a fitted leopard-print dress with spaghetti straps out of the closet, a pair of matching heels, and switched out natural colors for ones that went better with the night—heavier on the liner, and a deep red for the lipstick. Especially when Aniello traded in the t-shirt and slacks for a fine suit.
I wasn’t in the mood to go out, though. My heart was still doing that weird thing it was doing earlier, and I could’ve sworn at any minute I was going to have a panic attack.
My anxiety was at a level I’d never experienced before.
I kept thinking about Bambina and how she was doing in a house full of people who she really didn’t know. Peppin had seemed to take a real liking to her, but there were so many people there. What if one of them let her out by accident and she had no clue where to go? Or what if one of them gave her chocolate not knowing it was bad for her? What if she was scared because I wasn’t there? No one could love and protect her like I could.
“Rosalia.”
Aniello’s eyes were on the road, my hand in his, and he was almost squeezing to the point that my knuckles would bruise. Or maybe I was strangling his hand.
“Breathe,” he said in Italian.
I took a deep breath in, and it trembled out. Whatever this was between us suddenly felt…constricting. He had the key to everything, but he had decided to keep me locked out while the fire seemed to inch closer and closer to me.
The pressure from all the secrets he was keeping was feeding my anxiety, and I was close to exploding.
How could I go on living this way?
It was one thing to create a past for me, but another not to share with me what truly had happened.
Why didn’t he want to?
Did something horrible happen before?
WasIhorrible?
Was keeping the past dead better than bringing it back to life? Was it one of those second-chance things?
Cilla’s voice seemed to drift in my ear…Slow your roll, amica. Assanti wouldn’t lie to you. He’s not that kind of man. If you’re so curious, though, just ask.
Curious wasn’t even a strong enough word for what I was, but him not offering me the information made me wonder if I was ready for the truth. If I could handle it.
Once he told me, there was no going back. But I wasn’t going back anyway, not when I couldn’t remember.
The little scene in the house had me on edge too. At first, I assumed that Little Lina was Paul and Ginevra’s. What if she wasn’t? What if she belonged to Aniello and Ginevra?
It seemed odd the way Little Lina got so excited when she saw him, and more than that, his reaction to her.
What if he didn’t want to tell me she was his?
It was more common than not in this life for a man to have a wife and a bunch of mistresses. What if he hadn’t planned on disavowing because of me, but because something had happened, and the organization was close to proving it, he thought—What the fuck. Might as well get it out of my system since I’m going down anyway.
The organization wanted to kill him for a reason other than me. Because he was too dangerous.
Why would he have done what he did with me again, though? And was I so programmed not to ask questions that I couldn’t even be honest with him? And make him be honest with me? Even after I knew what we were facing together?
Or was it more?
Or was I just being fucking paranoid because my mind was faulty?
