“Stop, stop,” Brandon says, waving my concern away. “Go find your husband.”
“Thank you, thank you,” I say, gripping his hand.
“It’s not your fault,” Brandon says, looking up as I hurry toward the door.
That stops me. I turn back to see what he means, hoping that his forgiveness will help me forgive myself.
“Dad’s the one who got us into this,” Brandon says. “I’ve known that all along. You did the best you could.”
My shoulders slump. I’ve been waiting to hear those words for a long time. When Dad died, Brandon was still a teenager. So he was dealing with hormones as well as emotions. He shut me out and pushed against me the whole time we were on the run. Then, when he finally found friends at college, he acted like he was too cool to talk to me.
Knowing that he doesn’t blame me is huge. I tiptoe back to give him a kiss on the head before charging out into the hall to find my love.
CHAPTER 48
FRANCISCO
Ileave Frankie alone in my office and make my way toward the stairs. I don’t know what I’m going to say to Marlena, but somehow, that seems more honest. If I try to rehearse it or fall back on common ground, it will come off as insincere. If Frankie’s right, I need to be honest and express my feelings. I wish I had more experience in matters of the heart. That’s not something that they teach men in traditional Italian families, much less those connected to the mob.
I’m walking by the living room when Giovanni stops me.
“Hey boss, you got a minute?” my brother asks.
I look longingly at the staircase, knowing my wife is upstairs weeping. “Sure. What have you got?”
“It might be nothing,” Giovanni says. I can tell he’s excited about whatever it is, but he’s trying to cover all the bases.
“What?” I demand.
“I got someone who might have spotted Marcello at the airport,” Giovanni reports.
“Let’s go,” I say, remembering that I left my gun in the office.
I go back to fetch it, well aware that I’m walking away from the woman I love. Hopefully, I’ll get a chance to talk to her when I get back, but this situation can’t wait. I hop in a car with Giovanni, Luca, and two other of my men and we race across town.
“I don’t want anyone to kill him,” I instruct my men.
“Got it,” Luca says, understanding what I mean.
I want to be the one to do it. I want to squeeze the trigger and watch the man fall. I want him to know that Don Corello is the one who took him out. He played me for a fool, and no one does that. My anger is simmering just below the surface. To all outward appearances, I’m calm, but that would be a mistake. I’m a time bomb waiting to go off.
“You take the car and drive around,” I instruct my driver. “Keep circling until I call.”
“Yes, sir,” the driver says.
He pulls up to the departure gate and lets us out, then eases his way back into the flow of traffic. The rest of us split up. I’m looking high and low in the VIP waiting area, but I don’t see any sign of the traitor. He’s not in the bathrooms or in line to check luggage. He’s not at the food court or on any of the escalators.
We reconvene near the newspaper stand, and everyone reports.
“I didn’t see him,” Giovanni says.
“I got nothing,” Luca states.
“Nothing,” my other man replies.
“We have to get into the terminals,” Giovanni suggests.
“Follow me,” I say.
