“Is that a threat?” I ask him. If he’s threatening me, I’ll put him in the ground. I don’t care about our history or all the things he’s done for me in the past. Business is business, and I can’t have anyone around me who won’t follow orders.
Marcello doesn’t answer. If he realizes that we’ve come to a crossroads, he doesn’t say. Instead, he reaches for the door. I let him go. I owe him that much. Hopefully, he’ll go somewhere to think about what he’s done and come back apologetic.
I realize that my marriage may not be conventional. I didn’t have a long engagement or invite any of my close associates. It happened quickly, and maybe that’s what Marcello’s problem is. I can’t help but feel that he’s acting like a teenage girl. He wasn’t invited to the festivities, and so he’s lashing out.
I hope that’s it, although I don’t appreciate the drama. Something about his anger gives me pause. It feels like it was misdirected, as if my marriage to Marlena isn’t the real culprit. If he’s angry about something else, I don’t know what it is.
I consider asking Giovanni to follow up, but then I dismiss the notion. I’ve known Marcello for too long. Whatever’s eating at him, I’m sure it will come up in the course of regular conversation. I don’t need to go digging for it.
Besides, I have more important things to worry about. If Andretti hasn’t asked for a ransom for Marlena’s brother, then he must have something else in mind. I don’t like the man, but I respect him. He wouldn’t make a move like that without considering all the angles.
If he intends to kill Brandon to get revenge, that’s one thing. But Giovanni said he hadn’t found a body yet. It would make no sense to kill someone without broadcasting it. In my line of work, there are two reasons for murder: One is that you want someone to go away quickly and quietly. Those are the bodies that are dumped at the reservoir or buried out in the woods where no one will find them.
But other murders are committed to send a message. Those are the ones that are personal, that have to do with family and honor. And in that case, you want people to know. Those bodies are left in parking lots or living rooms to show others that no one is safe.
If Andretti took Brandon out of revenge for the sins of Marlena’s father, I would expect the body to show up. But it hasn’t yet, which tells me that Brandon is still alive. And if Andretti isn’t asking for money, he must have some other motive.
There’s another knock on the door, and since I’m up already, I go to answer it. I shake out my fist. There’s a bit of blood on my knuckles, and I can’t tell if it’s mine or Marcello’s.
Luca is standing in the hallway. I let him in as I walk back to my desk to grab a tissue. Wiping the blood off, I can see that I’m not wounded. There might be some bruising, and it hurts a little to make a fist, but I’ll get over it. This getting-old crap is for the birds.
“Who’s the goon with the broken nose?” Luca complains.
“That’s Marcello,” I respond. “He insulted Marlena and her family, but he’ll get over it.”
“Ah, I wasn’t sure I recognized him with all that blood all over his face. But are you sure he’ll get over it?” Luca asks suspiciously. “He was cursing your name pretty loudly.”
I frown. It’s one thing to raise concerns to my face, but something else entirely to go around talking behind my back. One thing I can respect, the other feels like cowardice. I wouldn’t have pegged Marcello for a coward, although I did just hit him.
“He’ll get over it,” I repeat.
Luca shrugs. I can tell that he’s still worried, but unwilling to push any further. I like him, and I’m glad that he’s here. It gives me one more partner in crime other than Giovanni, since it seems I can’t count on Marcello at the moment.
CHAPTER 37
MARLENA
Frankie sits with me while I unpack my things. I have so many new dresses, but not enough hangers.
“I’ve got some,” Frankie offers.
We go over to his room, where he roots through his closet to pull out whatever free hangers he can find.
“Thank you,” I say, walking back to my suite.
“I’m going to get some coffee,” Frankie says, looking bored. “Do you want some?”
“Yes, please,” I respond, dropping the loose hangers on the couch. I can always come back to the unpacking project. There’s really no rush. And I’ve been awake for so long, even though it’s still early in the day. “I’d love some coffee.”
We walk downstairs together, blending in to the more than a dozen people who are buzzing around the house. I recognize most of them from the plane, and there are some who have been with Francisco for much longer. I don’t recognize everyone though, but it doesn’t matter.
I’m sure I’m safe as long as I stay inside, but that’s not entirely comforting. I keep thinking about Brandon out there somewhere. Is he cold? Is he hungry? Is he hurt? I know Francisco is fairly certain who took my brother, but that doesn’t make me feel any better. If Francisco’s rival is to blame, there’s no telling what he might do to an innocent college kid.
Frankie leads the way into the kitchen, and a few of the low-level soldiers who are eating lunch pick up their plates and move away. There are strict hierarchies in the house, and Frankie and I are at the top. No one wants to bother us or get in our way, so the moment we walk into a room, they relinquish the space.
It feels a bit awkward, and I want to tell them to stay put. But I’m also fairly sure that those orders came from Francisco. So I don’t want to confuse anyone or get them in trouble for not obeying their leader.
Now that the kitchen is empty, Frankie goes to the expensive single-cup espresso machine and starts to set it up. It hasn’t been cleaned from the last time, so he has to dump the grounds in the trash and wash out the filter.
