“Wow.”
It was all she said while she turned around in a circle, her gaze up on the vaulted, frescoed ceiling. Salvatore had tacky taste if you asked me, but watching her take it in, to see her in awe, made me strangely, stupidly proud.
I cleared my throat and pushed the door closed, hearing the lock engage when I did. I moved swiftly through the house, turning on lights as I went, seeing the layers of dust covering the sheets protecting the remaining furniture.
“It’ll need to be cleaned,” I said, trying to avoid looking at the closed door that led into the dining room. Trying not to think of that night. Of what I’d find there. That was the one room I hadn’t allowed to be cleaned. I wondered now how it would look—glasses left on the table now filled with dust, the whiskey having long since evaporated. Would the blood have seeped into the obnoxious marble floors? Splattered and stained the walls with permanent reminders? Would it take me back in time to that night, that terrible night, when I’d learned the truth and lost everything in the process?
“This room is off-limits,” I told Gia, gesturing to the closed dining-room door.
She shifted her weight onto one leg and narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something smart, but then her expression changed, like she knew this was serious. Like she knew not to fuck with me on this. She nodded.
I walked over to the liquor cabinet and found a bottle of unopened whiskey. I took it and found a glass. She followed me into the kitchen, where I turned on the gurgling tap and waited until the water ran clear before rinsing the glass. I filled it halfway with the liquor. I held it out to her.
She hesitated but then took it and sipped, squeezing her eyes shut. I guessed it scorched the back of her throat. She then handed it back. I drank a long swallow and refilled the glass, appreciating the burn. Salvatore had good taste.
“Can I have a proper shower?”
I nodded and finished the glass, then led the way upstairs to Lucia’s old room.
“Who’s room was this?” she asked, eyeing the abandoned makeup, the lipstick on the vanity with its lid off, the discarded pair of shoes lying beside the bed.
“My brother’s wife’s room.”
She looked at me, confused.
“It was my brother’s house. He left it seven years ago. I took it over.”
She searched my face, my eyes. Had she heard the story of the Benedetti brothers? Of how the one almost killed the other? No one knew what transpired that night, at least as far as the why of it. No one knew the secret Franco had told. No one but those who were here. As far as the mafia world was concerned, Dominic Benedetti was alive and well and had left after a family argument.
“Bathroom’s in there. You’ll have to deal with the dust. I need to make a call. Do I need to lock you in the bedroom, or will you stay put?”
“Lock me in?” She rested her hands on her hips, and her eyebrows rose high on her forehead.
I nodded. I didn’t have time to deal with her right now. I needed to make a call. I needed to find out where Roman stood.
“I’ll stay,” she said, her tone irritated. “And I want this off,” she pointed to the collar.
“Maybe we need to revisit some things.” I went to her, took her by the collar, and walked her backward until her back hit the wall. She pressed against my chest, but I pulled upward, forcing her chin up. Her eyes went wide, angry but also fearful, like they’d looked in the cabin.
“You’re still mine, you’re still owned. When I took you out of the cabin, I stole you from Victor Scava. I did not release you. You do not give orders. You obey them. Understand?”
I felt her throat work as she swallowed. Her lips tightened, and her little hands fisted at my chest.
“I asked you if you understood.”
“Yes,” she bit out.
I gave her a grin. “Good.” I released her. She took a full breath of air and stood against the wall as I left. I didn’t lock the door behind me. I went downstairs to Salvatore’s study.Mystudy. There, I switched on the light and dragged the sheets off the chair and desk and sat down. Using my cell phone, I scrolled down to Roman’s number and hit Send.
He answered on the second ring. “Dominic?”
“It’s been a while, Uncle.”
He exhaled deeply. “Yes, it has.”
I hadn’t seen him in almost seven years, and his voice told me Salvatore was right. He’d hardened in that time.
“I heard about the body,” I said, getting right to business.
