Lucia and Gia stood. Gia’s eyes when she met mine turned angry, fierce even, and she shifted that anger to Henderson. Salvatore must have seen it too, because just as she took a step toward the old man, he intervened, taking her by the arm.
“Let’s go. We’re leaving.”
She glanced from him to me and back.
“I said we’re leaving,” Salvatore said.
Lucia took Gia’s other hand. “Come on. We’ll talk in the car.”
20
GIA
Lucia told me this morning that she’d worn the dress I wore now to her father’s funeral so many years ago. That she’d only worn it that one time. We dubbed it the funeral dress. I decided I would burn it once I finished with it today.
While we waited for the men to return, she asked me about Dominic. Asked if we were a couple. I hadn’t known how to answer that, so I shifted the conversation to her and her family. The way she spoke about Salvatore, I knew she loved him. And the way he looked at her, hell, he worshipped the ground she walked on.
I admit, I grew envious. I’d never had anything like that before. Not even close, not even with James.
Now as the men sat silent in the front seat of the SUV as we drove toward the church, I watched them, studying the physical differences, the light to the dark in physical appearance. But the thing that impressed me more was the similarity of the darkness inside each of the brothers. I knew the life they came from. Shrouded in shadow, they had seen and done terrible things. Things neither would forget. Things perhaps neither should be forgiven.
I was a part of this world too. Their world. The day I’d seen Mateo tortured and killed had plunged me into its murky depths. We sat there now, all of us. The difference between Dominic and I, and Salvatore and Lucia, was that Salvatore and Lucia lived in the light. They could walk away. They had once and would again. In a matter of hours, they would shrug off the darkness and leave it behind, scrub it from their bodies before touching their children. But Dominic and I—I knew in every cell of my body there would be no walking away. He and I were embedded in dark. We would die in it.
“I don’t want to stay for the reading of the will,” Lucia said. “I don’t want you in there either, Salvatore.”
Her face had lost its shine and gone pale. Neither man had spoken since we’d gotten into the car, but she must have picked up on the thing vibrating off them just as I had.
Salvatore climbed out of the SUV and opened Lucia’s door. They stood there then, just outside the vehicle, heads bowed together, talking in whispers, having such a private moment I felt like an intruder to watch but found myself unable to drag my gaze away.
Salvatore wiped her tears with his hands. They stood so close. It was as though they were one person. He then kissed her forehead and lay a hand on her belly. Lucia nodded, and Salvatore met Dominic’s eyes, a signal passing between them.
“Let’s go in,” Dominic said.
My heart raced; my belly was in knots. Black sedans lined the street, the hearse already emptied, Franco Benedetti’s body likely already waiting at the top of the aisle.
“Is Victor here?” I asked, clutching the bag that held the pistol.
“I don’t know.”
“Why didn’t Lucia want Salvatore to go to the reading of the will?”
He shook his head, his mind obviously a million miles away.
“What is it? What did that man tell you?”
Dominic turned to me, but if he was about to tell me, he changed his mind.
“Let’s get this over with.”
He shifted his gaze to a point ahead, disappearing into thought, moving through the motions.
The organ began to play just as we entered the church. Everyone stood and turned. and I felt my face burn as every eye in the place landed on us.
The service was about to begin, but we’d interrupted. And now, we were the center of attention.
“So much for a subtle entrance,” Dominic whispered in my ear, straightening, his body seeming to grow taller.
I looked up at him, seeing how he’d schooled his features to reveal nothing, seeing his strength, the cruelty in his gaze as he scanned each and every person in the place with cold, shuttered eyes.
