"How the fuck are you so calm?" I raise my voice, and irritation floods his expression as he stands.
"Maybe I didn't fight for Elena the way I should have, but I was a kid, Damien. Need me to remind you what it's like to have no power? Remind you what it's like when you have to keep your head down and count the days until you can tip the balance of power in your favor?"
Everyone knows about the conflict I have with my own mother. Many have heard the rumors about me and Berna—one of the reasons we secured so many votes initially. And what pisses me off is that I understand. I understand that you can't always just grab a gun and put a bullet between the guilty party's eyes. I understand that sometimes you have to let that rage eatyou from the inside until you can spit it back at those who wronged you.
But that doesn't mean it doesn't bother me.
"He's after Roxanne now. That son of a bitch didn't die, and now he's got her in his sights," I bite out.
His face drains of color and he swallows hard.
"That's why she married you," he says, and my jaw tightens. "You manipulated her with the idea of protection, didn't you? Because I know for sure that when I had a detective find information about her right after my son's wedding, you weren't in the picture."
His hand moves to the gun at his back as he asks clearly and precisely, "Did you force her to marry you for protection?"
"While I appreciate this paternal display, I have two points to make. First, my wife will put a bullet in you herself if I come home shot, and second, don't pretend you know your own daughter. Trust me when I say if she didn't want to be my wife, all the protection and manipulation in the world wouldn't have convinced her."
And it's true. Even if she lies to herself that she only accepted to have my resources at her disposal, and even if I told her about the whole Council situation, I still would have put all my soldiers and men in her hands. Because she's mine even if she doesn't remember.
Something in what I said calms him and he lowers the gun.
"The reason I'm telling you all this is precisely because of the past you shared with Roxanne's mother. This is where I haven't been able to find out much. I know she was adopted at two years old by a family in Naples. I know she wanted to study law, and at eighteen she bought herself a ticket to the United States, and that's about it."
I watch him run his hand through his hair and exhale.
"I know she had a brother and that she didn't get along with her family at all because she always had a more rebellious approach to things. I know she loved lemon ricotta cookies." His voice breaks. "And I don't understand why no one mentioned she was at Valentino's house."
Neither do I, but something tells me my dear mother was involved in omitting those details.
I don't know if Elena talked to anyone else that night, don't know if anyone remembers her.
"What do you know about her husband?" I ask because regardless of whether he has an alibi, certain details from the investigation might have been poorly documented.
Marco grimaces, but he answers.
"Not much. He wanted to be a surgeon, but he failed the Yale admission exam, so his parents forced him to take over the family business. And less than ten months after Elena died, he married his former secretary. But I don't think he's who we're looking for."
Neither do I, but I wanted to see if his instinct was on the same wavelength as mine.
"And her brother?"
"Adoptive sibling. I just know Elena loved him. I was actually surprised he didn't fight harder for custody of Roxy, but I think he wanted to leave her with the image of the father she grew up with."
I nod slightly, though I want to tell him he was a miserable father to her. I remember her eyes when she told me how many times she ate alone, how many times she lay sick without anyone checking on her, and my hand starts to shake.
Because I understand what world he would have brought her into if he'd claimed her as his daughter. Amid guns, drugs, violence, and blood. But she would have had affection. She could've lit up the sky. Instead, he left her stuck with a family that just walked all over her. And when the memory of her tears fills my mind, everything around me turns red.
I don't know at what point I lunge at him, don't know when I start connecting my fist with his jaw, but somehow, through all the smoke in my mind, I know I scream, "MAYBE YOU WEREN'T THE ONE WHO KILLED ELENA, BUT YOU'RE RESPONSIBLE FOR HOW ROXANNE FADED AFTER HER DEATH, BECAUSE YOU WERE A COWARD!"
Arms pull me off Marco, and it takes me a few seconds to collect myself, to make all that damn smoke dissipate.
Two of his soldiers hold my arms while their boss gets up from the floor and wipes the blood from his nose and mouth.
I hope I shifted his jaw a little to the right.
"Leave us," he tells them, and though I feel the tension in their bodies, they inevitably obey their boss and leave.
"You know how my wife died?" he asks, walking to the liquor cabinet.
