CHAPTER 66
NINA MARCHESI
“Hello, Mr. Carlo. Good afternoon. How are you?” I greet the owner of the restaurant where we came two nights ago for Kael’s birthday.
He’s a very tall man, with thick gray mustaches and a bald spot right at the crown of his head. Just before the restaurant opens for lunch, I find him already dressed in his chef’s jacket, standing beside the register, holding his chef’s hat in his hands. He smiles at me.
“Hello, Nina! How are you?”
“I’m well,” I say, leaning against the counter. “I came to settle our bill. Sorry I didn’t come yesterday—the shift at the hospital was a bit chaotic.”
I justify myself, and the man’s face twists in confusion.
“Your husband was here yesterday, Nina,” he says. “He paid the bill and made everyone’s day with someverygenerous tips.The staff is already excited about the next birthday in your family, actually.” He finishes with a laugh, completely unaware of the shock written all over my face.
Every word that leaves his mouth makes my eyes widen a little more.
My husband?
He was here?
And he left obscene tips?
I go from shock to indignation in seconds. With some effort, I manage to smile at Carlo, hoping I don’t look like I’m grimacing.
“Oh, of course!” I say. “My goodness, how could I forget? I completely forgot we’d arranged that.”
The restaurant owner nods, smiling.
“I’m sorry about that, Carlo.”
“Don’t mention it!” He waves it off.
“I know exactly how it is,” he continues. “If my head weren’t attached to my shoulders, I’d forget it somewhere too.”
I let out a horrible laugh, but it’s all I can manage.
“And congratulations on your beautiful family! I always used to see just you and the boy. Your husband is a lucky man.”
I nod, smiling weakly, feeling the anger inside me swell into something monstrous.
Nero had no right to do that.
I say goodbye to Mr. Carlo and to everyone I pass on my way out of the restaurant, leaving with a single, very clear certainty:
I am about to murder a lucky man.
CHAPTER 67
NERO ZANTHOS
Kael is sitting on my shoulders when we reach the door of his house. I grip his calves firmly, holding him in place while Atlas and Drako play with my son, trying to tickle him. He leans forward and back, laughing and trying to escape.
After hours playing soccer in the square down the block, it would be reasonable to expect the boy to be as tired as I feel—and as tired as I’m sure my friends are too—but I suppose we’re the ones who are old and worn out.
The door opens, and the smile on my face vanishes instantly when I see the murderous look on Nina’s face. Her nostrils flare, her jaw clenched tight.
Okay. This is unexpected.
