“She is not like us, Frankie. There are reasons we don’t socialize with outsiders more than necessary.”
Thinking it’ll shut Gia up, I go down the hallway to the guest bathroom but realize Carlo's office is open. He’s been leaving it unlocked more and more, but I know he’s careful when it comes to anything that shouldn’t be left lying out. Nevertheless, my blood runs cold. Harper has no business being in there at all.
“So sorry! I thought you said it was on the left,” Harper says, breathily when I peer inside.
“No, on your right.” I watch her go into the bathroom and then check the office. Nothing seems out of place. His laptop is closed and off and the safe is undisturbed.
But when I rejoin the party, I’m uneasy and coming to a dismal conclusion. Gia’s right. As much as I daydreamed about living a normal life, I was born into the mafia. I could never discuss my husband cutting off a man's ear for insulting me or tell tales of macabre warehouses where bloody statements are made with a friend like Harper. People like her would never understand our world. They’dcondemn the men in my life, and they’d condemn me for being a complicit bystander to it.
Everything I was convinced I wanted so badly a couple of months ago simply isn’t as important to me as it was. All the people I love are part of this lifestyle in some form or fashion; my mother, my brother, my cousins, my sisters-in-law… and my husband.
***
Carlo’s little sisters left with their guard hours ago. My mom went to bed in the spare room down the hall after Dinora’s husband came to fetch her. Caterina is asleep on the sofa while Gia, Harper, Aurora and I play cards.
“Where did you learn to play poker so well?” Gia asks Harper, having thawed minorly toward the outsider with enough wine.
“In the Navy.” She’s mopping the floor with us at Texas Hold’em. “I think you should fold, Frankie,” Harper says next, nodding at my hand.
She’s right. I’m not very skilled at card games, and my mind is wandering. The men have been gone for over six hours. It’s two in the morning. Was Aurora wrong? Does it really boil down to cards and hookers for them?
The elevator beeps, and my drooping eyes are wide open again. He’s home. Faro walks in, his jaw clenched tightly, followed by Carlo, Luca and Renato. Carlo has a strangely vacant look in his eyes. The tension radiating off the other three men is unmistakable.
Four sets of eyes pass over us, each settling on Harper. “She’s my friend from school,” I say, almost apologetically.
“Get your things, Aurora,” Faro clips, knowing Harper helped me in the park. Hurrying to obey, his wife doesn’t tease him like usual. They’re gone first.
Luca touches Carlo’s shoulder, but my husband shakes his brother off. Muttering something to Renato, Luca says a gruff farewell as the younger Vicini brothers leave.
“I should go, too,” Harper says once the elevator with them in it is gone. Her hands are shaking as she grabs her bag. She flees like the place is on fire.
I’ve barely seen her off when Alessio stalks in from the kitchen. “Why the fuck did you inviteherhere, Frankie?”
“Watch your tone with my wife, De Luca,” Carlo warns, speaking for the first time.
Alessio glares at him until something changes. He tilts his head to the side, and his eyes narrow, resembling a predator sizing up another predator. “Let’s go back to the hotel. Aunt Beatrice can sleep off her wine here,” he finally says, lifting Caterina in his arms as Gia gathers their things.
Alone at last, I want to know where my husband’s been. I want to explain about Harper, even though part of me knows I shouldn’t have to. I want to understand that odd look in his eyes.
But before I can say anything, Carlo groans and takes a seat on the sofa, pulling off his jacket to reveal the bloody mess underneath.
46
Carlo
“It’s not as bad as it looks.”
She stares at me like I’ve lost my mind, but I prefer that to her worry. “What happened?” she asks, swallowing thickly as she steps closer.
“Many things.” My hands are stained pink, one quick wash hardly enough to clean them. Under my nails, the blood has turned brown. Taking in my black dress shirt, I grunt and force myself to stand again. “I’ll ruin the sofa this way. Best if we go upstairs.”
I start unbuttoning my shirt, but Francesca’s hands immediately cover mine, taking over. “Are you sure you can manage them?”
“I’ll manage.” She’s still working on the buttons, her hands trembling slightly. “Most of this isn’t even my blood.”
“Most?” She starts shivering, violently. Not the response I was going for.
“It’s okay, Red. I’ll take care of this. You can wait here,” I murmur, wanting only to calm her.
