“To family,” he says, raising his glass.
There’s a nasty glimmer in his eyes, and his mockery burns like acid in my blood. If I didn’t see him open a fresh bottle, I’d think he was trying to poison me now.
“To family.” I take a sip, refusing to rise to the bait.
Agnello settles into one of the chairs, looking pleased with himself. Like a man who’s already won. He’s murdered my family. It’s not long now until I follow them.
“Vincenzo,” he says, swirling his whisky. “I thought I’d take this opportunity to give you some advice. Old married man to a younger one.”
I sit down opposite him, keeping my posture relaxed even though my muscles are coiled tight. “I’m listening.”
“Marriage is about establishing dominance from the start.” He takes a long drink. “You can’t let a woman think she has power. The moment you do, she’ll take advantage. You have to keep her in line. Remind her who’s in charge.”
As far as Agnello knows, I’ll be dead within the hour, which means his advice is pointless. He must just feel like gloating.
I long to tell him to shove his “advice” up his ass, but I force myself to nod. “I see.”
“Adora’s been obedient her whole life, but women have a way of getting ideas.” He leans forward conspiratorially. “You catch even a hint of defiance? You crush it immediately. Don’t let her think for a second that talking back is acceptable.”
The whisky in my hand is the only thing keeping me from lunging across the space between us.
“Is that what you did?” I ask, keeping my voice light. Curious. “With your wife?”
“Exactly.” He drains half his glass in one swallow. “She was perfect at first. Sweet. Accommodating. Then she startedquestioning my decisions. Talking back. I had to remind her of her place.”
I take another sip, letting the silence stretch. Drawing him out. “And did it work?”
His smile turns cold. “For a time.”
Movement catches my eye. A shadow near the doorway. I glance over and see Adora standing just outside, pressed against the wall where Agnello can’t see her. She’s listening.
Our eyes meet for half a second, and I see the tension in her face. The way she’s holding herself perfectly still.
I turn my attention back to Agnello. “You never remarried after she passed. No one caught your eye?”
“Oh, there was someone.” He pours himself another generous measure of whisky, his movements getting looser. Sloppier. “A young woman I was considering. Beautiful. From a questionable background, but she could have been useful to me.”
My pulse quickens. I slide my phone out of my pocket slowly, carefully, angling it so he can’t see. My thumb finds the voice notes app. Presses record.
“What happened?” I ask, infusing genuine curiosity into my voice.
He waves a dismissive hand. “She rejected me. Can you believe that? Some little Albanian bitch thinking she was too good for Agnello Montoni.”
“That must have been frustrating,” I say.
“Frustrating?” He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. “It was insulting. I offered her everything. Wealth and status that Albanian scum can only dream about. And she had the audacity to refuse me. Said she didn’t want to be my wife.”
“So what did you do?”
The question hangs in the air.
Agnello takes another long drink. “How many people have you killed, Vici?”
“I don’t keep count.”
“A real monster, aren’t you?”
I shrug nonchalantly. “Some people aren’t as important as they think they are. They won’t be missed.”
