The noise in the bar drowns out our conversation, and no other tables are close enough to overhear. Gilly’s version of social distancing for privacy.
“If you aren’t working with Caruso, then why thefuckis he at your estate?” I snarl.
“He and Leandro think they’re my guests.”
I relax, marginally. “Think?”
He smiles, and I see the shark underneath with rows of razor-sharp teeth. “They’re not allowed to leave; not that they tried, of course, because they’re scared shitless of you.”
“Do they know I have Gina?”
“No, but they suspect it. When he returned home after disposing of Guila and Davide’s bodies, and he found her gone and couldn’t find her, he assumed she had run to you. Your interest and reaction to her that first evening didn’t go unnoticed by any of us.”
I ask the question I desperately need to know. “Did Gina watch Caruso kill her mother?”
His face softens slightly with regret. “Yes. Caruso told me Gina needed additionalconvincingto be more amenable to his plan. He snapped Guila’s neck while Gina watched.” He looks down, shaking his head. “What fucking bastard fathers will do to their children…” Lifting his head, he asks, “But how did Gina get amnesia? Was it the trauma of watching her mother be killed, and her mind is blocking it?”
I don’t trust him, not yet, but I give him some truth. “I suspect that’s partially it. But when I found Gina, her face was bruised, swollen, and bloody, and she had a wound on the back of her head. The neurologist said it was conducive to being caused by her head hitting something sharp and solid, something like the corner of a desk. She had a subdural hematoma and would’ve died if I hadn’t found her and gotten her to the hospital in time.”
He leans forward, fisting his hands on the tabletop. “Caruso conveniently left that part of the story out.”
“Are you surprised?” I hike my brows. “He’s nothing like the man Gina remembers as a young girl.”
“So she has those memories?”
“Some.”
He drags a hand over his face. “What a goddamn mess.”
“She did have another memory return.” I eye him and go with my gut instinct to tell him what Caruso had told her that Vincenzo wanted to do.
He’s pale and looks sick after I’m finished. “Tommaso… I would never fucking do that.”
“But you wanted her. You want her,” I amend.
“Of course,” he freely admits. “She’s beautiful. Feisty, which is a refreshing change from the women my father always tried to match me with. But I never would’ve treated her like that; I was willing to marry her.”
My teeth grind at that, but focus on the problem at hand. “You said your father was working with Caruso.”
He sighs and shakes his head, but he doesn’t answer; only looks around the bar again.
“It’s safe to talk here,” I assure him.
He pulls his chair closer to mine, leaning in.
I get the hint and do the same. He’s close enough that he could slide a knife between my ribs, and I can sense the tension escalate in Marco, Silvio, and Salvo, but Vincenzo keeps his hands clearly visible on top of the table.
“Caruso won a business in a gambling game,” he says into my ear. “Years ago, and he’s been growing it ever since.” That explains the wealth; yes, he has risen in the ranks, but not enough to justify the cash he’s been throwing around the past few years. “It’s human trafficking.”
“Which is a banned source of income with the ‘Ndrangheta,” I grind out. “Why the fuck would your father—”
“I’m getting to that,” he cuts me off. “Caruso has been working with Arturo, and he approached my father as well.”
But if the ‘Ndrangheta is against this, why the hell would Caruso go to the head of the syndicate?
“Apparently, Arturo and my father have been considering how to bring this to the Dons for a vote to formally endorse trafficking as one of our key sources of revenue,” he answers my unspoken question.
My stomach twists, but I remain silent.
