I jerk back; my revulsion making my throat burn.
My zia really took my sloppy seconds? Or God, could it have been she was with Zorzi when we were teens? Was it some sick Mrs. Robinson fetish, and I’m the sloppy seconds?
Makes me want to vomit just thinking about it.
“Whatever her reason, do you believe she enlisted his help?”
“Most likely. He may have been an idiot, but he was a capable idiot.”
“The possibility remains it could be the’Ndranghetas’don who’s after me, but not anyone from the Carosis or Torettas or the Camorras.”
“That’s right, but my money’s still on someone outside the Italians or Sicilians.”
I stare Salvatore dead in the eye. His heterochromia’s almost hypnotic.
“And it wasn’t you?”
“You’ve been Serafina’s friend since you were both in diapers. I’ve always considered you extended family, Vittoria. Mercenary or not, I don’t murder women, and I don’t murder family.”
“You might not, but would you hire someone to do it for you?” I hold my breath, fully expecting Salvatore to kick me out if Sylvia lets me live long enough.
“No, I did not.”
“Thank you.”
I can attempt graciousness at least once in this conversation.
I run through all the confusing, circular arguments. Salvatore doesn’t believe it’s theMala del Brenta, Cosa Nostra, ’Ndrangheta,or the Camorras. However, he’s not entirely ruling out the’NdranghetasinceZiaCosima was banging Don Pasquale, and Zorzi was the man’s illegitimate son by another woman. She banged both of them.
Whoever took out the hit on Alejandro isn’t the same person after me. The person who hired me is likely in the States, butmy persecutor could be from anywhere. Alejandro and I are in danger because of each other and on our own.
“Where do I look here in the U.S.?”
È come cercare un fottuto ago in un fottuto pagliaio.It’s looking for a fucking needle in a motherfucking haystack.
“I don’t believe it’s anyone in the city, but it could be Boston, New Jersey, Philadelphia, Chicago, L.A., San Francisco, Miami. The list’s too long to simply guess where to begin. I don’t have an answer for that, Vittoria. That’s something your new family will have to figure out for your sake. And for your sake alone, I will intervene if I can, not just to keep you alive, but Alejandro as well. Has your father had anything to say about your future husband?”
I shake my head.
It’s the same in all Four Families here in New York. It seems a foregone conclusion that when any of these men finally date, it’s with the purpose of marrying. None do it casually or to pass the time, even to avoid loneliness. It’s all or nothing with all of them.
That’s why it no longer jars me to hear people speak as though Alejandro and I are already engaged. Just as it didn’t take long for me to adjust to the idea of being with him, it took next to no time to adjust to other people’s belief that we’re together.
“I need to get going. I have somewhere else to be before I go back to Alejandro’s.”
Salvatore cringes.
The fucking don of New York City—of the Eastern Seaboard—of all the motherfucking United States just cringed.
Fuck my life.
“Remember, he’s a big guy like Gabriele. Whatever you drugged him with is likely to wear off far faster than you expect.”
I merely nod, not wanting to confess my sins aloud. It surprises me, but I appreciate the hugs Salvatore and Sylvia give me. This time, I use the front door and walk out the property gate and neighborhood gate without skulking.
I glance at the clock on the dash as I start the car. I have just enough time to make it to my meeting with Patrick. The burner rings, and I glance down.
Double fuck my life.
