“Nice way to change the subject,” I reply with a roll of my eyes.But then, panic slices through my irritation, launching my lungs into overdrive.Has he changed his mind?Maybe last night showed him just how dangerous holding onto me would be.Maybe he’s decided that this isn’t worth it.That I’m not worth it.
What a joke.It was never about me to begin with.It was about Buffalo.And that has to be worth it…
Doesn’t it?
What if it’s not enough?
“My head is fine,” I reply, rattled.If Curse reneges on our deal, then what?Will he just hand me over to Alessandro Messina himself?Or will Elio have me marry one of his soldiers instead, somebody else he’s willing to put on the line who can eventually transfer the Bianchi estate to the Titone name?
It’s selfish to even ask myself these questions.Curse nearly died.For a month after our marriage is official, he will be at risk.And that’s only if Alessandro doesn’t keep hunting us for revenge once the monetary reward of having me is no longer within his grasp.If anything, I should be the one trying to get out of this marriage.To protect him.
I never want something like last night to happen again.
But apparently, Curse isn’t too worried about that.He gives a single, controlled nod, then says, “We’ll stay here today so you can rest and I can make final arrangements.Tomorrow, we leave.We’ll head north and get married on the way.”
“We can’t just do it here?Now?”I ask.I get why he’d want to leave Toronto after Alessandro tracked us here.But why not get the ceremony part out of the way?
It feels weird to even call it a ceremony.Curse is talking about this all so perfunctorily that it seems the very opposite of ceremonial.
“As much as I’m aware that you want to begin the clock on your thirty days with me as soon as possible so that it may thereforeendas soon as possible,” he says flatly, “I’m not parading you around this city to get married while Messina is at large.We haven’t found him yet.And I’m sure as shit not bringing anybody into this fucking house to do it.”
“So we’ll just stop along the way to say, ‘I do?’Simple as stopping for gas, or getting coffee,” I reply with a shake of my head.
But Curse only shrugs.“Pretty much.Like I said, we’re going north.We can stop in Barrie tomorrow morning and get it done.Leo and Robbie will escort us that far and act as the witnesses.Then, you and I will continue on alone.”
“We’ll keep looking for Messina here,” Elio says, rising from his seat near the flameless fireplace.“We’ll let you know if we find him.”
“No,” Curse says, his eyes going over my head to meet his brother’s.“I’m not bringing a phone.Nothing that can be tracked.”
“At least bring a burner,” Elio says.“We can get you one within the hour.”
“No.”Curse says again, and though he does so with his typically emotionless intonation, there’s a solidness to the word, like it’s made of stone instead of breath and sound.Like there will be no cracking it, breaking it, toppling it.Or him.
“And how long, exactly, are you going to be off the fucking grid for?”Elio asks.
Elio isn’t just Curse’s brother – he’s his boss.Curse had duties in Montreal.Alliances to keep in check.Bikers to make behave.It’s a role that he’s completely abandoning now.
“At least thirty days,” comes Curse’s instant reply.
In Elio’s eyes, I suppose getting Buffalo in the end is enough to make up for a month without his brother, because after a short sigh, he mutters, “Fine.But find a way to keep me updated somehow so that I know you’re both alive.”I think I hear a slight smirk in the elder Titone’s voice as he sweeps out of the room and adds, “Send me a goddamn postcard.”
Chapter9
Curse
Once Elio has left, I realize I’ll have to send Leo out for a few supplies, because there is fuck-all in this house’s fridge.Aurora stands in front of it now, holding the door wide open and staring into the empty cavernousness of it.I wonder if she feels something similar, sees something similar, when she looks at me.A big black fucking hole.Nothing good inside.
“Leo will get you something,” I say.“Make a list.”
Aurora jumps, her shoulders flinching up towards her ears at the sound of my voice, and then releases the fridge door, letting it shut with a muted plastic thud.
“I didn’t even know you’d followed me in here,” she says, turning to watch me and leaning back against the stainless-steel front of the fridge she’s just closed.
I shrug one shoulder.“I’m quiet.”
She snorts.“I know.”
But now she’s the quiet one, settling into wordlessness, avoiding my gaze and picking at her nails.With her head bent like this, the gauze at her temple catches my roving eye.I think of what lies beneath, the swollen place where her soft skin has been split.
