“No.” I shake my head so fast that snot dribbles from my nose. “I haven’t told anyone. I swear, Edoardo.”
His laugh is demoralizing. “So I’m just meant to believe he’s willing to walk away from it all foryou.” He snarls his last word. “He’s never cared about anyone but himself, but now he’s going to walk away from a multibillion-dollar entity to keep you safe?”
I’m lost. Wholly. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Dante fucking Caruso!” he screams, startling both Gabriele and me. “He’s heading up there now to tell his brothers he’s walking away. Apparently, if he’s not a part of the Cosa Nostra, he doesn’t have to follow their rules anymore.”
Blood floods my heart, but I keep cool. Mostly.
“He’s not doing that for me.” I’m shocked I can speak. That’s how high my bewilderment is. I could see Dante walking away from it all for Camille, but there’s no way his decision is about me.
Furthermore, I am living proof you can’t just walk away.
Something always forces you back.
Edoardo acts like I never spoke. “You think you can run off to your little fantasy life and I won’t notice that you’re throwing your own fucking son under the bus?”
“I wasn’t… I didn’t…” My words fall apart when he takes his anger out on Gabriele instead of me. He backhands him so hard his cheek splits, and his shrilled sob shreds my heart to pieces. “Please don’t do this. I’m begging you.”
“Our deal is done.”
My heart stops.
I know what that means. There’s only one meaning to his saying. Only one outcome.
Gabriele will be dead.
“No.” I shake my head so hard my vision blurs. “Please, Edoardo, don’t. I’ll do anything. Anything you want. Just don’t do this.” Desperate, I speak to a part of his soul that only responds to greed. “I can get you a million dollars.” Flashbacks of the bundles of money Dante stacked on the dining room table flash before my eyes. “Today. I can deposit a million dollars into your account today.”
I hate myself for how my actions will hurt Dante, but I have to put Gabriele first.
“A million dollars?”
When I nod, Edoardo slants his head and ponders my offer. I think he’s going to agree, but then his eyes dart upward, toward someone standing across from him, someone I can’t see, and whatever mercy might have existed disappears.
“I’m done playing games, Cici. I need the whole amount,” he says coldly. “Tonight. In person.”
I choke on my spit. “Tonight? I can’t get you that much money by tonight. I still owe over nine million dollars.”
“Tonight,” he repeats. “Or your son is dead.”
Desperate, I push out, “There are no banks open today. It’s Sunday. How do you expect me to come up with that much money on late notice?” I don’t have access to those types of funds, but I can’t even consider robbing the world’s richest bank if he doesn’t extend a little leeway.
After a brief glance over the phone, he says, “You have until eleven a.m. Monday morning. Any later than that and your son is dead.”
Certainty that he’ll ring true on his threat flashes through his eyes before he disconnects our call.
As the orchard spins, my knees buckle. I collapse onto the dirt, my phone slipping from my hand as a sob tears out of me before I can silence it.
The one thing I’ve been fighting for is slipping through my fingers, and I have no idea how to save him.
