I told myself that was part of the danger. Part of the world he came from. Part of the thing I was pretending not to understand because understanding it fully would require me to walk away.
But I never thought—
No.
I press my fingers to my mouth.
I never thought he would be capable of violence toward his wife.
The mother of his children.
A woman in his home.
No.
No way.
The idea is obscene.
It does not fit with the man who touched me so carefully after being rough. It does not fit with the man who looked at me like he would burn the world down before letting anyone else see me exposed. It does not fit with the way he speaks about family, with the way he looks when he talks about his sons. With sons who would leave the house so he can bring me there.
Hell, sons who would even still be around if he did something like that to their mother.
Unless that is the point.
My stomach turns.
Powerful men are good at making people believe them.
Powerful men are good at controlling rooms, stories, evidence, silences.
Oh God.
My hands are cold now.
I think of the Atlantic City Contis.
The articles I found about them were not exactly explicit, but there are reputations that do not require records to exist. Names whispered in the dark. between lines. A family that sits half in the legitimate world and half in the dark.
And Mario’s family is connected to them.
By blood, even if not by business.
I am not stupid enough to think the Chicago Contis are clean.
No one builds that fast, that smoothly, with that much loyalty and no shadows.
I know that.
I have known that since the beginning.
Maybe before the beginning.
But knowing a client has ties to violence is not the same as staring at an article implying he may have killed his wife.
I stand abruptly.
Then sit back down because my legs feel unsteady.
