"Called her his daughter."
For a moment, I don't move. The new information slithers down my stomach, and a familiar burning anger begins to smolder in my stomach at the new fucking information.
Her father.
The same bastard who left a bruise on her face is herfather?
And suddenly, all I can think about is that moment of confession frommyfather about what he did to my sister before I put a fucking bullet in his head.
A frustrated sound comes up the back of my throat that I swallow before it reaches the air.
"This is turning into a mess pretty fucking quick." Anastasio spreads his hands. "OCCB. Her father. The dead cop you left on his stairs in Gravesend. To say nothing about the Greeks that you’ve pissed off. Any one of these starts a war. All four together?—"
"I know what I'm doing."
"Do you?"
I look at him. He's bled for me more times than I can count. He's the only man alive I'd trust to put a bullet in me clean if it ever came to that.
To hear that shadow of a doubt creep into his voice about my judgment is not something I want to hear.
“Look, we can only handle one crisis at a time,” I tell him. “And right now, the first crisis is the Greeks. I’ll handle that at church this weekend.”
“What about this father of hers?”
“Find out everything you can for now but don’t move against him just yet,” I say. “Learn who he answers to, who he drinks with, and who he owes.”
That house was my mother’s,Lydia told me.She needed my help. That was why I left France.
Whatever it is that I need to find out more about her father in the OCCB, it all ties back to Lydia’s mother. I’m sure of it.
“And find out whatever you can about her mother,” I add. “Especially why she needed help. Put your most trusted man on it and keep a look out.”
“How soon you want this?”
“I want all of it on this desk by the time we come back from church this weekend.”
"And whatareyou going to do with the father once you get the info you want?"
I think about a bruise the shape of a man's grip, coming up dark on the only face I can't stop looking at.
"I’m going to kill him slow," I say.
14
LYDIA
The bruise Frankleft on my cheek has settled into a dull throb by the time I hear Nico’s footsteps in the hall.
I'm sitting on the edge of the bed with my knees pulled up. Giorgia drew a bath an hour ago, but the water's gone cold and untouched in the next room. I couldn't bring myself to get in and look at myself in the mirror.
I've done enough of that for one day.
The dress hangs on the back of my door, and I can't make myself look away.
The red bleeds through the gap in the zipper. It’s a marvel that the seamstress at the boutique managed to finish it by end of day as promised after Nico and I left.
And itisbeautiful.
