Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78811 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
A white-haired man stands proudly in the center. Beside him is the one I met last night, Sonny. He has a deep scowl on his face. Next to him and with their arms over each other’s shoulders are Amadeo and another man his age. Younger than Sonny but so similar in appearance, I am sure this is Sonny’s son. I wonder if this was his room once. Or Sonny’s. Did they live here?
I set the photo on a shelf when a knock comes on the door. I quickly slip the ring into my pocket as Oaf opens it to let a woman in with a tray of food. Breakfast. I thank her and settle in to eat, knowing it will be a long day.
Amadeo returns as I’m lying on the bed throwing a paper airplane, one of a dozen I’ve made using pages from the empty notepad, across the room. He catches it, eyebrows raised when he looks at the discarded planes all around him. He unfolds one.
“Don’t worry, I didn’t use any of your precious newspaper articles. Only blank sheets of paper.”
“Interesting way to pass your time, Dandelion.”
“It was a long day.”
“Did you behave yourself?”
“Of course.” I smile as fake a smile as I can muster. “Who are the men with you in the picture? I recognize the one from last night, but who are the others?”
“What picture?”
I point at where it’s now displayed beside that book of Russo crimes against his family.
He walks over to it and picks up the frame. Unexpected emotions darken his features. Sadness. Loss. It makes me curious.
“Where did you get this?”
“It was in the back of a drawer. And before you ask, yes, I looked through everything. You can’t seriously have expected me not to.”
He’s only half-listening to me because his attention is on the photograph. And I’m intrigued.
“Who are they?” I ask.
“That’s my grandfather. My uncle, Sonny, you met.” His tone is cold when he mentions Sonny. There’s a long pause. “The one who is my age is Angelo.”
He sets the frame back down but is clearly a little shaken.
“He’s your cousin?”
He turns to me, hands in his pockets.
“From the resemblance, I’m thinking the man I met at the restaurant, the one who clearly doesn’t like you, is his father?”
“Was.”
Ah.
“Sonny, my uncle, was his father. Let’s go downstairs for dinner.”
“What happened to him?”
He opens the door, and I see Oaf outside. A look passes between us, but I’m quick to avert my gaze so Amadeo doesn’t catch me. But when I turn back to Amadeo, I’m not sure he misses anything at all.
“Why are you so curious, Dandelion?” he asks after a glance at Oaf.
“Bored mostly,” I lie. “I literally spent my day making paper airplanes.”
“Angelo was killed a few years ago. His killer left the scar you saw last night. That man is dead now. Enough to sate your curiosity?”
“He died, and you survived the same attack.”
“Correct.” He walks ahead of me for a beat.
“Was the room I’m staying in his?”
“Yes, Dandelion. Enough with the questions.”
“You miss him.”
That makes him stop. “We were close. He was a good friend. A good man. He would have succeeded my grandfather if he’d lived.”
“Oh. Is that normal? For your grandfather to overlook his son to put his grandson in his seat? Isn’t there an order to these things?”
“His father, my uncle, is a lowlife.”
“Lower than you?” It comes out before I can stop it.
It takes him a minute, but he grins, then takes a step toward me that has me backing up to the banister. “Oh, sweetheart. Be careful. It’s a long way down, and marble isn’t very forgiving.” I glance down. Does blood seep into marble, or is it easy to wash away? I don’t want to find out.
We straighten, standing too close. I look at my hands, where they are pressed to his chest. His are clenching my hips.
He cocks his head to the side, and my heartbeat picks up.
“I’m hungry,” I say, trying to scoot away.
He doesn’t let me. Without a word, he reaches into my pocket and takes out the ring. I should have hidden it in a drawer. I’m not even sure why I took it. What I’d thought I’d do with it. I know I’m not going to somehow escape this prison. I know the impossibility of it. So what was I thinking?
Amadeo studies the ring, then turns his gaze to me, those thick lashes framing cold steel eyes. Any humanity I saw moments ago has vanished.
“What’s this, Dandelion? Are you a thief, too?”
18
Amadeo
The ring weighs heavy in the palm of my hand. I’m reminded of that day in the kitchen fifteen years ago when I’d first seen it. Noted the size. The insignia. The matching ring on Lucien’s finger.
Bastian took it from Geno Russo’s corpse before dropping his body facedown in his grave. I don’t know why he took it or why I kept it.