Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
“Elena?” Aunt Rosa moans down the phone.
“I’m here,” I tell her.
“Oh, thank God. I thought that man had buried you in the woods.”
Her words make me feel sick. “He’d never do something like that,” I snap, defending him despite the confusion whirring through me. “Don’t even say that. That’s just sick.”
“I thought he’d used you and abused you and covered you with dirt.”
“Aunt Rosa,” I hiss. “Please.”
“Do you think he wouldn’t do something like that? These men, these criminals, they promise the world. They promise the universe, but they’ll never deliver. All they deliver is heartache. You should’ve learned that by now.”
“What does that mean?” I ask, wondering if, somehow, she knows about the kidnapping. But how could she?
“The flames,” she whispers.
“What, the fire? Are you talking about Mom and Dad and Stevey again?” When she doesn’t reply, instead moaning down the phone, I say, “Put Giulia back on.”
“Hey.”
“Is this why she wanted to call me?” I say.
“I guess so. I’m sorry. She’s worried about you. I am, too.”
“Dario wouldn’t do anything even remotely close to that sick shit she just said.”
“Are you sure?” Giulia asks seriously.
“I’m sure,” I sigh.
That probably isn’t the answer I should give, everything considered, but it feels true even if it shouldn’t. I try to stamp down on these feelings like Dario stamped on that man’s head. I try to remember that his father and my aunt will never approve and that I don’t belong in this world. Heck, I’ve probably got freaking PTSD from what I saw. That’s why this panic is tearing through me, but I’m still here.
“Rosa wants to speak with you again,” Giulia says. “Is that okay?”
“I guess I should, just to let her get it out.”
Giulia hands the phone back. “Remember, he’ll promise the world, and it will end in flames.”
“Is there something you want to tell me about the fire?” I ask sharply. “About Mom and Dad and Stevey?”
“What?” she says, sounding shocked as if the question has come from nowhere. “About the … fire?”
“You’ve brought it up several times now.”
“Oh, oh, no, this is all too much. Please don’t yell at me.”
“I’m not yelling.” There’s a pause. She moans some more. Guilt tugs at me. “I’m sorry, Aunt Rosa. I love you. Please, get some rest. I think you’re confused, but Giulia says you’re getting better. Just keep getting better.”
“I love you,” she murmurs. “You’re more than a Mafia man’s pawn.”
After hanging up, Dario says, “Is everything okay?”
“It’s Aunt Rosa. She keeps talking about the fire and …”
“What?” he says, taking my hand.
I move away, but a moment later, I regret it and take his hand. A battle rages inside me, punctuated with gunshots and visions of Dario becoming a monster. All to keep me safe, yet still, it’s so convoluted. “She thought you might’ve hurt me. Buried me in the woods, she said.”
“I’d die before I hurt you,” he growls. “I’d …”
“You were going to say ‘kill.’”
“Well, it’s the truth,” he snaps. “You never have to worry about that.”
“She’ll probably not want to be at the wedding.”
He grits his teeth, making his jaw look solid and sharp. “We’ll cross that bridge when we come to it.”
“That’s becoming a theme for us, isn’t it? Putting off the inevitable?”
“I wish I had more answers. I never expected this to be so complicated.”
“Neither did I,” I murmur. “I think that makes both of us incredibly naïve.”
He smirks, and I feel something like my old sassiness trying to resurface. It’s like there are pieces of me buried beneath the trauma, trying to break free. “I’ve never been called naïve before.”
I want to jab him in the side, laugh, and say, You have now, but I just can’t bring myself to do it.
CHAPTER TWENTY
DARIO
Ihave a Moretti man carry the dinner plates from the kitchen into the empty high-rise restaurant. Elena sits across from me, her sparkling shirt catching the light, her hair curled in a wild mass down to her shoulders, waking up parts of me I need to keep dormant. She doesn’t even want me kissing her, let alone anything else.
As I cut my steak, she says, “Can I ask you something?”
“You can ask me anything,” I say.
“What do you want to do with your life?”
“I have to keep the Family—”
“No,” she interrupts. “Not what you have to do. What do you want to do? What would your days look like if you weren’t part of the Mafia?”
I shrug. “I’d probably work full-time at Paths of Promise. I’d spend more time fishing.”
“You like fishing?” she asks, surprised by my answer. “My dad used to take me sometimes.”
“Your father was a man of good taste. Fishing’s the most peaceful activity I know of until it isn’t. It’s like the antidote to this Mafia life. Maybe I’ll take you one day.”
“Yeah.” She looks down at her plate. “Maybe.”