Chapter 38
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
FINA
I squeeze tomatoes over a bowl and scold myself for thinking of him. If we’re talking broken promises, I’m shattering the one I made to myself.
Camilla presses a wet kitchen towel into my hands. “Those tomatoes never stood a chance.”
“Yeah,” I sigh, the sound hollow even to me. “Happens to the best of us.”
“Well, put the sauce aside. Bianca’s about to perform.”
I quickly scrub my hands clean because I cannot miss the thing that’s become the pulse of our Saturday nights. Word spread through the neighborhood faster than cannoli cream spilling from a pastry and forced Aunt Teresa into accepting dinner reservations due to the bump in business.
Maracas in one hand, dishes in the other, Camilla and I sprint onto the floor. My smile is automatic as I serve the men at one table. I’ll never tire of their flirting and compliments.
And then, we hear her.
“A boy went back to Napoli …” Bianca begins, her voice close to a purr.
The restaurant erupts in delight.
Not to be outdone, Camilla and I join in, shaking our hips and maracas clattering as we weave across the floor.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the mastermind behind this, her apron dusted with flour and body moving perfectly in rhythm.
Joy like this was never supposed to be mine. Yet, here it is. And I’m grateful, so grateful to be surrounded with love right now.
I spin, tapping my maraca against my thigh, and drag Aunt Teresa into the center. The guests roar when she grins and then outperforms us, the real star in this restaurant.
Suddenly, everything grinds to a standstill.
I glance around. Every head is turned toward the same place—the front door.
No. No. No. Don’t you dare.
I don’t wait. I storm into the back room, heart hammering, nerves shot. There’s no escaping him, so I’ll need every ounce of rage to tell him to fuck off.
“Fina.” Aunt Teresa’s voice wavers with nervousness. “He demands to speak to you.”
Demands? I grit my teeth. “Tell him I’m busy.”
Her eyes flicker, worry flashing like a warning light.
“He’s a Beneventi,” I growl. “Not the devil incarnate.” Wrong, wrong, wrong. He’s definitely the devil disguised as sex on legs.
Her hands twist together, a rare sight of fear. “We have a few tables outside reserved for the famiglie.”
While the restaurant was closed, Aunt Teresa had the outdoor space scrubbed, lights hung, and a few tables arranged out back in the cobblestone alley. A place for the famiglie to eat in peace.
With a small nod, I stalk off, grabbing a bottle of open wine and a glass as I go, then shove open the back door with my hip and collapse at a small table for two. I carelessly splash wine into the glass before drinking deeply, letting the alcohol calm me before he arrives.
A few minutes later, he exits the restaurant.
I refuse to meet his eyes. “I do not have time for liars.”
His silence is loud enough to make my blood boil.
“You fuck me against a shower wall and whisper promises you have no intention of keeping?” My voice grinds low, rough as gravel.
“I’ll do right by you, babe. And when I ask again, your knees will buckle.
I promise.” The words taste like acid on my tongue.
“Lies. All of it. How am I supposed to believe you? Am I supposed to forget the first time you proposed? Pretend you don’t hand out marriage promises like party favors?
Or did you think I wouldn’t find out you asked Alessia to marry you, when you’d made the same promise to me? ”
My chest is rising fast, each breath sharper than the last, but I push on. “Sure, I’ve got my kinks. But take a good look, asshole. Do I look like a goddamn sister-wife to you?”
“Cazzo. Can I at least sit down?”
My jaw drops. Not Renzo. Sandro.
“What are you doing here?”
“Fulfilling a debt.” He smooths out his suit and sits across from me. “I didn’t expect to step into a land mine. He fucked up worse than I imagined.” Then, like a typical controlling asshole, he swipes my glass, helps himself to a drink, and stares at me with an unnerving calm I envy.
I scowl. “Bacteria breeder. I am not sharing.”
“Play nice, and I will reward you.”
I stiffen. “Go to hell.”
He chuckles. “Renzo has his hands full with you.”
“Renzo,” I scoff, muttering the name like a curse, “will never know what a handful I am.”
“Why am I even subjecting myself to his bullshit?”
“Then leave. Tell your brother I will fuck half of Rome before he lays a hand on me again.”
“Only half?”
I glare. “Do you not have better things to do? Kiss Massimo’s ass and make friends, maybe?”
“Dante’s in California but sent a message.”
My fingers curl tight. I know what this is, and if I’m honest, am slightly disappointed he’s not here for Renzo.
My entire life I’ve craved the truth about my mother’s death, but how could I survive it?
How could I live under the same roof, eat at the same table, breathe the same air, if I admitted the only family I had left was her murderer?
I buried the suspicion so deep I almost convinced myself it wasn’t true.
But I can’t run anymore. Not even from this.
“There is no gentle way to say this,” Sandro warns.
Gentle and Sandro don’t belong in the same sentence.
“Dante promised you an answer. Your father had your mother killed. Shot in the back of the head. Quick. Clean.”
My eyes squeeze shut. The words crash through me, shattering what little hope I clung to. I always knew, somewhere deep down. But knowing and hearing are two different blades, and this one slices me wide open. I can feel Sandro’s gaze on me as I splinter apart.
“Shit,” he mutters under his breath while I struggle to find air.
“If it helps, Renzo got revenge for you.”
My head jerks up. “What?”
“Dante is taking California from your father. Part of a deal my brother made with our father on your behalf. Your father’s out. No longer part of the famiglie. Ruined.”
A tear rolls down my cheek as my mind struggles to keep up. “Renzo did this?”
“Goddamn it. You fucking crying?”
“No.”
“It looks like you are.”
I blink back the rest of my tears to glare at the asshole.
He smiles. “Much better.”
In the moment, he’s so like Renzo, he’s nearly likeable. My heart tightens at the thought.
“Look, Riley’s upset for running her mouth.”
“She only told me the truth.”
“It was his fucking brilliant idea. He was never engaged to Alessia. I was. And Riley wasn’t exactly happy when she learned the truth.”
“That the Beneventi twins are liars?”
His expression darkens. “Keep pushing, and I’ll leave before clueing you in and giving you reason to thank him.”
“Clue me in?” I demand.
“Why are you really mad at him?” he asks, eyes narrowing. “Don’t tell me it’s because he broke his promise?”
“Mad? I am outraged. Outraged for every woman. He promised to marry me, gave every excuse for backing out, and proposed to another woman without my knowledge then left me to Carlo Accardo.”
“Bing-fucking-go.” Sandro smirks, a grin that infuriatingly reminds me of Renzo. “You wanted Renzo to interfere.”
I rise. “Are you smiling at my expense? I was days from marrying Carlo.”
“Until he was poisoned.”
My heart slows as my mind races to keep up. “What?”
“Who the fuck do you think poisoned that stranzo?”
“He didn’t …”
“Ask yourself why. Renzo wasn’t a made man.
With Carlo’s help, the famiglie had millions tied up in a casino trust. Killing him risked everything, even my father’s wrath.
But he did it anyway—waited months, swapped Carlo’s Pepcid with thallium, and made sure the staff staged it as an allergic reaction. ”
My world spins, vision clouding.
“That took careful planning and fuck-all cunning. No one but a few people know the truth. I’m trusting you to keep it that way.”
“Months …” My chest tightens.
Sandro moves to leave.
“Wait,” I exclaim. “Where are you going?”
“I did what I came here to do—enlighten you. I’ve better shit to do than get involved in my brother’s love life.”
I jump to my feet, my mind in turmoil.
Renzo killed Accardo.
Renzo planned it for months.
Renzo didn’t abandon me to fate, not completely.
“Why?” I insist.
“Come on, Fina. You’re smarter than this. It’s the same reason he took a goddamn chain saw to Settemo.”
I search his face, dumbfounded.
“He ended Carlo Accardo because he loves you.”