Chapter 57 MARCELLO #2
"In case you haven't heard, Violetta Carbone is the woman who was hurt in your latest attempt to kill Marcello." Enzo's voice is cold and emotionless; only a small tic by his neck betrays his hatred for this woman.
This time, when Margarita blanches, she stays pale for a long time. Her throat bobs under the strain of swallowing. The direness of her situation is sinking in with her one second at a time. I give her enough of them to come to terms with what is about to happen.
"Well, too bad then the little bitch didn't die." Margarita's chin jerks back up, and her spine straightens. "Maybe then one in the cursed Orsi family would finally understand how much it hurts to lose someone you love."
My palm itches from the need to slap her in the face. Never have I ever felt violent toward a woman before, but Margarita is changing my principles at an alarming rate.
Raw hurt now shows on her features. "If you hadn't stopped him from fulfilling his contract with Kingsley, he wouldn't have gone after Enrico." Her body shakes for a moment, and she glares at me full of hate. "It's your fault that he's dead."
"Who?" I ask, but a dark feeling spreads through my body, as I have an idea who he is.
Her head tilts, her eyes challenge me, " Igor Pavlov."
The name hangs between us like the ghost he was—or is, since he doesn't seem to want to stay dead.
"Igor who?" Enzo looks from her to me.
"Ledyanoy Prizrak," I fill Enzo in, who stares at me in disbelief before he starts laughing.
"What the fuck? You boys have been busy, haven't you? Ledyanoy Prizrak? Dead?"
I let the boys comment go for a second time, because there is something more pressing I need to know. My attention returns to Margarita. "Who was he to you?"
"The only man who ever cared about me," she screams, her walls cracking for the first time.
She takes in deep, heavy breaths, her eyes filled with a fury and hate I'm sure only men who were about to die have seen from her.
For the first time, her age shows as her head slightly bobs from side to side, likely from the emotional strain.
She steps to the table, which is anchored, and leans against it.
Her left arm crosses over her chest, while her right comes up to prop on it to stabilize herself.
Had she not been the source of Violet getting hurt, I might have felt sorry for her. I can't ever forget the image of my Violet bleeding in my arms, though. The pain and fear of losing her left no room in me for even an ounce of empathy for her attacker.
"Why me? Enrico was the one who killed him." I point out.
"I'm not done with him either," she responds, once again in control of her emotions.
"Yes, you are," I fill her in. "You're not leaving this boat alive."
"Consider me shaking in fear," she tilts her head.
"I don't know what's going on, but this woman has another ace up her sleeve," Enzo warns.
I'm afraid he's right.
"Consider me intrigued in your little soap opera," Enzo continues, "so was Ledyanoy Prizrak your lover, then? I thought Fabio something was."
Normally, I would have warned Enzo off; he's only here out of courtesy, but I notice that he's getting to her, as her eyes now throw daggers at him.
"Typical male, you always think with your dicks. No, Igor wasn't my lover. He was my half-brother." Her words are more a challenge than an explanation.
I wrack my brain trying to remember Donna Margarita's lineage.
I should have done my homework before I started sparring with her.
Then again, I had no idea what I was in for.
Deep down, I thought Luciano was right when he suggested I pissed her off by fucking or not fucking one of her daughters, but that isn't it at all. This goes much deeper.
She's worn the mask for so long, it must be second nature to her by now, because the moment it slips, she yanks it back into place like a curtain torn open and hastily drawn shut.
"Did you hire your brother to kill Kingsley?" I ask.
She drums her fingers against her teeth and complains, "Oh dear, you're putting me into a very awkward position."
"How so?"
"Well, let me think, dear boy. Do I die, not telling you, and let you wallow in the question of why? Or do I lay out the ugly truth for you?"
"It won't change the outcome, you'll die today, either way," Enzo informs her.
She doesn't even acknowledge him. Instead, she stares right at me. Hate pours out of her in waves, then a Mona Lisa smile tugs at the corners of her lips. "You know what, I'll fill you in. Because I'm a good woman, and because I'd like to see you and your new little alliance fight shadows."
"However you wish to spend your last minutes, Donna Margarita," I say, keeping my cool, unwilling to give her the satisfaction of seeing how much I want to know what she has to say.
I could have it tortured out of her, but right now, she looks like a woman ready to share her darkest secrets with someone, even if that someone is her henchman.
"You'll probably hear some of it anyway, so I might as well fill you in."
The table is just low enough to support her. She doesn't look at me or Enzo. Instead, her gaze drifts out through the hull window, dramatic as ever.
"You see, some thirty-something years ago, I had an affair. An affair that didn't go without consequences. Unfortunately, Leonardo, the weaselly coward, wouldn't own up to his responsibility. I had to have our baby in secret; if Riccy, my late husband, had found out, he would have killed me."
Right. Let's not pretend this was some tragic romance.
I don't believe for one second that she fell for Leonardo—the Don at the time, Edoardo's father—she must have hunted him.
From what I remember of the family's history around that time, Leonardo's wife had just died. Which meant the throne was wide open.
She wasn't trying to be loved. She was trying to be crowned.
And getting pregnant? That was her attempt to seal the deal. Tie herself to the Don with blood, not just sheets.
Too bad Leonardo was as ruthless as he was gutless.
"Leonardo? Isn't that your Don's father?" Enzo questions, and at my nod, he shrugs and turns to Margarita. "So why didn't you just pretend the kid was your husband's?"
"Because the asshole got a vasectomy after I gave birth to our son, Giovanni.
He wanted to ensure I was faithful." Margarita spits and then continues, "You see, Riccy was quite a bit older than me and a very controlling asshole.
I ran his business without one ounce of credit ever given to me," her eyes turn to me.
"I was the one figuring out it was cheaper to snatch girls off the streets and sell them rather than having them fall for our men and get them hooked first. I was the one coming up with the idea to send for brides in Russia and Poland and all those God-forsaken places. Me!"
She nearly screams the last word. It clearly bothers her a great deal that she has always been forced to operate from behind the curtains, that nobody has ever known her cleverness.
That she is responsible for human trafficking the way it's done now doesn't seem to bother her one bit, but that's the branch her family ran: prostitution, drugs, and human trafficking.
The latter was an addition to the family business introduced by whom everybody always assumed was Riccy Giordano.
I'm not sure if the fact that it was a woman behind the human trafficking part makes the entire affair worse or not.
"Any more questions, or do you want me to continue?" Margarita tilts her head questioningly at Enzo, who waves his hand for her to continue.
"Cigarette?" Margarita asks Enzo and me. Neither one of us smokes, but some of my men do. With a sigh to show her how much she's testing my patience, I open the door and relay her request to Marco, who is outside the door. He pulls out a packet of smokes and a lighter.
I place them on the table next to her.
"I suppose these will do," Margarita scrutinizes the brand and decides to light one. Her first inhale ends in a coughing fit, but the second and third relax her tense expression, and she even closes her eyes.
"And they said these would kill me," she chuckles.
"So, you were pregnant," I prompt, wanting to get on with it.
"Yep, quit smoking for the little brat, too." She hisses out a cloud of smoke.
"Leonardo told me to get rid of the kid or he'd tell Riccy.
Got Carlos to take me—your fucking father," one more time her hate spews toward me.
"The bastard got me to trust him. Said he would keep me and the baby safe, promised me one day he would help put my son on the throne that belonged rightfully to him. "
"So you had a son?" Enzo questions.
She doesn't answer, as if her silence could conceal the obvious.
"He helped me hide the pregnancy, kept Riccy and Leonardo busy and distracted until I gave birth.
And then, like all the other men, he betrayed me," Margarita glares at me as if I were Carlos.
"He took my son. And there was nothing I could do about it.
He told me that if I raised a fuss, he would out me to both Riccy and Leonardo.
"Our Don had remarried by then, and I was certain that he and Riccy wouldn't just kill me, but my son too."
My mind is working a hundred miles an hour.
If Margarita had a son with Don Leonardo, and that son was born before Edoardo, he would make an interesting contestant for the position of Don.
Legitimate or not. Finding him needs to be our number one priority.
Having an alternative for Don Edoardo would sway the holdouts.
But then another thought occurs to me, one that horrifies me to no end. What if that son was me? Or Angelo?
She laughs, "Oh, don't look so spooked, you're not mine, neither was Angelo, your dear brother." She says dear with enough derision to make it clear that she knows exactly what kind of relationship he and I had.