Chapter 57 MARCELLO #3
"I didn't know who my son was for thirty years," she pauses, "thirty fucking years." She repeats wistfully, then her eyes turn cold again. She shakes the ashes off the cigarette and onto the ground, uncaring where they land.
"Thirty years of wondering. Yearning to see him, to find out who he was. To look at every man of a certain age, thinking, is that him? Do you have any idea what that does to a person?"
If she's playing for my sympathy, she's appealing to the wrong man. I find it much more plausible that she was chomping at the bit for her son to take his rightful place so she could receive hers.
"Whoever he is, he's lucky not to have been raised by you." I can't stop from remarking.
She throws the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under her heel. The teakwood floor is probably going to be ruined, but that's the last thing on my mind right now. "Why did my father want your kid?"
"Why indeed?" She glares at me. "What could a capo possibly want with the illegitimate son of our Don?" She rolls her eyes at me. "Pity, I thought you were smarter than that." And then, as if tossing me a bone, "remind me what branch your family is in again?"
She knows exactly what my family's business is, but I humor her, having an idea where this might lead. "Extortion is one of them."
"Extortion, right." She smiles benevolently, like a teacher whose favorite student just gave the correct answer. Like a light switch, she turns cold again. "My son was his insurance policy."
This doesn't add up, "If that is the case, then why didn't Carlos use it as his get out of jail free card with Edoardo?"
Margarita is too refined to roll her eyes at me, but the look she gives me is damn close. “Do I really need to spell that out for you? I thought you were smarter than that.”
No, she doesn’t. I get it. Carlos might have initially taken her son as leverage against Leonardo, but over time he must have realized that her son’s true value to him was to keep his identity from Donna Margarita.
Her power grew over the years, making her a much more formidable threat than even Leonardo or his successor Edoardo.
Even cornered Margarita managed to outwit Carlos.
He had an ace in the hole, but it was one he could never play, unless he wanted to die.
“I see you get it,” she lights another cigarette. "How about a scotch? Doesn't a condemned prisoner have a right to a last drink?"
Enzo throws me a questioning glance, and at my nod, he moves to the door to get Margarita what she wants.
"Men," she puffs out. "You never use your brains, do you?"
I ignore the barb. Enzo returns with the drink, ice and all.
"Thank you, you're a real gentleman," Margarita flutters her eyelashes at him. Enzo looks slightly amused. I have to give it to her; she does know how to put on a show.
"Do you play chess, Marcello?"
The dots connect in my mind. "You orchestrated all this?
You made my father think it was Edoardo who wanted him to put a hit on Jacomo, to make Carlos use his one trump card after he found out he was being used.
And then you played Toni to kill my father out of revenge to get a vendetta going in the family. "
She grins, "Ding, ding, ding. Now you're getting it."
After thirty years, she had finally had enough of waiting and plotting behind the scenes. Edoardo, our new Don, was weak when he came into power; it was her time to strike. But she needed to find her son for that.
Her methods are ruthless, but brilliant.
"You married your daughter to Edoardo, even knowing that you wanted him off that throne, replaced by your illegitimate son?"
"Either him or Roberto," she waves the cigarette like it doesn't matter.
I'm starting to see the picture—her endgame.
Margarita wasn't happy running the capo business from behind the curtain.
She wanted to run the Capo dei Capi from behind the curtain.
And who better than her grandson or son?
And if all that failed, she still had a daughter married to Edoardo.
"Alright, as fascinating as all this is, can we now get to the part where we get rid of this snake?" Enzo asks.
I hold up my hand. I'm not quite done.
"So, when did your little plan start to fall apart? When Edoardo took Helen as his mistress? When you found out your son was dead? When you figured out that Isabella is not you and can't manipulate her husband?"
"That silly cunt." Obviously annoyed, Margarita takes a deep sip from the scotch, shaking her head. "I should have known better than to place my bets on her."
This woman is a true sociopath. Had she been born a man, she probably would have become Capo dei Capi one day. She's as ruthless as they come, with no emotional regard for anything or anyone.
Another thought occurs to me. "You kidnapped Izzy. You planted her in your house to make it look like your son Giovanni did it. To incite another war, this one between the Sartori's and your own family."
"Smart boy," she finishes the scotch and throws the glass over her shoulder, where it crashes against the wall.
"More?" Enzo asks.
"Might as well be drunk before I die," Margarita agrees.
Enzo again moves to the door, while I mull over the last piece of information.
Enrico's sister Izzy was abducted a few months ago, which led to Enrico killing Giovanni and enraging Edoardo.
But since Giovanni had been the one betraying the code—the one that doesn't allow capos to involve each other's family members, especially women—Edoardo could do little.
Enrico was within his rights to kill the man who abducted his sister.
"Giovanni was starting to have some silly notions about not needing me any longer," Margarita explains without me prompting. "Roberto was so much easier to manipulate. Poor boy. He didn't deserve to die."
Now that again raises my ire. "Roberto abused my sister."
She rolls her eyes at me. "Really? That's what you're worried about?"
I don't need another reason to see her dead, but she just handed me one. "You knew."
She shrugs. "Every man or woman for themselves. If your sister is too much of a pussy to take care of herself…" She shrugs again, then reaches for the glass Enzo hands her.
"Well, the joke is on you, because Raffael killed Roberto." I'm about to smirk when an ice-cold shiver runs down my spine. Her smile widens in equal measure to every ounce of dread growing inside me. "Wait, you said Carlos thought he had killed your son? Raffael is your son?"
She holds up the glass in a cheer, "Bingo."
A dry laugh escapes me. Fuck. Me. Raffael is about to become my brother-in-law. If I do anything to him, I'll hurt my sister.
"You better watch your back, boy," Margarita laughs.
"Marco," I yell, having had enough of that vile bitch.
Carefully and with great grace, Margarita puts the glass on the table before she walks over to Marco without being prompted. Like the queen she always wanted to be, she turns by the door.
"One more thing," she calls over her shoulder, "next time you see your new friend, Toni? Ask him about the time he and Grigori Arsenyev got rid of your brother's body."
Rooted to the spot, I stare after her. Enzo shakes his head, "I have a feeling that bitch could pull a Sheherazade on you and weave one thousand and one secrets. Let it go."
I was told Angelo died in a boating accident, was shredded by the propellers. I always thought it suspicious, and I would have looked deeper into it, but I never had a chance. I don't give a rat's ass what or who killed my fucking brother.
My gut is a pit of dread and anger, but not for the reasons she thinks. My brother was a piece of shit. Even if it were Toni who pulled the trigger, I wouldn't have cared. What I care about is that he hasn't told me. We're allies. This cannot stand between us. I will not allow it to do that.
"Come on, Marcello, time to feed the sharks." Enzo puts his hand on my shoulder.
"They're ready, boss," Marco adds, looking at Donna Margarita's retreating form without much pity.
She deserves everything that's coming to her.
She's been manipulating and killing people for years, and she would have incited several vendettas if we had let her.
It's time for her reign of terror to come to an end.
Her end will be worth every unanswered question we still have.
I don't move. My eyes stay on the space she just vacated, as if the ghost of her lies still lingers there.
Raffael.
The name settles over me like a noose. He killed Roberto to protect Sophia.
That should count for something. And yet, he's her fucking son.
Margarita's. Molded by thirty years of shadows and silence.
No matter what he did for my sister, he was raised by someone Carlos trusted to bury the truth. That doesn't breed saints.
So who is he?
Another snake waiting for his moment?
Another Leonardo, cold, calculating, never letting love get in the way of ambition?
Or is he something worse? Something smarter. Because if he's Margarita's blood, he's not as incompetent as Edoardo.
I could use a man like that.
Or I might have to kill him.
And that, more than anything, makes my blood run cold. Because if I do, I'll hurt my sister.
Slowly, I follow the others and turn toward the sea, where the water churns, hungry and patient.
"This fucking family's going to be the death of me."