Chapter 9
ZARINA
Ihaven’t slept in my room for three nights. Not since our engagement party. Which also happens to be the last time Tamayo and I fucked. We spent the last two nights falling into bed, curled around each other like koalas clinging to branches, and sleeping. Just sleeping.
Our engagement party also happens to be the last time I made any progress toward unraveling the Gallo family mess.
My computer lies on my bed while I stand in my en suite, guilt-tripping me without saying a word.
It must have learned that from my father.
I ignore it as I apply the last bit of my minimal makeup.
Tamayo wanted me to be fully bare-faced, but I refuse to step foot in the lion’s den without any armor at all.
My crewneck sweater collar sits on my clavicles, my Gallo necklace hanging bright red and gold, and along the column of my throat, Marcus’s fingerprints shine dark purple with hints of green.
It hurts to turn my head or brush a finger down the skin.
All the better to garner sympathy with.
I throw my computer a grimace. “Later. I promise.”
I know I’m close—Mother confirmed as much with her reaction to the Gachico properties. And the Birdwatcher’s offer for better information hangs like the most tempting worm on the end of a hook. I have options.
But half my options require betraying Tamayo.
I slip out of my room and down the stairs, meeting Pat at the garage door.
We’re quiet as they start the car and navigate us out of the neighborhood and into the city to meet up with Tamayo and Darius at the mediation.
I don’t know if Pat senses my mood or if they’re stuck in their own, but I can’t stop chewing my lip as I consider that the easiest, most effective path to toppling my parents’ stonewall refusal cuts straight through Tamayo’s family.
A path of my own forging.
I struck a deal with the Birdwatcher. I struck a deal with Tamayo.
Both put Tamayo and her family in harm’s way.
What’s worse is that I’m not sure either deal can truly lead to the outcome I want—my family pulled up and out of dire straits, the Accardis cut off by the balls and just as impotent, and my fake betrothed largely untouched by the dangers of my desperation.
After almost a month, the only thing I’m sure of is that I would rather swallow razors than marry Marcus Accardi.
Now I just have to convince the Council to do more than stand back and let the chips fall where they may.
Pat pulls up outside Casa Nostra, and I do my best to focus on this moment. I promised Tamayo and myself that I’d play my part well. I can’t be distracted. And I definitely can’t gouge Marcus’s eyeballs out of his head like I want to.
The valet takes the keys as Pat and I climb the steps into the gentleman’s club.
It’s mid-afternoon, but inside is just as dark as when we visited at night, the only light from the low lamps.
We don’t step inside the lounge, though, striding directly to the staircase leading to the upper level.
The man standing guard unhooks the velvet rope and waves us up.
I pause outside the designated room and pull in a steadying breath.
Pat waits, not asking nor rushing. When I walk through this door, Marcus Accardi will be waiting inside.
His fingerprints on my neck throb with each beat of my heart, and with it, my desire to carve my name into his pretty face grows.
I can’t do that. Not here. The next best thing I can do is reveal him and his family for the back-dealing scum they are.
“Okay.” I roll my shoulders back, straighten my spine, and enter the room.
Five men and one woman stand when they see me—Jimmy and one of his men, Marcus and Alonso, and Darius.
And Tamayo. She offers me the chair beside her at a long table that doesn’t match the rest of the decor.
A canopy bed stands on the far right wall, a chaise lounge under the large picture window scattering muted, gray light across the room.
Two stuffed chairs sit against the wall, as if someone moved them out of the way.
I press a kiss to Tamayo’s cheek and settle into my seat as she pushes it in for me. I don’t spare Marcus or Alonso a glance, taking Tamayo’s hand tight in mine as if I need her strength in order to face my attacker.
Really, I need her to hold me back from climbing over this table and throttling him.
“Let’s begin.” Jimmy gestures for the Accardis to sit.
Darius stays standing against the wall, Pat beside him. On the opposite side of the room stand two other men with their hands clasped in front of them and their guns poking out from under their jackets—Accardi guards.
“Zarina Gallo has leveled a complaint—”
“Accusation,” Alonso snaps.
Jimmy ignores him. “That, on October thirty-first, Marcus Accardi attacked her and attempted to kidnap and forcibly marry her. This occurred during a Council sanctioned event in which sacred hospitality was invoked and subsequently violated. Miss Gallo, is this summary accurate?”
“Yes.” My voice is clipped. I know Tamayo wants me to play a frail woman who is broken after an assault, but the thought makes me gag.
I didn’t grow up watching death and dismemberment, enacting violence when necessary—and sometimes unnecessary—to act like I didn’t for the sake of a man’s ego.
These aren’t my first bruises. And they won’t be my last.
Jimmy looks to me. “Do you have evidence to submit to uphold your claims?”
I press my hand to my chest, just below my collar. “The bruises on my neck.”
Marcus rests his chin in the crook of his thumb, half his fingers covering his chin, and looks at his handiwork with a sardonic brow. “Those look more like you and Andrea got a little… carried away in the bedroom.”
I squeeze Tamayo’s hand tighter and resist the urge to roll my eyes. Instead, I raise a finger. “Pat.”
I don’t bother to turn as they pull out their phone and tap a few times. They pocket it again. “Each of you has been sent a video taken on that night, pulled from the security cameras.”
Everyone pulls out their phones to watch, except me. I have no desire to re-live it. A few seconds after beginning the footage, Marcus puts his down, too, and meets my glare. He smirks at me, seemingly unfazed by the footage on his screen. Footage that proves me right and him a liar.
That smirk sinks under my skin like gangrene, festering and ravaging. The swiftness with which he stopped watching, an itch I can’t scratch.
When the video’s finished, Jimmy looks up from his screen. His face is impassive, almost unsurprised. “Alonso, Marcus? Care to respond?”
Marcus leans back in his chair and clasps his hands over his stomach. “I think if you review the footage closely, you’ll notice Miss Gallo pulled a knife on me first.”
Jimmy rewinds to watch it again.
I squint at Marcus, trying to determine his angle.
In my memory, we attacked simultaneously.
If we hadn’t, there’s no way he would have gotten his hand on my throat.
The one or two second advantage it would have given me—it would have been enough.
Marcus would be dead, and we’d be having a very different meeting.
He doesn’t look away or back down, that smirk still playing on his lips. “I was within my rights to protect myself, sacred hospitality or not.”
“You attacked before my intentions were clear—I just wanted to show you my new blade.” I offer my most kittenish smile, lashes batting and voice sardonic.
He chuckles. “I prefer to lean into caution.”
“Your track record would suggest otherwise. And so would the bruises you left on me after the Council meeting.”
“Marcus?” Jimmy prompts.
Marcus waves it off. “A simple misunderstanding.”
“So many extra syllables just to say assault.” My voice stays sweet, but my jaw is clenched and my eyes burn with suppressed anger.
Tamayo’s hand in mine squeezes, and it’s probably meant to be comforting, but it feels a lot more like a parent cautioning a child. The red at the edges of my vision begins seeping inward. I try to yank out of her grip, but she holds on tighter.
She cuts through our parley and the building tension. “I believe the dozen armed men that flooded the hall and abetted in the attempted kidnapping show this was both premeditated and a targeted attack.”
Marcus doesn’t so much as spare her a glance, a flicker of annoyance, a disdainful snort.
His gaze remains trained on me, his hands clasped over his stomach—the picture of ease with a singular goal.
“They heard a commotion and came to check it out. If Zarina had played nice, nothing would have happened.”
“Played nice.” I chew on the words. “When you had me disarmed by the throat? Or when you were forcibly dragging me out of the building to a waiting car?”
“I was helping you outside so you could cool down. Didn’t want all your guests seeing you so indisposed.”
“Cause you’re thoughtful like that,” I deadpan.
Marcus winks. “You’re catching on.”
“By the throat, Marcus?” Jimmy sounds exasperated with a hint of incredulity.
He sips on his whisky, despite the morning hour, and shakes his head.
My own glass, full of water, sits untouched in front of me.
Alonso nurses his drink with his lip curled in disgust, though I’m sure it has little to do with the taste.
“She was hysterical,” Marcus says with fake concern. “Clearly a danger to herself and others. I wanted to help her home, but I didn’t want her to hurt anyone. I had to make sure she was compliant.”
I can’t fucking believe this. “Bullshit.”
“You shot a gun into a crowd, Zarina,” he says.
Like I’m a crazy person. Like I’m a danger to myself and society. Like he hasn’t threatened my life, my freedom, my body, at every opportune moment.
“I shot a gun at the hallway ceiling,” I growl.
Marcus sighs, shakes his head. “We talked in the hall, yes, but it was just that—talking. Until she pulled her knife. Everything thereafter was an attempt to keep myself, the guests, and even Miss Gallo safe. That’s all I ever want.”
Red overtakes my field of vision, tunneling until all I can see is Marcus and his bullshit-smeared concern.
There’s a fucking video, and he’s still found a way to bend it to his narrative: A good Samaritan who was trying to help.
And I’m just the evil witch temptress who uses her body and her emotions to manipulate good men into bad situations. I got what I deserved.
For all their flaws, my parents never lied to me or tried to hide the truth of our criminality from me. I grew up with eyes wide open and hands bloodied. Never before now have I experienced someone gaslighting me so heavily that I think to question myself, my memory, my experience.
And I vow this will be the last.
“This is the angle, huh?” I snort. Tamayo’s hand is close to cutting off circulation with how tight it is around mine. I ignore her caution. “A good man taming the shrew, protecting me from myself. You forgot one thing, Marcus.”
His face is covered in pity. “It’s not an angle, Zarina. It’s the truth.”
“You’re not a good man, Marcus.” I shove off Tamayo’s grip, which moves to my thigh, and hold out my hand.
Pat sets a folder in it, and I toss the photos inside onto the table.
They land splattered across the wood like bits of brain from a shotgun blast. Dead women, beaten and bloody and discarded, litter the tabletop.
“Each of these women was last seen with you before they died. Each of them has bruises on their necks like mine. Each of them was labeled a cold case under the district attorney’s direction. ”
Marcus doesn’t even glance at the photos. I didn’t think he would.
Alonso rolls his eyes. “Your point?”
I drop the folder onto the table and cross my one leg over the other. “Marcus Accardi’s reputation precedes him. I’m not a sex worker or a spring breaker or his own mother.”
Marcus’s jaw clenches at that—a crack. Finally.
“I’m Zarina Gallo.” My voice is as imperious as my mother’s. “And I don’t wait for snakes to strike first before I cut off their heads.”
“Again, I don’t see how this relates,” Alonso grumbles.
“You wouldn’t.” I allow myself the low blow, because I’m so fucking angry. “Reputation matters, Mr. Accardi. Especially for us. How could I know I wouldn’t be the next photograph of a dead woman on this table?”
“And what about your reputation, Miss Gallo?” he asks.
He hasn’t looked at the buffet of dead women laid out before him, either.
Like father, like son. “I know half a dozen men you’ve seduced into a deal or flirted into disclosure.
Are you even gay? Or is this a ruse to avoid your duty and ruin your family and mine? ”
My rage finally erupts. Lava washing my world in molten reds and yellows and heating up my body from the inside out.
Tamayo’s grip on my thigh barely registers as I stand so fast, my chair topples with a clatter.
I snatch up the crystal tumbler filled with water I haven’t touched and wind up, aiming the heavy glass at Alonso’s head.
But Darius grabs me by my throwing arm.
The crystal topples out of my hand and lands on the table, spilling water over the photos. The wet spots darken like bloodstains on skin.
“She’s clearly emotional, prone to violence.” Marcus shakes his head, still playing the good man who wants to protect and serve. But I see the smirk at the edge of his lips. I see the mask fraying. “I mean, she even tried to seduce me in the hall—just so she could get close enough to stab me.”
I try to lunge at Marcus. Smashing the crystal tumbler and using the shards to carve his face into ribbons sounds like a good plan. But Darius holds me tight, and I don’t really want to dislocate my shoulder.
“I would sooner stab myself than seduce you,” I spit through clenched teeth.
Marcus leans back in his chair, finally allowing the smirk to stretch his lips as he leers. “That’s not what the video shows.”
I smile so dangerously, I feel deranged. “Let me prove it. Right now.”
Jimmy stands from his chair with a clap of his hands. “I think that’s enough for today.”