Chapter 17 Grace #2
"Yes," I say. "I believe you."
"Do you think I'm a good man, Grace?"
I take a moment to look at him. Out here on this private beach in the middle of nowhere, it feels permissible to say exactly what's on my mind.
"I think there are things you are hiding from the world," I say. "I don't know what it is, but I'm sure I'll figure it out soon enough."
Something dark blooms in his gaze. He leans forward, pinning me in place with his eyes.
"Make no mistake, piccola," he says. "I decided I wanted you the second I saw you. Even without external circumstances, I still would have found a way to make you mine."
It's like I can see right through him. Even when he's being intimidating, I know it's to camouflage other parts of him.
"Do you know who killed your parents?" I ask.
His eyes flash with malice. "Yes."
"Did you get revenge?"
He shakes his head, watching me closely.
"Are you going to?"
"It's all I ever think about."
"If you know who did it, what are you waiting for?"
"There are other pieces of the game," he answers cryptically. "And I'm waiting for everything to fall into place."
"I see." I know that I'm pushing all his buttons with this conversation, but I need to understand the inside of his mind.
"Apart from the human trafficking, what other businesses was your mother involved in?"
"Most were legal," I say. "Real estate, stocks, and a shipping business that she inherited."
"What about the illegal ones?"
"She never spoke about any of it in front of us."
"But you knew what was going on."
"I knew she had connections with the underworld," I say. "I eavesdropped on some of her conversations. She was planning more abductions. She was working on scaling it."
"So this is something she started doing recently?"
"As far as I know, yes."
"What was she going to do with the kids?"
There's a growing pit in my stomach. I'm glad I stuck to mostly orange juice even though there's a whole feast between us.
"Apart from selling them to wealthy pedophiles, there was also talk about working with this biotech company," I say. "She was going to sell some of the children to that company to be used for experimentation as human guinea pigs."
"Do you remember the name of this biotech company?"
I shake my head.
I don't remember seeing their name, but I remember the day I first found out about them.
"But you remember something else."
I swallow. "They sent a sample to our house once. My mother was away on a business trip, so I opened the package. It was of a skincare line."
"A skincare line?" he repeats, looking confused.
"Only it wasn't just any skincare line," I say.
"It was something that was meant to be sold in the black market to elite clients.
Only the ingredients were listed on these bottles.
They were made using placenta and stem cells from newborn babies.
I knew it was popular in the market because a few days later, our entire walk-in fridge was filled with these serum bottles. "
His jaw hardens. A part of me wonders why he's so bothered by this. This is how crime families make their wealth. They're not afraid to do what others consider unethical or immoral.
"You must also sell things on the dark web."
He nods. "Yes."
"What do you sell?"
"The usual," he says. "Designer drugs and weapons."
"Do you hurt children?"
"I already told you I don't."
"Have you killed people?" I ask.
"Yes," he says.
"How many?"
"I stopped keeping count a long time ago."
The wind blows his shirt to the side. One of his tattoos catches my eye. It's a girl's name, and it's tattooed right over his heart.
Ida.
I want to ask him who that is, but I'm not sure if I want to know.
"How did you get into this life?" I ask him. "From what I understand, you weren't born into the mafia."
"I was already an orphan when Don Savastano took me under his wing. He taught me everything I know today. He made me who I am," he says, looking lost in time.
I glance back down at his chest. The name seems to glow in the dark. And before I can stop myself, I blurt out the question.
"Who's Ida?"
He stills. His face turns into stone before he looks back at the ocean.
"Your twenty questions are over, little bird," he whispers.
My lips part. I didn't realize he was keeping count.
"What's your favorite flower?" he asks.
After all the heavy things we discussed, the frivolous question catches me off guard.
"Sunflowers," I say. "They make me happy."
"Your favorite food?" he asks.
"I used to buy dinner from a taco truck when I was in California," I say. "I love Mexican food.”
The memory feels bittersweet, like that short moment in time was an end of an era I'll never return to.
“Do you have a favorite hobby?” he asks.
“Perfumes,” I say. “It was one of the only hobbies my mother allowed. I love playing with scents and making perfumes.”
He's looking at me in that way again. Like I'm someone he finds interesting.
I don't think anyone has ever looked at me in this way before.
He finishes the rest of his sandwich. I stare up at the stars.
As I listen to the sound of the ocean waves crashing against the cliffs, something occurs to me.
One of his questions was about the dungeons.
I'm certain I never mentioned them to him before. It’s supposed to be a part of the house nobody knew about. Not even my mother's business associates know about the dungeons.
But Dante seems to know all about it.
I watch him in the darkness. His sharp cheekbones cast shadows over the lower half of his face.
This man knows things he's not supposed to. Once again, I believe that there's more to Dante Mancini than what meets the eye.