Chapter Five #2
“Psychiatrist,” I clarify, meeting her petty, backhanded dig with a more direct one. “And that’s probably because Gianni has more important things on his mind.”
More important than you, you snarky bitch.
“Look, Becca, I know me showing up at Gianni’s house the other night may have gotten us off on the wrong foot…”
“It’s my house, and that’s an understatement. You interrupted my wedding night.”
She smooths a hand down her shiny dark hair with a grimace.
“I’ll admit, it wasn’t my classiest move, but I was blindsided.
One moment, Gianni was in Witness Protection and the next, Marcello was blackmailing him back into the family, then the estate went up in flames.
I was shocked. Although, to be fair, it’s not the first time our lives have become deeply entangled.
” She flicks her wrist and slides me a narrowed side eye.
“ Not that I’d expect you to understand our convoluted history. ”
“Actually, I understand it very well.”
She draws back, shock etched across her face. “He told you everything ?”
“You sound surprised.”
“I’ve known Gianni for a long time. He’s never been the sharing type.”
“Maybe it took the right woman to bring it out of him.”
Cathalina’s brittle smile cracks. I should feel guilty for purposely digging the knife in, but I don’t. This newfound jealous streak inside me burns hotter than decorum.
She’s so quiet that, for a moment, I think this awkward conversation may be over.
But then, she lowers her gaze. “You’re right.
Gianni married you because he wanted to, not out of obligation.
” She lets out a heavy sigh. “I hope someday you and I can be friends, Becca. La Cosa Nostra is a man’s world, so women have to look out for each other.
God knows no one else is going to do it.
” She nods across the room where a circle of mob bosses talk in a hushed circle.
“Even your father?”
“Especially my father.” She dips her chin in the opposite direction where a pair of familiar eyes watch us closely. “And a little tip, friend to friend … watch out for that one.”
“Anton? But Gianni trusts him.”
“So did Marcello.”
Before I can respond, a petite woman with long black hair and dark eyes appears out of nowhere and links her arm around mine.
“Oh my God, Becca,” she squeals, her voice pitched several octaves too high.
“I’ve been looking all over for you!” But it’s not her tone that causes me to tense; it’s the onyx eyes as deep as the ocean and the beautiful, yet lethal smile she turns toward the woman watching us like she just sucked off a lemon.
“I’ve been trying to steal time with the new Mrs. Marchesi all night. You don’t mind, right, Cat?”
What the actual fuck is happening right now?
I don’t find out because she drags me away to the other side of the church without waiting for an answer. Once we’re out of earshot, she removes her blood-red nails from my arm and winks. “You’re welcome.”
I step back. “Do I know you?”
Either she can’t read body language, or like everyone else in this place, doesn’t care, because she erases the space I just put between us. “I’m Serafina Barone.” There’s a hesitant pause before she adds, “Serafina Marchesi Barone. I’m Gianni’s sister.”
My breath whooshes out of my lungs, every ounce of forced courage fading into shock.
Sister.
I didn’t know Gianni had a sister. Then again, I didn’t know his name was Gianni, either, so I’m not sure why I’m surprised. Now I know why she felt like a walking paradox.
I’m not sure what to say. I’m meeting my new sister-in-law at a memorial service for her father, who was murdered by her brother, who I literally just married.
It’s like a fucked-up mob version of Jerry Springer .
So, instead, I say the most asinine thing ever. “That was rude.”
She arches a dark eyebrow. “I’m sorry. Did you want to talk to the woman my father tried to force your husband to marry?”
“Well, no.”
“Then, you’re welcome. Besides, I wouldn’t listen to anything Cathalina Damiano has to say,” she says, flicking those nails in a dismissive wave. “She’s still salty from having to wipe all that rejection off her.”
“Are you saying I shouldn’t trust her?”
Her sudden iron stare grabs me by the throat. “You shouldn’t trust anyone , Becca.”
“Does that include you?”
She’s quiet for a moment, then her face brightens. “I like you. I see why my brother fell so hard and fast.”
“Thanks, but you still didn’t answer my question.”
Her smile fades. “I’d never betray Gianni.
My father was an evil bastard who never valued women beyond their market price.
You were his prisoner for two days, but I’ve been his pawn for thirty years.
I’m alive only because of my brother. I trust him with my life, and if you value yours, you will, too. ”
Without another word, she walks away, leaving me more confused than ever.
Ten minutes later, Anton ushers me outside in an uncomfortable cloud of silence. I notice the FBI surveillance sedan is gone, but I say nothing. My trust is on hold until I’m sure of where his loyalties lie.
The drive home is painfully awkward. All I can think about is what Cathalina and Serafina said, which sends my feeble attempt at small talk severely left of center.
“You’ve known Gianni for a long time, huh?”
Anton nods. “All his life.” My hesitation draws a sharp side eye. “What’s with all the questions? Are you writing a research paper?”
“No, it’s nothing. I mean, it’s something, but nothing important or dire or…
” I take a deep breath and try to put a leash on my rambling.
I could make up something, but why? Marchesi men seem to have the infuriatingly uncanny knack of seeing right through me, so fuck it.
It’s not like I can put my life any more on the line.
“I’ve always wondered what incited his obsession with fire. ”
His body language changes immediately, his grip on the steering wheel tightening. “That’s Gianni’ s story to tell.”
“But—”
“But, nothing,” he says crisply. “A man’s trauma is his own. You’ll know when he wants you to know.”
We drive the rest of the way in a strained silence that only ends with Anton’s refusal to let me enter the house until he’s completed a full sweep. Once it’s deemed safe, I grab my purse and leave him standing on the front lawn as I slam the door behind me without looking back.
While I’m exhausted, sleep is a luxury reserved for women whose husbands don’t keep the hours of a vampire. So instead of climbing the stairs, I pour too much whiskey into a highball glass and collapse onto the couch.
I’ve never been one for television, but I need background noise to counteract the one in my head. Grabbing the remote off the coffee table, I hit random buttons, only to see Gianni’s face plastered across the screen.
A pretty brunette reporter pops up, her expression somber and caked with fake concern.
“High-ranking members of the East Coast mafia were seen attending a memorial service for one of their own tonight. Marcello Marchesi, long-time boss of the New Jersey-based Marchesi crime family died last week in what police say is an accidental house fire. But was it? Confidential sources report that since Marchesi’s death, his son, Gianni, who famously turned state’s witness against his father, has assumed control of his empire. ”
I close my eyes, take a deep breath, then open them. Unfortunately, the only thing that changes is the image. Instead of Gianni’s picture, it’s now… “Oh, no.”
“As if that’s not worthy enough of a Hollywood script, sources say the new mafia don tied the knot less than twenty-four hours after his father’s death.
Marchesi’s new bride…? Dr. Rebecca Brennan, the groom’s ex-therapist and Providence, Rhode Island’s latest missing person.
” She looks into the camera with an arched eyebrow. “Who says life doesn’t imitate art?”
I stare blankly at the screen. I don’t know why I’m shocked to be a national headline. Gianni has spent his entire life as one. I have to tell him about this before he’s blindsided.
Pulling my phone from my purse, I go to dial, only to still. My fingers hover over the keypad as I think about how his mood tanked after getting Owen’s text. How not long after Gianni disappeared, so did the federal agents…
“...trust me, that curb is the closest they’re going to get.”
“Then what are they waiting for … someone to walk outside and drop a smoking gun?”
“Something like that.”
My stomach twists. Was he placating me or warning me? I glance back up at the television screen, my thoughts spinning like a windmill caught in a hurricane. I need answers. I need the truth. I need…
I glance back down at the phone.
…To go straight to the source.
I scroll to contact two, only for my thumb to freeze millimeters away from the dial button.
No. I can’t go behind his back. It’s wrong. It’s deceitful…
Every muscle in my body tenses as video footage plays on the screen of uniformed men wheeling what was left of Marcello’s body away from the still smoking charred ruins of his estate.
…It’s better to have him alive with a guilty conscience than dead with a clear one.
I swallow the boulder in my throat and hit the call button before I can change my mind. It only takes one ring for him to answer.
Please let Gianni be there.
“Becca?” Owen says, his tone cautious. “What’s wrong? Are you okay?”
I hear the distinct sound of the same news broadcast in the background, and my heart sinks. “That depends,” I say, unnerved at how cold I sound.
“On what?”
“On whether you’ll tell me the truth about where Gianni is, or lie to me, too.”