Chapter 56 VIOLET
I have a new bodyguard. One, I would very much like to kill right now.
"If you don't tell me what the hell is going on, I'll have Felix sit on you." I threaten Pippa.
She shudders in mock fear but has the good sense to look at least somewhat guilty.
"There is no way in hell that Luciano hired you off the street like this. Plus, he got Marcello to agree to you being my bodyguard." I cross my arms over my chest and in my sternest voice demand, "Spill."
"I might not have been completely honest with you," she says, carefully sitting at the edge of my bed.
"Might?" I cock an eyebrow at her.
"Okay, fine. I wasn't honest with you. I let you believe I was doing odd plumbing jobs," her fingers make air quotation marks.
"What were you really doing?" I can't believe my best friend since childhood has been lying to me since… "How long have you been lying to me?"
"Well, do you remember when Mom got so sick?"
I do. We were eighteen, I think. Or thereabouts. I went to college to become a nurse, and Pippa went to trade school. Her mom was in and out of the ER for weeks, and every time I came home, Pippa looked more hollowed out.
"Yeah," I say carefully. "I remember she had some kind of stomach issue."
Pippa lets out a breath and leans forward, resting her elbows on her knees. "Gallstones. Real bad ones. Her gallbladder was inflamed, full of them. She couldn't keep food down, couldn't sleep, barely moved without crying."
I wince. "She needed surgery."
She nods. "Emergency laparoscopic cholecystectomy. Fancy words for a twenty-thousand-dollar bill."
My stomach drops. "You didn't have insurance."
"Bingo," she says, voice dry. "Mom worked three jobs and had no health insurance. And Medicaid wasn't an option because she was making too much money. She was in pain—screaming—and I couldn't just watch her die."
I sit there, stunned. "So what did you do?"
Pippa's eyes flick to mine, and for the first time since I've known her, I see a shadow there. Something sharp and old. Not regret—just memory.
"I did a job for someone," she says simply. "One job. One shot. And the bill was paid in full the next morning."
I stare at her. "A job?"
"I told you," she murmurs, "I'm good at fixing things. Sometimes things that make noise. Sometimes things that bleed."
"Jesus, Pippa…"
She shrugs, the motion too light to carry the weight of what she's admitting. "It was that or watch her slowly die. I made a choice."
Silence settles between us. I don't even know what to say.
I want to be angry, but all I can feel is heartbreak.
For her. For the girl who sat beside me through every bad school lunch and whispered dreams to the ceiling in my childhood bedroom, and who never told me how much she was sacrificing just to survive.
"And after that?" I ask quietly.
"Once you've done one job like that, people know.
It's not exactly a resumé-builder, but it opens doors.
I worked when I needed money. I stayed quiet.
Kept my head down. Until recently." She pauses, twisting her fingers on the edge of the blanket before adding, "Eventually, I started paying for training.
Tactical stuff. Close range. Long range.
Surveillance. I figured if I was going to keep doing it, I should get better. "
She glances up, and there's a challenge in her eyes now, daring me to look away, to flinch.
"And the truth is... I like it," she says, her voice quieter now but far more dangerous.
"I like the power. I like knowing I can end someone if they deserve it.
I like making bad people disappear. Men who hurt women.
Who think they can buy silence with blood.
I like watching that moment, the second they realize I'm not who they thought I was. "
She lets out a breath that almost sounds like a laugh, but there's no humor in it. "Maybe that makes me a monster. But if it does, at least I'm a monster that answers to herself."
"And Luciano just knew?"
"I didn't come out of nowhere, Vi," she says, in a soft voice. "People in Marcello's world… they know how to spot a wolf. Even when she's been hiding in sheep's clothes."
I look at her differently now. My best friend. My secret assassin.
And still, the only person I trust enough to watch my back.
The silence stretches, but my brain is sprinting. I always joked she was a little off. That her moral compass ran magnetic north to her own chaos. But this? This is something else.
"I used to say you were like Dexter," I mutter, mostly to myself. "Dark passenger and all that shit."
She smirks. "You did."
I huff out a stunned little laugh. "Jesus. And here I thought I was being dramatic. But… damn, Pippa. You might actually be Dexter."
She tilts her head, mock-considering. "Minus the plastic wrap. That stuff's a bitch to clean up."
God. Of course, she has a favorite way to kill.
The reality of it sinks in, not just what she's done, but that she's good at it. That she likes it. And not in some twisted, out-of-control way. No, it's worse than that. It's calm. Reasoned. Controlled.
Fuck.
My best friend's a killer. No, worse, a serial killer. An assassin for hire.
I don't even know what shocks me more, that she is one… or that it doesn't make me love her any less. Damn.
I've already accepted Marcello's world, the blood, the violence, the lines you cross and can never uncross. I made peace with that the second I fell in love with him.
But now?
Now I'm staring at my oldest friend and realize she's been out there assassinating people like she's running a quiet little side hustle.
My boyfriend's a mafia king.
My best friend's an assassin.
My father is a capo.
God, my subconscious must've been having the time of its life while I was out here pretending to be normal. I lean back against the pillows and let out a low groan.
"I need a drink," I mutter.
Pippa's eyes sparkle with something that might be amusement, or relief. "I brought wine."
"Of course you did," I say dryly. "Let me guess, it's laced with cyanide?"
"Nah," she grins. "Too messy. Arsenic's classier."
And for some godforsaken reason… I laugh.
Because she's still Pippa.
And I'm still me.
Pippa watches me for a beat, the grin fading just enough to let something real peek through.
"So…" she says slowly. "Are we good?"
I sigh and rub a hand over my face. "Yeah. We're good." I glance over at her. "I mean, I've always suspected. Now I know."
Her brows lift slightly. "Suspected?"
I shrug. "You've got that whole probably has bodies in a storage unit energy. I just figured it was metaphorical."
She snorts.
"But listen," I add, leveling her with a look. "Don't lie to me again. Ever. And don't kill anyone I care about."
Pippa raises one hand, solemn as a scout. "Scout's honor."
"And stay the hell away from Felix," I warn. "I've read the stories about serial killers and pets."
She grins. "Please. I'm not a monster. I gave him salmon once. He owns me now."
A laugh bubbles up from somewhere deep in my chest, unsteady and real. I don't even realize I'm crying until she stands and pulls me into her arms, tight, warm, and solid. The kind of hug that doesn't ask permission. The kind that anchors you.
"I'll protect you always," she says into my hair. "Marcello already hired me. I'm officially your terrifying emotional support assassin."
I sniff. "You're so messed up."
"And you love me for it."
"Unfortunately," I mutter into her shoulder, "yeah. I really do."
Speaking of, not even five minutes later, he walks in, looking like he's been dragged through hell and back.
Pippa excuses herself wisely, and Marcello drops two bombs at me.
One, that Raffael and Sophia have finally resurfaced, that Sophia is well and unharmed, and that Raffael is an asshole and he wants to pump him full of lead, but can't because his sister is in love with him.
The second is that my father is on his way here.
I'm not sure which news floors me more. I only met Sophia once, but I like her and would love to get to know her better, which Marcello promises will happen very soon, as soon as I'm able to leave the bed.
"I'm sorry, tesoro. I'll call him off if you don't feel up to it…" Marcello offers after dropping the second bomb about my father being on his way.
He warned me before we left the hospital that Enzo is here in the city and hellbent on seeing me. He met with Elaine and Sebastian a few times while I've been recovering from my concussion, and he's made it clear he won't leave without seeing me.
"It's okay. I want to see him," I assure Marcello. It's true. I'm more than curious to meet him. I wish I were feeling better, but if wishes were nuts and all that.
Alejandro knocks on the bedroom door. "Mr. Carbone is here," he announces.
Felix, who has so far been lying with me on the bed, makes a beeline for Alejandro and climbs up his legs, claws out.
"Argh." Alejandro knows better than to try to swipe Felix off.
But the look on his face says it all. He would love nothing better than to shake his leg and throw Felix against the wall.
Marcello keeps his chuckles to himself and, in a very unusual act of kindness, takes Felix off Alejandro's leg. "Show him in."
Alejandro glares at Felix, who snuggles into Marcello's arm. Marcello basically throws him back on the bed, but with an expression resembling adoration on his face. Like Felix is growing on him for hurting his men.
My stomach flutters in anticipation and nervousness.
"You just say the word Tesoro, and I'll kick him out," he promises.
I reply with a weak smile and steel myself to meet the man I haven't seen in twenty years, the man I don't remember, the man who says he's my father.
Enzo Carbone is a mountain of a man. So many scars mar his face, it's hard to make out any features, but his hazel eyes glisten in warmth at me and look so much like mine that there is no doubt in me that this man is my father.