22. Bianca
Bianca
Seething, I drag Marco from the dining room. Shoving him into the entryway table, I dig under his shirt to pull out the flask. “I thought I emptied this. The one night I need you sober, and you can’t even do that for me.”
My husband snatches the flask back and upends it. A stream of clear fluid spills out, splashing onto the patterned mosaic on the ground. “It’s water, principessa. Forgive me for wanting to stay hydrated.”
“That’s worse!” I bite my tongue, forcing myself to whisper. “That means you embarrassed me in front of my father and threatened him, twice, while in full possession of your faculties.”
“Some of my faculties, not all of them. And why the hell are you pissed at me instead of that murdering sack of shit in there?” Marco jabs his finger toward the dining room and leans over me, his breath fanning my cheek.
Crossing my arms, I push up onto my tiptoes. Our noses brush, his banked desire mixing with my own, even beneath the shield of rage. “Why would I be angry with him when you’re the one who started it in the first place? Dinner was going fine until you opened your big mouth.”
His eyes flash, and I wobble backwards in my heels. He grasps my upper arms. “You call the way that motherfucker talks to you fine?” His expression reminds me of a forest fire, the cloying black smoke devouring the air from my lungs.
I break out of Marco’s grip, and he straightens to his full 6’3 height.
This is the most furious I’ve ever seen him.
Even when I drugged him on our wedding night or destroyed his alcohol, he wasn’t this enraged.
With one shaky breath, I drink him in. There’s a split second where my body softens, growing pliant because his anger is defensive rather than offensive and directed at the person who hurt me.
And the vulnerability terrifies me.
I can’t lose focus of who Marco is. The animosity between our families remains as strong as ever, and his reckless behavior puts Livia in more danger than he could ever understand.
“You have no idea what you’ve done.” I square my shoulders. “Livia—”
“Is that all you know how to do? Worry about a woman who can’t even be bothered to stand up for you?
” I open my mouth to protest, but his hand slices through the air between us, silencing me.
“You think just because he doesn’t use you as a punching bag all the time means he isn’t hurting you as much as he does her? ”
My breathing hitches at his insight. Everything Father does or says to me pales in comparison to how he treats Livia, so I always told myself that I was getting off easy, that it didn’t matter if he wielded words like weapons to slice and dice me because at least I didn’t limp away.
I shiver, my folded arms hugging my body. “You don’t know anything about it.”
“Don’t I?” His voice breaks, and I’m reminded, painfully, of Giovanni Argento.
The other dons have always had a lot to say about Gio’s weak-minded second son, but none were ever crueler or as exacting in their criticism as Giovanni himself.
His disdain for Marco was well-known, and that negative opinion colored the youngest Argento’s reputation for over a decade.
People, including me, had their minds made up about Marco before he ever became the Argento don, and it was all thanks to Gio’s oftentimes public ridicule of him. Though, if anything, Marco’s antics only confirmed what people thought.
An electric shock jolts through me. Because Marco’s behavior proved their assumptions so perfectly, it’s almost as if…
As if he’s done it all on purpose.
Just like me.
People believe they have an idea of what I am, of who I’m supposed to be, so I’ve spent my entire life trying to live up to that image.
Especially to my father. I sacrificed the man I loved, certain that I would save Livia and finally render myself invaluable in my father’s eyes by becoming capo.
If I were worthy of the Conti name, he wouldn’t need to constantly dangle my sister’s safety over my head in a bid to improve my performance.
A pit opens in my stomach. Elio died for this, for me, and I’m no better off than I was before I convinced myself to slip that poison into his drink. The mere idea of killing him went against everything inside me, yet I did it anyway.
When it comes right down to it, am I really any better than Marco?
Marco bends to pick up his flask and makes a show of dusting it off. “You like to pretend you have a spine, that the way Aldo speaks to you, the way he treats you, doesn’t bother you. But no matter what you do or endure, nothing will ever be good enough because to him, you’re nothing.”
Ouch.
He stalks closer, and I retreat two paces, a vein throbbing at my temple as he spits out the punishing truth.
“He doesn’t see you as a daughter, or a capo, or even a person.
You’re just a tool he can use and then discard whenever he feels like it.
” With a disgusted shake of his head, he strides past me.
“Go ahead and indulge in your humiliation kink. Just don’t do it in front of the staff. They put up with enough already.”
The front door slams shut, reverberating like a gunshot through the foyer. I stare after him, my chest so tight, it feels like I’m being crushed in a vice. I don’t want to examine his words too carefully because I’m afraid their sharp edges will cut too deep.
“I knew I couldn’t count on you.” Father rakes his fingers through his hair, combing it back into place as he appears at the mouth of the hallway, clearly having witnessed Marco’s departure.
“You’ve been flouncing all over town, going to ballets and fancy dinners.
Giggling and preening like some slut. It’s obvious you never had any intention of finding my book.
So I took the liberty of hiring Il Silenzio. ”
Livia edges around our father, pressing herself against the wall by the stairs. “Father, are you serious?”
My world implodes again without warning. The assassin, Il Silenzio, specializes in killing the untouchable. A monster who slays other monsters, he’s silent, efficient, and notoriously difficult to track down.
Explosive pressure builds in my throat. “I thought you said that killing Marco was too high of a risk.”
Though people whisper his name, no one has ever seen Il Silenzio. He masks his executions as natural causes like heart attacks or strokes, leaving no way to tally his victims. At this point, he’s a folk legend. No one can even prove that he actually exists.
“No, I said killing him too soon was too risky, and that you needed to wait for my orders. I might have held off longer, but you forced my hand.” I fight not to recoil as my father closes the distance between us.
“Killing Argento would be impossible for us to pull off on our own. Silenzio is the only one who can do the job without bringing the Council down on our heads. Once Marco’s dead, you can inherit everything that asshole has, including the book. ”
He cups the side of my head, and my throat constricts even more. “I gave you the chance to demonstrate yourself usefulness, and you failed me. This is our best-case scenario. For your sake, you’d better pray all goes to plan tonight.”
Aldo snaps his fingers at Livia like a master with his mongrel, and she jumps. “We need to make sure the Council doesn’t have any reason to suspect us, which means pretending everything is normal. Livia and I will return home for now. Call me as soon as you have something to report.”
My teeth grind together, and I have to relax my jaw enough to speak. “Yes, sir.”
Livia squeezes my hand, offering me a tight, sympathetic smile. I watch the two of them go, my sister a pale wraith strangled by my father’s oppressive shadow.
My mind spins. Am I really supposed to let an assassin kill my husband? I try to imagine living in this colossal house without his laughter or one of his irritating smirks, and my abdomen hollows out.
Somewhere along the line, I started to care about Marco Argento. More than I should. Probably more than I ever believed possible.
I have to warn him.
Grabbing my keys and purse, I sprint for the door, hoping beyond hope that my brief hesitation won’t get my husband killed tonight.