Chapter 13 Roman #2
“I don't know. Maybe she was approached like Isabella was. Maybe she was having an affair. Maybe she was blackmailed. All of this is a bunch of maybes.”
He nods, considering. “But if she was talking to an informant, that suggests someone on the inside leaking to the cops or Feds. Who'd be so stupid?”
I lean back in the chair, taking a slow sip of whiskey. “What about Ernie Abruzzo?”
Marco jerks, taken aback. “Salvatore’s brother. That ass wipe?”
“Salvatore still has a hard-on about Leo offing Ernie. He threatened Isabella right to her face.”
“First, that doesn’t mean Ernie was an informant or meeting with Leo’s wife.” He shakes his head. “She had too much class for him. But…” he says before I can respond, “Salvatore needs to remember his place. I’ll remind him that Isabella is protected… for now.”
The ‘for now’ makes my stomach clench. “The thing is, what if Ernie was mad that you and La Corona wouldn’t promote him from associate to soldier? He could get back at us by snitching.”
Marco shakes his head. “He was ambitious and reckless, but he wasn’t stupid. He wouldn't have moved against me or La Corona.”
“He might if he was working with whoever is pulling strings now.”
“Turns out he was a junkie. Who’d trust him to take us on?”
“Are we sure he was a junkie? Drug ODs are one of Ferraza’s MOs. It’s why Sal thinks he was behind the kill.” I lean forward. “Is it weird that none of us know who ordered that kill?”
Marco sucks in a breath. “I was going with the idea that he offed himself, but you’re right.” He pauses. “You think Leo ordered it?”
“Maybe.” But there’s something else bugging me about all this.
“What? I can see the wheels turning in your head.”
“I don’t know. Why would Ferraza kill Ernie—”
“You just suggested he was seeing his wife.”
“And you said she has too much class. It just feels like all this is part of some elaborate scheme. We’re like fucking dominos. One got pushed, and all this shit is happening. The question is, who was the first domino?”
“And who pushed it?” Marco sips his whisky. “Someone is playing a long game.”
“I think it’s possible.” I think back to Ernie’s funeral. Leonardo Ferraza had been there, stoic and proper as always, offering condolences to Salvatore despite the rumors that he'd ordered the hit.
Was he innocent then, too?
Is Isabella's father being played just like his daughter?
Or had someone set up his wife, and he’d punished them both by killing them? Or am I paranoid and the deaths are simple revenge for infidelity or not even related?
“Leonardo's not a bad man,” I find myself saying. “He's made mistakes, but he's always put family first.”
“You're defending him now?” Marco raises an eyebrow. “After he practically sold his daughter to save his own reputation?”
“He sold her to save her,” I argue. “Look, I’m not defending him. It’s just that there’s something not making sense in all this. We're all pawns in someone else's game.”
“Whose? Someone within or the Feds?”
“That's what I'm trying to figure out.” There’s more I need to share with him. I might keep things from Isabella, but I can’t from Marco.
Still, I don’t want to put her in more danger.
Telling him about Isabella's new phone and FBI contact is necessary, but I need to protect her too. If I make her seem like a willing traitor, I'm signing her death warrant.
“One more thing,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Isabella has been approached. I set up the opportunity and they took the bait.”
Marco's eyes narrow. “Who?”
“A woman I haven't identified for someone calling himself Blackwood. FBI, according to her.” I pause, choosing my words carefully. “He’s the one who gave her the doctored evidence about her mother’s murder, convinced Isabella that we were responsible.”
“We know this already. And she should know better than to believe this bullshit.”
I lean forward slightly. “She was a daughter who lost her mother. Grief makes people vulnerable. This Blackwood knew exactly which buttons to push.”
“And yet you’re not convinced he’s the master behind this shitshow.”
“He could be, but if Ernie and Mrs. Ferraza are a part of all this, it’s hard to see the FBI orchestrating this. More likely, he saw an opportunity after her death and approached Isabella.”
“You sure your new wife isn’t fucking with your ability to see objectively?” His accusation hangs in the air between us.
“I'm being objective.” I maintain eye contact, not backing down.
“Isabella was manipulated by a professional. She's not the mastermind here. She's another victim. What I don’t know is if this is all related and who’s behind it. Is someone trying to break us from within and using the FBI and Isabella to do it?”
“You're sure about this?” Marco studies me with the intensity that's made him a feared Don.
“I am.” The conviction in my voice surprises even me. When did I become so convinced of her innocence?
Despite the hidden phone, despite her initial resistance, something deep in my gut tells me she's not our enemy. She's caught in the same web we are, struggling to find the truth.
“I trust you, Roman. You know I do. But remember what's at stake here. If you're wrong about her—”
“I'm not.”
Marco sits back, studying me in a way that’s uncomfortable. “Be careful. Don't let what's happening in your bed cloud what's happening in your head.”
I don't respond. I can't. Yes, it pisses me off, but he’s right to question me. Isabella has gotten under my skin in ways I never anticipated, and I can't honestly say where my certainty about her innocence comes from.
“Have you considered that she’s an active part of the game? She could be playing you.”
I shift in my chair. “She's smart. Cautious.”
“That's not what I asked.”
I take another sip of whiskey, using the burn to ground myself. “I have considered it. Still will. But my take is she’s focused only on answers about her mother. It’s what makes her a good target.”
“Roman.” His voice carries a warning. “I need your clear assessment. Not… whatever this is.”
He clearly is seeing more than I want him to. Can he tell that I wake up wanting to touch her soft skin, hear her moan my name?
That watching her with Angelica makes something long-dead inside me stir to life?
That I'm starting to care about her beyond what serves our interests?
But admitting any of this to Marco would be dangerous for us all.
“My assessment is that she's not our enemy,” I say carefully. “She was manipulated. Used. But she's smart enough to recognize that now.”
“And if you're wrong?” Marco's eyes narrow. “If your judgment is compromised?”
I've never given him reason to doubt me before. Never had reason to doubt myself. “My judgment is fine.” God, I hope to hell that’s true.
He studies me for a long moment. “You know what will happen if she betrays us.”
I nod once, unable to imagine carrying out that sentence now.
“And you'll do what needs to be done?” he presses.
The question unsettles me. A week ago, I'd have answered without hesitation. I’d have questioned killing a woman, a daughter of a Don, but I’d never refused Marco before. Now, I'm not sure I could harm her even to save myself.
I've spent twenty years as Marco's enforcer, his shadow, his executioner. I’ve been his brother for longer. I’ve never questioned him. Never hesitated. My loyalty to the family is absolute.
Until now.
“Let's hope it doesn't come to that,” I say.
Marco leans back in his chair, fingers tapping thoughtfully against the rim of his glass, and I realize it was probably the wrong answer.
“You know, if Isabella really is an innocent pawn and we resolve this situation, find who's really behind the murder and neutralize this FBI agent, there might be no need to continue this arrangement with her.”
My body tenses before my mind even processes his words. “What do you mean?”
“The marriage.” He shrugs. “It was a solution to an immediate problem. If the problem's resolved, perhaps Leonardo would prefer that his daughter return home. Start fresh.”
I stare at Marco, his words hitting me like a two-by-four in the chest. Isabella returning to her father's house. Starting fresh.
Free from this arrangement. Free from me.
“It's an option,” I say, my voice rougher than I’d like.
Marco’s lips curve into a smirk that tells me he’s on to me. “Just an option.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak further. The whiskey turns sour in my stomach as I remember Isabella's words from our first night together.
I don't want to die, but what is there to live for? My life isn't my own. I'm trapped.
She'd told me about her dreams of design, of creating something beautiful with her own hands. Of stepping out from under the shadow of La Corona.
I'd dismissed it then as naive fantasy. There is no escape from this life once you're born into it except through death.
But now, with Marco suggesting we could release her from our arrangement, I'm forced to confront an uncomfortable truth. Isabella could have the freedom she wants.
I could help her walk away from all of this. From the surveillance, from the danger, from me.
The thought should bring relief. This marriage was forced on both of us, a business arrangement to solve a problem. So why does the idea of letting her go feel like someone's carved a hollow space in my chest?
“Roman?” Marco's voice pulls me back.
“I hear you,” I say, gathering myself. “We'll see how things develop.”
“Good. Now I’ve got something I need you to do. We’ve got a few Russians encroaching on our area.” Marco becomes all business.
“Whose? Petrov’s?”
“He says no and gave us the go ahead to eliminate them. Salvatore seems to think they’ll be here tonight. I want you to get rid of them… for good.”
I take the paper with the address on it. A wave of normalcy radiates through me. This is what I need. With Isabella, I feel off my game.
Like a fucking putz sometimes.
But this… killing those who hurt the family, this I know.
“I’ll take care of it.”