Chapter Twenty-One #3
Carlo stares at him with pity. “You didn’t even know your own son. Cristiano wanted you to be proud of him.”
“I was proud of him,” Salvatore growls. “And there’s no way he would have offered to take Adriano’s place.”
“You’re wrong. Cristiano was desperate for your approval,” Carlo mutters.
“You drilled it into him from the time he was a kid that the Marchettis were every bit as good as the Foschinis, but your family kept getting passed over. Cristiano wanted to do something big. Something that would bring honor to the Marchetti name and prove to you that he was a man worth respecting. The only thing the Foschinis did wrong was keep your son’s fucking secret all these years. ”
“No. It’s a lie.”
“Ask your oldest daughter, Annetta,” Carlo says harshly. “She was dating Adriano at the time. She knows everything that happened. Ask her if you don’t believe me.”
“That’s enough, Carlo,” I growl.
Carlo winces and he stops talking.
I glance at Salvatore who’s staring at me. His face has lost all its color, and his eyes are wide. We stare at each other wordlessly for a few moments, then he sits down as if his legs have given out.
I sit in the chair across from him again, unsure what to feel.
It’s hard not to pity Salvatore, even while I’m furious with him for touching Elio.
My father had never wanted him to know what really happened, or why Cristiano went to prison instead of Adriano.
He’d believed the truth would only cause his old friend more pain.
Guilt. But after Cristiano died, Salvatore had apparently spent years blaming my family.
Had keeping the truth from him made things better or only made them worse for Salvatore? I honestly have no idea.
“Carlo’s lying, right?” Salvatore whispers.
I don’t respond, avoiding his gaze.
“Marcello,” Salvatore says. “Look at me. Is Carlo lying or not?”
I exhale harshly. “What does it matter?”
“Of course it matters,” he hisses. “Tell me. Tell me the truth. Did my son volunteer to take Adriano’s place?”
I force myself to meet his gaze. “Carlo’s right. If you want answers, ask Annetta. You won’t believe anything I say anyway, but you might believe your own daughter.”
“So that’s a yes?” he mutters, looking stricken.
Gritting my teeth, I say nothing.
Salvatore’s face crumples. He covers his face and his shoulders shake as sobs shudder through him. “Why would he do that?” he cries through his tears. “Why? Why?”
I don’t know if he’s referring to what Cristiano did or the lie my father told. I only know he’s crumbling before my eyes, and it’s hard to watch. Torturing men to death is easier than watching a grieving father sob for his dead son.
Killing him would be doing him a favor at this point, but after seeing how beat up Elio was, I don’t feel like doing him any favors.
I also don’t really want to spill his blood.
I just want to go to Elio. This whole situation makes me sick.
Salvatore has wasted years of his life hating my family for something we didn’t do.
My father had thought that by keeping the truth from Salvatore and giving him someone else to blame, he could preserve Cristiano’s memory and give his old friend some peace.
What he hadn’t anticipated was that Salvatore’s resentment would fester and eventually turn against us to the point where he’d seek revenge.
The lie meant to spare Salvatore’s feelings had almost cost Elio and our unborn baby their lives.
Once Salvatore’s sobs quiet, I stand, my chair scraping over the concrete floor.
Salvatore’s hands drop to his lap, and he stares up at me, eyes bloodshot and mouth slack.
He looks destroyed. Everything he thought he knew has been obliterated.
On top of the loss of his son, he now knows he was one reason Cristiano volunteered to take Adriano’s place in prison. It’s impossible not to pity him.
“I’m angry enough to kill you for what you did to Elio,” I say harshly.
“But the truth is, my father set this disaster in motion by trying to spare your feelings. I could punish you, sure, but you’re already being tortured because you’ve lost your son.
I don’t think you’ll ever heal from that loss.
Your life seems hellish enough without me lifting a finger against you. ”
Carlo shifts uneasily, but says nothing.
Salvatore drops his head and his hands tremble on his knees. “I don’t deserve your mercy,” he whispers.
“No, you don’t.” I grit my teeth. “But I’m giving it to you anyway. I believe that’s what my father would have wanted. Regardless of what you thought of him, he loved you like a brother.”
He grimaces and shame flutters over his somber features.
I narrow my eyes and rumble, “But know this, Salvatore.” He glances up. “If you had killed Elio, there would be no mercy for you.”
His eyes flicker but he doesn’t speak.
I look at Carlo. “Drive him home.”
Carlo raises an eyebrow but says nothing.
I walk out of the warehouse ahead of them, without a glance back.