Chapter 32
Clara
I hated this. I hated every single moment of this. Being locked away in Jet’s apartment, unable to get out there to help bring down the man who tried to kill Paulo, was eating at me from the inside out.
It was almost as bad as knowing no one believed me.
Not a single person there in that hospital waiting room believed a damn word I’d said.
Cosimo did it. I was sure of it. Just as I was sure he was behind Benito’s murder thirty-some years ago.
All the notes I’d written on the back of my chart were ruined, covered in Paulo’s blood and torn to shreds. And my mind would never allow me to focus long enough to put it all back together.
Not like this.
“Stop it!” I pulled at my hair and tears pooled at the corners of my eyes. The tears weren’t for the pain, though. They weren’t for the heartache of not being believed.
The tears were because I couldn’t get my mind to shut off. To shut up. To shut down.
“Stop it, stop it, stop it!”
“Clara? Are you alright?”
It felt like a million different bouncy balls were buzzing around my head, each one telling me something different, each one telling me what to do. I couldn’t focus, I couldn’t concentrate, I couldn’t…
I just couldn’t.
“Clara?”
I jerked away from the hand that landed on my arm, spinning in a circle, ready to fight off whoever it was in a way I couldn’t fight off the monster in my brain. Even at the sight of my friend’s face, I couldn’t turn it off.
Turn it off.
“Mic? What are you doing here?”
He smiled, but it wasn’t the handsome, wide smile I was used to. I was used to this smile, too, just not from him.
Tight at the corners, lips thinned as they pursed together, this smile was one in a long line of smiles that screamed I don’t believe you.
Quit telling lies, Clara.
Quit being so difficult.
Quit interrupting. Quit spacing out. Quit—
“Clara? Are you okay?”
“When did you get here?” My heart thudded hard in my chest, and I felt the need to tear my skin from my body.
“Mario dropped me off a half hour ago.” Mic looked at me like I’d gone insane, and quite frankly, I wasn’t sure he was wrong.
“Mario’s here?”
“No.” He stepped back toward the door to the room. Jet’s spare room. There were rubber mats and punching bags, and over near the corner, tiny specks of blood that reminded me of the man I’d killed. “Mario went to check on Cosimo and Ida. They’re worried about the lieuten—”
“No!” I yanked at my hair again, feeling strands being pulled from my scalp. “It’s not safe, Mic. It was him. It was Cosimo!”
He pulled me into a hug, but it wasn’t the comforting kind. It was a tight hold. A strong hold. The kind I was sure I’d be getting more of if I couldn’t get myself under control.
“It’s okay, Clara.” He pressed his face to the top of my head. “Cosimo’s not going to hurt his son.”
That’s not his son.
A horrible realization came to mind: What if Paulo was wrong? What if the last thing he said to me wasn’t true at all?
Cosimo doesn’t know.
That’s what Paulo had uttered as he lay dying on the sidewalk.
Cosimo doesn’t know.
Maybe Paulo didn’t think so, but what if he did? What if Cosimo knew the truth? What if it had set off the crazy old man who had murdered the former kingpin?
“Did you take your pill, Clara?” Mic said, tightening his grip as I tried to shimmy away.
Take your pill, Clara. There’s two left. Take a pill and let it all melt away.
“Not yet,” I finally managed. I finally managed to make myself stop. To hold myself still and not struggle against his hard grip.
“Do you have any?”
Nodding, I edged back enough to look up at him. “Zee gave me two. They’re in my purse.”
“Shall we go get it?”
Terror struck through me. “Who else is here?”
His brow furrowed, then he pointed toward the door, as if I could see through the walls and know it myself. “Santini and his girls, Eliza, and us. I heard they’re bringing Sarah and Chaya and your mother so they can free up some men.”
“My mother?” My fingernails tore at the skin on my chest, opening old wounds. “What about my father and brother?”
Mic grimaced. “They can’t find Berto. He’s not answering his phone.”
“And Stephano?”
He shook his head. “I don’t know. I don’t think they’ve gotten that far yet. They’re still trying to find Berto and Arik.”
I swallowed hard and let the sharp bite of my fingernails remind me to focus.
Focus.
I had to get myself under control.
“I need my pill.” If it came out as more than a whisper, I wouldn’t have known. Not with the screaming monster inside my head.
Mic must have heard me anyway. He nodded, then reached for my hand, tugging me out into the hallway and toward the front door.
Santini stopped us before we could pass the couch, dragging his bloodshot and vacant eyes from the floor. “Where do you think you’re going?”
Mic froze, but Santini didn’t scare me. Not with little Laney cuddled in his lap.
“I need my purse.”
“What for?” The big man shifted, and Laney turned her watery eyes my way.
I knelt before them, smoothing a hand over the back of Laney’s head. Voice low and eyes locked on his, I told him, “My medicine.”
Santini lifted his chin, then narrowed his eyes. “Get your purse, then get away from the door.”
What did I ever do to make him not trust me?
My throat was too tight to ask. I grabbed my purse, then swung around, only to come face to face with every single person there. Eliza, Jet’s fiancée, stepped forward with a cautious smile on her lips.
“Is everything okay, Clara? Can I get you anything?”
Purse. Meds. Phone.
That was as far as my brain had allowed me to get.
I needed time. I needed peace. I needed to take my meds and get the hell out of here.
“Bathroom?” I asked, just a whisper, and the woman’s face settled, settling me.
“Of course.” She reached for my hand, gave it a little squeeze. “Why don’t you use the master bath? Take as long as you need.”
“Thank you.”
Thank God!
Without looking at the others, I raced down the hall, slamming the door to the bedroom and rushing into the bathroom.
I took only one pill, hoping it would help, leaving me the other in case the rest of this day went to hell. Then I splashed water on my face, as if doing so could somehow wash off the blood I’d already cleaned from my skin.
I cleaned it again.
And again.
And again.
I scrubbed my face and hands until my skin was red and the water ran cold. Only then, when my hands had stopped shaking and my head had stopped screaming, could I force myself to sit down and think things through.
Cosimo was behind this, I was sure.
Now I needed to convince someone else I wasn’t crazy, that I was right.
I needed someone who could not only believe me but could help me do something about it.