Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87704 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
What would that make her? Our niece? I shudder, thinking of all the filthy thoughts I’ve had about her. What my brothers have done. No wonder Antonio looks like he wants to tear out of his own skin.
Antonio leans in, his body vibrating with menace. “We’re getting a DNA test,” he warns, his voice sharp enough to cut. “If you lie, we’ll know.”
Carmella’s gaze drops to the floor, and for a moment, she looks like she might crumble. She pulls her pink floral blouse closer to her throat and takes a step back, trying to put distance between her and my brother, but he only seems to expand into the space. But then she inhales, straightens her spine, and meets Antonio’s glare with a deadened expression.
“No,” she says. “Aemelia isn’t Mario’s child.”
The breath I was holding rushes out of me, but the nausea still lingers. Antonio stays motionless for a long moment, his jaw flexing, his hands tightening into fists.
“What difference does it make?” Carmella asks, studying us both. Too many of our emotions rest plainly on our faces.
“If she’s Mario’s,” I say, the words like shards of glass in my mouth, “then she’s family.”
Carmella’s face twists, the yellow of her skin flushing pink across her cheekbones. “She’s my family, and Carlo’s, though he was always too stupid to realize it. He didn’t deserve her. Didn’t deserve CJ, either. Didn’t deserve me.”
Sadness rolls off her. One bad choice led to a hard life. I stare at her son and the waste of life he’s become.
This isn’t what I want for Aemelia. Letting her go to return to this family is not an option.
No matter how much Carlo wanted to believe otherwise, no matter how much damage his paranoia caused, Aemelia was never Mario’s. But it doesn’t change the fact that we took her. Or that Carlo Lambretti isn’t going to play our game.
“Where is he?” I ask. “Where’s your deadbeat husband?”
She shakes her head. “If I knew, I would have sold that information to you after Mario—” Her breath hitches and tears well in her yellow eyes. She fumbles in the pocket of her beige slacks and pulls out a packet of cigarettes. Her hands tremble too much to take one from the packet, so I reach out to help her.
“All we want is an eye for an eye,” Antonio says.
The woman on the recliner laughs and wheezes. “An eye for an eye. You hoods reading the Bible these days? Don’t you know it also says thou shalt not steal, thou shalt not kill, thou shalt not commit adultery?”
“Chrissy, don’t.” Carmella moves towards her sister, who coughs like two sentences were enough to permanently steal her breath.
“They need to hear it, and what do I care if they don’t like it. What are they going to do? Kill me?” She laughs again, her watery eyes dancing. “Your brother was happy to stick his dick where he had no business, and Carlo wanted revenge for the disrespect. Now you want revenge for revenge. Where does it end?”
“We’re talking about a cold-blooded assassination,” Antonio says, although it sounds to me like he's trying to convince himself more than the two terrified women and half a man that are his audience.
“Look to your own heart, Antonio Venturi. Look at your own hands. Let he who is without sin, cast the first stone.”
My brother steps back like he’s been slapped. For all my mama’s religious aspirations, we haven’t been to church for years.
“Let my daughter go,” Carmella says.
“You started this.” Antonio’s voice is nothing but a hiss. “You and Mario started this. There is only one way to end it.”
“No.” The word is barely a wheeze from the mouth of a dying woman. “There are many ways to fix a problem. You just never learned how to choose the right one.”
“Come on,” I tell him, wary that this will descend into a deeper argument. All I want to do is get back to the penthouse and tell Luca that he doesn’t have to be sick over what he did with Aemelia.
And then, we have to figure out what the fuck we do next.
***
When we climb back into the SUV, Antonio starts the engine but remains stationary, his hands throttling the steering wheel.
“You okay?” I ask.
“I knew,” he says. “I knew she wasn’t but…” He hangs his head, and I feel his despair and relief deep in my bones.
“I know,” I say.
“If she was…”
“Don’t.” What the fuck is the point of going over that sick scenario? We have better things to do like find a place to eat before my stomach devours my insides and tell our brother that Aemelia is Carlo’s spawn who he doesn’t give two flying fucks about.
“Do you think Luca will let her go?” he asks, turning to face me.
I rub my jaw, uncertain of a lot of things. Why does Antonio look like the thought of releasing Aemelia is going to rip his heart through his mouth? Will Luca want to push harder to get someone in that fucking Lambretti family to break about Carlo’s location? How do I feel about Aemelia staying with us for longer, or leaving today?