one thing, but to show anything less than perfection in front of people outside of them is another.
Looking in the mirror hanging over the open fire, I run my fingers through my hair before trying to slap some life into my cheeks.
Father DiMarco has made himself comfortable in my mother’s favourite armchair, one she would sit on while reading to us when we were young. I hold my tongue when he smiles at me, but it’s not warm, nor is it friendly.
“Since I’ve arrived in Vita, I’ve made it my mission, so to speak, to delve into your history,” he starts, not bothering with greetings. “Two families at war, fighting for power. Then, two babies are born on the same night, at the same time. Yet, instead of working to come together to bring peace, you killed her.”
I go to object, but he raises his hand to stop me. “I know it was you who killed her. The people of this city know, and more importantly, He”—DiMarco points to the heavens—“knows you killed her. You were both so blinded by your deep-rooted hatred, you couldn’t tell when the attacks were coming from elsewhere, both of you so quick to pass judgement on the other.”
Motherfucker.
Wanting to see where he’s going with this, I bite my tongue. He’s obviously here to show me his hand, so the least I can do is allow it.
“The attacks after last year’s peace ball. The slaying of Jamila’s man, Michael Romano, and your sinful brother, Leo Marocchi, I claim them all.”
Lurching toward him, he once again holds up his hand, warning, “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. I have measures in place to take you down if I don’t walk out of here alive.”
Rage boils inside of me. He has the audacity to sit in my house, claiming the deaths of my men, the murder of my brother, and expect me not to react?
“I’ll take my chances,” I growl, taking another step.
I didn’t care for my brother, and I would have forgotten Mila’s part in taking his life. But this man, a man of the cloth, I will not forget, nor forgive anything.
In the cabinet behind me is a Glock. Swivelling around to open the drawer, I grab the gun and aim for his heart, but he doesn’t flinch.
“Tell me, Raphael, have you spoken to your sister recently?”
Swallowing thickly, I glare at him. Sienna has been away in Paris since her eighteenth birthday. She wouldn’t believe I had no intentions of marrying her off. To be honest, I wouldn’t have put that burden on anyone. My sister’s not only a pain in the ass, just as Leo was, she’s worse. She has the intellect to back her sarcasm and wit. I allowed her to live outside of Vita because it gave me a quieter life, and one less person to worry about. Only Cristian and I were to know where she was.
“I know you haven’t spoken with her in at least two months. In a café in Paris is where I first saw her, and let me just say, she’s simply stunning. Don’t worry, though. She’s in safe hands as long as I’m breathing.”
Son of a bitch.
He makes a show of struggling to rise to his feet, feigning old age, but I’m having none of it.
“I’ll be in touch, Raphael.”
He strolls out as I just stand there, gun in hand. I can’t bring myself to shoot, believing every word he’s spoken.
Taking the stairs two at a time, I don’t stop until I’m standing next to Cristian, lying in his bed. Seeing my state, he tries to sit up.
“What is it?”
“Lay down, Cousin, and rest. I only need you to listen.”
“Raphe, the look on your face is worrying me.”
“We had it all wrong. The killings, Leo’s murder… They weren’t on Mila’s orders. It was Father DiMarco.”
The lines across his forehead deepen as he frowns, and I continue before his confusion grows.
“The motherfucker was just here, brazen as a whore wanting your money. He sat in the parlour and admitted to it all. And the worst part is, I couldn’t do a single thing, because he has Sienna. He’s had her for the last few of months.”
“How would he know where to find her? Only we knew she was in Paris.”
Not even Leo knew where she was. He didn’t care to know, either.
“Good question.”
Once again, he tries to sit up, but I stop him by pushing him back down.