as she gave her voice its own edge of steel. "What happened to your son was an accident and I expect you will treat it as such."
The head of the California Mafia dropped his neutral expression. For an instant he looked surprised, then admiring, then - nothing again. Perhaps she'd imagined it. But he nodded his head at her. "All will be handled fairly, Rachele."
"Is that a promise?"
His dark eyebrows rose. "Must you ask?"
"Yeah, I think I must."
"Le donne!" he remarked, the tiniest of smiles crossing his face. "Then it's a promise."
Giving him her own dignified nod, Rachele set off, keeping her father close to her side. She didn't know exactly what would happen now. Maybe she and her father would finally talk, adult to adult. Maybe her father was going to break her heart all over again. But not because he'd never cared for her.
Her father knew how to love. Perhaps he'd even loved too well. He'd cared enough to try to intervene in his best friend's marriage. He'd cared enough about his best friend's wife to stick up for her. He'd loved Rachele enough to keep a secret buried here and in his conscience for the last sixteen years.
She had been immature.
Before now, she hadn't known that bad things could happen to good people. She hadn't known that good people could do bad things in the name of love.
Because it wasn't simple or easy. Love wasn't the bam-slam lightning bolt that made all things possible. After what her father had done, she couldn't believe that anymore.
She saw Cal in the distance and gave a little wave. He'd be there tomorrow when she needed him, she didn't doubt that. She still believed in love; her father's actions had proved its very real power, too.
Perhaps she was finally, truly, growing up.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
"The Best is Yet to Come" Frank Sinatra It Might as Well Be Swing (1964)
They were in a collective state of shock, Tea decided, as they followed her grandfather's order and returned to the party. It was the only explanation for why they stayed silent and obedient.
Her father was really dead.
An accidental death, kept secret by his best friend for the last sixteen years.
It was going to take a while to process that.
But until then... hey, it was time to pa-a-arty!
Johnny disappeared somewhere between the lagoon and the tents. She couldn't imagine what he was feeling right now, though she hoped he was as numb as she.
Her family had murdered his father for no reason. Because of what she knew was in the Loanshark book, the timing had always made her suspect about Giovanni Martelli's involvement. Of course, that was before she'd known about his son.
That his son had been close by at the time of the hit.
That she was in love with his son.
Her mother took a place at an empty table near the dance floor and Tea and her sisters followed like automatons. Cosimo linked up with a couple of his ubiquitous lieutenants - Nino and another man she didn't recognize - and proceeded toward the bar.
She could really go for a zombie mai tai herself right now, Tea thought. She wanted to nurse this numb feeling for as long as possible.
But there was only time for the wish, as the bandleader suddenly signaled for attention with a crash of cymbals. Then came the familiar tune of "Happy Birthday." Cosimo strode back out of the tent as the dance floor cleared and the three hundred or so partygoers sang along. He smiled and nodded as if he hadn't a care in the world, then walked to the bandleader and murmured something in his ear.
The musicians segued into a new song, "My Way," as the bandleader leaned into the microphone. "Ladies and gentlemen, tonight's guest of honor will lead off the next dance with his eldest granddaughter and the desert's rising star of interior design... Tea Caruso."
The crowd applauded as Tea's grandfather approached her. The desert's rising star of interior design didn't know what to do.
Cosimo gave her a small bow, then held his hand out for hers.
She swallowed.
"Per favore, cam," he said, his hand still extended.
She didn't want to talk with him, let alone dance with him. But even if she could rind the energy to stamp her feet and scream at the top of her lungs, she couldn't make a scene in front of all these people. Old habits died hard. Old bargains were impossible to forget.
And there was information she needed from him.
So she put