Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(40)

By Sunday morning, Libero Marino’s ‘gangland’ murder was all over the newspapers. His brother, Marco, had released a chilling statement on behalf of the family. They were coming out for their revenge, and they wanted the world to know it. They wanted us to know it. Millie rang to tell me it was trending on Twitter. I feigned surprise and withheld the truth until she hung up.

The news was out there but Evelina remained, happily, police-free. I knew we had covered our tracks, but I still couldn’t figure out how the boys were escaping interrogations. Everyone knew the bloody history between the Falcones and the Marinos. At first, I thought that perhaps the police were just monumentally bad at their jobs, but it became clear that when two Mafia clans are at war, it makes more sense to turn a blind eye and let the criminals take care of each other. That was what Paulie told me. As long as innocents weren’t being killed, we were doing the city’s job for them.

I had been staring at Libero’s face in my mind all night, and I decided that eating some cereal at seven a.m. on Sunday morning would be preferable to trying to ignore the mental chant of Traitor! Traitor! Traitor! Failure! Failure! Failure!

And that god awful question that pulsed uneasily in my mind: How are you going to shoot Jack? How are you going to avenge your mother?

I told myself it was different. I didn’t know Libero. He had never wronged me directly. His only crime was looking like Sara, and his face reminded me of how I had failed her. I couldn’t shoot him because it would be another betrayal. I owed Sara – I convinced myself that that was why I hesitated.

On the other, bloodier hand, I definitely wanted to shoot Jack. I had slashed a blade across his eye without the slightest hint of freezing, so when he did resurface, it wasn’t going to be a problem. I told myself that over and over again, hoping that if I said it enough times then it would become true.

I finished two bowls of Lucky Charms and washed up, enjoying the morning silence. I was even considering reading a book in the library to take my mind off everything. I wanted to lie low – at least from Valentino – while the lie worked itself into my bones, and I started to believe that I deserved to be here. I made my way down the hallway, appreciating the quiet while it lasted. In about two hours, Dom and Gino would be making enough racket for a small concert hall and Nic would probably come search me out for more target practice.

I padded down the hallway, following the faint sound of voices wafting through the house. I paused with my hand on the door to the sitting room, already ajar, and pushed just a little. It yielded easily, and I peered around it.

Felice was bent over himself, his words muffled by his fingers.

Paulie was beside him, perched on the armrest of the couch, one hand clapped on his brother’s back. ‘… time and time again. You have to let him lead the way he sees fit.’

Felice rolled his head around, venom oozing from his voice. ‘He is a child, Paulie. He will derail this family.’

Paulie sighed. ‘Killing Libero was the right choice strategically. And to have a Marino do it … well.’

‘Nonsense,’ Felice spat. ‘The whole thing is off. He has his soldati wrapped up in cotton wool – all of us barricaded in the same place.’

‘I think,’ said Paulie, edging lower, on his hunkers now, so he could look at Felice straight on, ‘perhaps you are indulging a little too hard right now.’

‘Stai zitto,’ Felice hissed like a rattlesnake. ‘You know why I’m drinking.’ He dropped his head back and closed his eyes at the ceiling. ‘I. Hate. This. Time. Of. Year.’

‘I know it’s hard for you, but self-medicating is not helping,’ Paulie said. ‘You’re not angry with Valentino.’

Felice waved Paulie’s words away, almost swatting his brother on the cheek.

‘You’re mad because she left you,’ Paulie added, his voice turning soft.

‘Say it,’ said Felice, looking at the mantelpiece, at a photo of him and Evelina laughing and toasting each other with champagne on their wedding day. I edged backwards, pressing myself against the wall so I was hidden behind the door. ‘Say the rest.’

‘Brother …’

‘She’s not coming back.’ He cursed. ‘She’s never coming back.’

‘It’s been a long time.’

How long ago had she been taken from him? How long did a broken heart last? I thought of my own grief, the constant ebb of it at the edges of my awareness. It hadn’t lessened; I had just accommodated it. It was part of me now – this blur of sadness. Maybe in five years’ time, I would be like Felice. Still angry, still questioning … still baying for revenge. His mask was almost perfect. Maybe mine would be too.

‘I want to see my child,’ Felice said.

‘Look forward.’

‘I built her a palace,’ said Felice. His voice was vibrating with emotion – it was strange to see him so vulnerable, to see beneath that carefully polished veneer of his. ‘I gave her the world and she walked away from it without so much as a goodbye.’

‘Look to the future.’ Paulie gripped his brother’s arm, but Felice wasn’t even looking at him now, he was looking at his expensive shoes.

‘It was Angelo’s fault,’ he said quietly.

I caught my gasp on the palm of my hand. Did he know Evelina was dead? Did he really think his own brother killed her? If only he knew the truth. If he knew about my dad, or the safe, or the ring …