Mafiosa (Blood for Blood #3)(70)

‘I want to tell you about something that’s been troubling me,’ I said.

Valentino went very still, his eyes narrowing. ‘Oh?’

‘I don’t like Felice, Valentino. And I definitely don’t trust him. I thought it was because I was an outsider, but ever since I came to live at Evelina, I’ve realized it’s not me, it’s him …’

Valentino raised his eyebrows, as if to say, Continue.

I knitted my hands in my lap, took a breath, and said, ‘I heard him talking to Paulie early one morning a little while ago. He didn’t know I was there. I didn’t intend to eavesdrop, but I couldn’t walk away. Not when the things he was saying were so troubling.’ I paused, studying Valentino’s face for a reaction. It was perfectly impassive, which I had come to realize meant there was a whirlpool of thoughts going on inside him. ‘When Felice noticed me listening, he followed me into the hallway and threatened me with his gun …’

‘I remember,’ Valentino said. ‘Luca told me about this.’

‘I think Felice had been drinking …’

‘Yes,’ he confirmed. ‘He always loses himself around the anniversary of Evelina’s disappearance.’

‘Well the stuff he was saying to Paulie …’ A flicker in Valentino’s jaw betrayed his mounting interest. ‘He was complaining. At the time, I didn’t think to mention it because Luca was already so angry with him. I guess I thought it might stir up more trouble, but seeing the way he reacts to the others when they fight at home, or how he never seems to interfere in the name of peace, has got me thinking that maybe there’s more to it than that …’ I trailed off.

‘What was he complaining about?’

‘You.’

‘Me,’ Valentino repeated evenly.

I nodded.

Another flicker of interest, his lashes lowering. ‘Why?’

Why hold back now? I didn’t want to keep any secrets from the family, especially not something that might be vital. With the blood war looming, we needed to be sure of everyone’s loyalty, and as far as I was concerned, Felice was walking around with a giant question mark over his shiny silver head.

Here goes nothing. ‘Felice doesn’t think you’re equipped to lead the family. I think he reckons he’d do a better job … that it should have been him.’

‘As we’ve always known,’ Valentino said, unsurprised. ‘Felice has long suffered from delusions of grandeur.’

‘I think it’s more than that,’ I hedged.

‘How do you mean?’

‘He was complaining about your dad.’

Valentino’s fingers tightened on the wheels of his chair. ‘Elaborate.’

‘Well, I think Felice resents your dad for overlooking him, but as well as that …’ I was starting to think that maybe this constituted ‘stirring’ rather than ‘briefing’, but I couldn’t back down now, not while Valentino was hanging on my every word. ‘I think Felice is under the impression that your father had a hand in Evelina’s “escape” all those years ago … He always thought your father was too sympathetic towards her.’

Valentino chewed on this new information, digesting it in silence. ‘I see,’ he said at last.

‘Why would he think that?’ I asked delicately. ‘Why would there be a side for your father to choose in the first place?’

‘Felice used to drink a lot,’ Valentino said. ‘He has since directed his addictive nature to bee-keeping, more or less, but back when he was married to Evelina, there were many times when he would … mistreat her.’

‘Mistreat her,’ I repeated, hearing the sudden coldness in my voice. ‘In what way?’

‘He would push her around. Berate her. She was careful about hiding it from us. She didn’t want us to see that side of Felice, of their relationship. But you couldn’t miss it.’ His voice got quieter, threads of something else woven inside his words as he went on. It sounded a little bit like regret. ‘She drifted through the house like a ghost. You could see shades of black and purple around her eyes, even beneath the make-up.’

Suddenly I understood the sadness simmering behind Evelina’s eyes. All that beauty tinged with melancholy. A palace ruled by a violent king. A diamond choker for a noose. ‘Did you ever say anything to her?’ I asked. ‘Or him?’

Valentino shook his head, a frown tugging at his mouth. ‘I wish one of us had done something, Sophie. Luca and I talk about it often. But we were young, and as much as I hate to admit it, we were afraid. We didn’t have a voice. She always spoke up for my brothers and me, but we never spoke up for her. She was kind to us and we failed her every single day.’

I could feel the respect he had for her, and the sense of grief now tangled up inside it. ‘You were young,’ I said softly. ‘It wasn’t your battle.’

‘It wasn’t hers either.’

‘Why did he do it?’ The memory of Felice’s hands on my throat, of his breath in my ear, made me shiver. ‘What’s wrong with him?’

‘He was obsessed with her,’ Valentino said, his words woven through a heavy sigh. ‘Rather, he was obsessed with the idea of her. The idea of someone and the reality of someone, when they merge, can make for a dangerous disparity. Felice picked her out of a church choir when she was barely twenty. She was an angel. He fell in love with her and built her a palace, and then when she started speaking up and voicing her own opinions, he didn’t like it. He wanted a doll, not a wife, and Evelina was not a doll.’