Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
His brows arch. “You don’t know? Or you don’t want to say?”
“Why does it matter?” I ask desperately.
“Because, Mrs. Spadaro, Prime has brought you into his world. You can see that, can’t you? Before you were kept separate, back when you were nothing more than his personal assistant, but now you know things. You’ve seen things. And I don’t know how much to trust you.”
“I’d never… I mean, I care… I wouldn’t…”
“How do you feel about him, Deanna?” Carbone leans forward. He licks his thin lips and leaves them shining and damp. “What would you do for him? How far would you go? Would you kill for him?”
“I love him!” The words burst from my chest. My heart’s racing wildly and my gaze darts around in a panic like someone might hear. “I’m falling for him, but I’d never kill anyone. I couldn’t! I don’t know what happened to your associate but I had nothing to do with it.”
Carbone sits back and studies me. I fight the urge to whimper and cry, mostly because I think it would only piss him off. Any display of weakness right now would be interpreted as guilt. He steeples his fingers, breathing through his nose, and I want to beg him to stop, beg him to go away from here, to leave my parents alone, to leave me, alone, but this is what I wanted when I married Prime. This is what I asked for when I walked into that house by my husband’s side, but god, I’m so far out of my depth now, it’s like I’m drowning.
“Thank you for your time, Mrs. Spadaro.” He stands abruptly. “I know my way out.”
I almost call out and ask him to wait, but I bite down my tongue to punish myself for the impulse. You don’t tell a monster to hold on once they’re walking away. Carbone steps out of the house and the door shuts behind him, and I rush to it, tears streaming down my face as I slam the bolt shut. I collapse to the floor, sobbing into my hands, feeling foolish and small and weak.
And too aware of how close I was to getting everyone I care about killed.
“Excuse me? Miss? Are you alright?”
I wipe my face. Dad’s standing at the foot of the steps, squinting hard like he’s trying to place me and can’t manage it.
“I’m fine. It’s okay, don’t worry.” I know better than to alarm him. Dad can’t handle stress.
I think he’s going to turn toward the kitchen, but he pauses, hesitates, and jolts as if struck. He spins and kneels in front of me, his eyes clear and sharp for the first time in weeks. He takes my hand in his.
“Deanna, it’s going to be okay, honey.” Dad’s voice is calm and steady. He smiles and that’s the smile I’ve always known, the smile that defines him: bright and bold and strong, and even though his hands are thin and his skin is papery, it’s still him down beneath all those failing bones.
“Thanks, Daddy,” I whisper, crying again despite myself. My shoulders shake as he leans in to hug me.
“Oh honey, don’t worry. I’m not sure what you’re upset about, but we’ll talk to Mommy, okay? We’ll straighten it out. We always do, right, Deedee?”
I sob harder. He hasn’t used that nickname for me since I was a little girl. Nostalgia, guilt, sorrow, it crashes into me, and for a few seconds I cling to my father like he’s still the man that can fix cars and throw football and can teach me just about anything I want to learn.
Until he pulls away and backs off. Confusion comes over him again, and I can feel it slipping. It’s dangerous, these moments of transition, and for the man I know is still inside that shell, I drag myself to my feet and force myself to get it together.
“I was looking for something,” he says, frowning at me. “You might know where it is?”
“Come on, I know where you were going. It’s this way, in the kitchen.”
“You’re a good kid.” He pats my elbow and allows me to lead him away. “Such a good kid.”
He’s wrong. I’m fucked. I’ll get him killed and my mother too if I can’t find a path through this nightmare. Carbone knows where I live, he knows where my parents are, and I know his visit was more than an interrogation.
It was a threat.
CHAPTER 27
DEANNA
Prime’s waiting on the back porch when I get home. He’s got a glass of bourbon clutched between his hands and wine poured for me. I’m not sure what to say, and keep seeing that dead man, all the blood and brains on the wall, and Prime’s calm, quiet strength.
“Carbone came to my house.”
He stiffens. His hands grip the glass tighter, knuckles whitening. “What did he want?”