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)
“Jesus Christ, you two are gambling on my love life?”
“Yeah, and I lost. What a bad day. I have to tell my wife she beat me, and I have to drag my dumbass Capo from a jam.”
I sink back into my seat. “Yeah, alright. I deserve that.”
“You do.” My friend Stellan fades. My Don Stellan takes his place. He sits straighter. “You went against what I asked. What happens to traitors in the Famiglia?”
“They die.”
“Should I put a bullet in your head right now, Prime?”
“I wish you wouldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“It’d hurt Deanna.”
That seems to satisfy him. He rests his elbows on the desk. “Alright. Listen to me. There will be consequences. I won’t forget how you kept all this from me for so long. But you’re my friend, Prime, and you’ve done a lot for me over the years. And besides—“ His expression turns dark and gleeful. “You dumped the perfect opportunity in my lap.”
“How’s that?”
“Augustus Fontana’s been a pain in my ass for years. His outfit’s small and weak, but he’s still got influence in the city. Now you’re telling me his entire operation’s teetering on the edge? I’ll gladly shove that mother fucker into the pits of hell. And you—“ He points at me, making his fingers into a gun. “You are going to be the one who pulls the damn trigger as he tumbles down.”
“Fucking happily.”
“Good man.” Stellan bangs his palm on his desk. “But you have to swear something to me first.”
“Anything, Don Corsetti.”
“We do this the right way. No more suicidal revenge schemes. No more going off on your own. You trust me and I trust you.”
I hunch. It goes against everything I believe about myself. If I let Stellan past my armor, will he end up dead too? Just like Shawn?
But Shawn was a kid and Alfonso said it himself: that wasn’t my fault.
I’ve held onto that one death for so long. I let it define me. I’ve been viewing myself through that night, but I have to let him go. Shawn’s not a ghost. He’s not anything anymore. I have to stop letting him haunt me.
“We do it the right way,” I agree.
We shake on that and I think I feel a glimmer of something new. Like maybe I’m not damning the people I love and my loyalty isn’t a poison. And if that’s true, Deanna’s not going to burn for me, she’s not going to bleed, and I can get her through to the other side—and I can be there with her.
CHAPTER 35
DEANNA
Prime parks across from my parents’ house and leans over to kiss my cheek. “When am I going to get to meet them, by the way?”
I pat his knee. “Eventually. I don’t want to rush it.”
“Rush it? We’re husband and wife.”
“I know, but they’re delicate. I don’t want to disturb my dad too much, and anyway, it’s not like he’ll remember.”
“Still, I want to meet them whenever you’re ready.”
I smile despite myself. I love that he wants to get to know that side of me, but it feels strange, bringing him into that house. It’s like the rooms are too cramped for him, and I don’t want him to see how badly it hurts, being around my father. I want him to look at me like he does now, like I’m perfect and beautiful and incredible. He doesn’t need to see how small my world really has been.
“Soon,” I promise and get out of the car. I hurry to the stoop and pause to look back. He’s watching me and puts it in gear after waving. He drives off and my stomach twists, wishing I had the courage to call him back.
I want him to meet my parents. I really do, but I’m nervous about how it might change our relationship. Right now, he’s two weeks into fighting back against Fontana, starving them of payments, letting their financial troubles weaken them, and I don’t want something like my parents distracting him from that.
But the fact is, I can make a million excuses. I’m mostly afraid all the time, and I don’t even know why anymore.
I turn to let myself into the house, pausing to find my spare key, when a voice makes me stop.
“Deanna. We need to talk.”
I look up as Marco Carbone comes walking toward me.
He’s in jeans and a button down, looking like a retired office worker. His face is grim though and he’s clutching something dark in his hand.
It’s a gun, I realize.
I cover my mouth to keep from screaming as panic slams into my stomach.
He stops a few feet away. “Why do you look like you saw a ghost?”
“You scared me, that’s all.” I force myself to calm down even as sick bile fills my throat. “What’s going on, Mr. Carbone?”
“We can drop the formalities.” He gestures at me with the gun. His eyes are red-rimmed and lined with heavy bags. His pale skin’s sallow. He looks like he hasn’t slept. “Your husband hasn’t been as helpful as I’d like, and so I’m coming straight to you now.”