<b>56 </b>
<b>I </b>can hear the way Dad used to tease her whenever she was behind the wheel. He hated riding as a passenger when she drove since she drove so much slower than he did. “I have precious cargo onboard.” She’d wink at me in the mirror <b>as </b>she’d say it. Mom would’ve been driving slower, especially if it was raining hard<b>, </b>though somehow she was moving fast enough to crush the front of the car on impact.
My hands start to tremble, and I can barely minimize my browser window. I can’t have it sitting right out in the open in <b>case </b>somebody walks past–even more I can’t sit and stare at the car any longer. It makes my head spin and my heart race <b>as </b><b>a </b>cold sweat clings to the back of my neck.
Why would she be driving that fast in the rain? Cars used to fly past her on the highway–I <b>recall </b>hearing horns ring so many times, where every so often, somebody would flip her the bird as they passed by. I learned a few filthy words during those car rides<b>, </b>mainly from the frustrated drivers as they passed. It was never enough to make her speed up.
Granted, I wasn’t in the car with her that day. She might have had less of a reason to creep down the road. Being cautious was her thing. Constantly double–checking the locks on the doors and windows before going to bed. Asking if we made sure everything was turned off before leaving the house. I asked Dad about it once<b>, </b>and he shrugged it off. Some people are extremely careful because they know how thoughtless others can be.
Once she was gone, he became the cautious one. Actually, he became downright paranoid. I’m starting to understand why. All it took was a few minutes of inte sleuthing, and I was concocting all kinds of stories. How maybe she had to speed up to outrun somebody. Or perhaps another car forced her off the road.
My imagination is running away from me. Drawing these conclusions will not get me answers, although there’s no denying how much more interested I am in Dad’s theories than I was before. Still, even though I can imagine the car being run off the road and Mom’s terror when it was happening, there is something I’m having a difficult time visualizing.
Gianni, sitting behind the wheel of the other car. Him stepping out of the car and walking over to my more than likely crying mother, standing beside the car and firing a bullet into her head. He’s many things to a lot of people, but he is not the man who terrorizes and murders an innocent woman. I refuse to believe that, I can’t. No matter what my feelings are towards him, and no matter what my father thinks it’s not an option, because that would mean I’ve been sleeping with my mother’s murderer and I don’t know if I could survive that truth.
GIANNI
“Don’t forget, you have a meeting with Sebastian Costelloter today,” Roger tells me as he nces up from his tablet. “He told me he has some news about the missing shipment.”
The shipment. Those fuckers. “Tell me he knows where the fuck it went?” I grunt, grinding my teeth at the reminder of the loss. A shipment of that size doesn’t just disappear.
This is a nice distraction from where my thoughts currently were, being held captive by a brown–haired, blue–eyed woman. Like always, thoughts of her are there<b>, </b>constantly lurking in the shadows. She’s a poison without a cure, and I’m addicted to every hit I get from her. Everything has been fucked since I received word that one of our cargoes was being overtaken and armed men were removing the shipments.
“He hinted at having a possible lead,” Roger replies; nostrils ring. “I don’t know if that’s a good or bad thing. <b>It </b>could mean he’s the one responsible, and he’s just fucking with us.”
“Or it could mean he knows something we don’t. First things first want to meet the kid. Get a feel for who he is.” From everything I’ve heard, Sebastian Costello is a natural up–ander in our world. Have always respected his father, Salvatore, although I found him to be a bit soft.
He was tough but always preferred to settle disputes with as little violence as possible. I never had the chance to meet his son. <i>I </i>knew he would eventually pass on the reins, but when he got sick, business between us stopped.
<b>If </b>the rumors are true, Sebastian is nothing like his father. Violence is merely another way for him to <b>get </b>what he wants.
Roger slides a file my way, and I open it immediately, my eyes drinking in the information. The contents are as I confirmed. ” He’s suspected in at least half a dozen hits and has continuously managed to beat the rap. He’s the oldest of three siblings, and his brother is just as unhinged as him. He’s got a temper and is very ambitious. Prior to the old man’s passing, he convinced him to renegotiate a bunch of deals that were made years ago–in his family’s favor. From the looks of it, he’s grown tired of leaving money on the table.”
There’s a photo of him paperclipped to the inside of the folder. I’ve known a lot of kids like him; lear, chiseled face and dark eyes that emanate hunger. Wrath. Ambition. “And he’s being open about all this? No secrecy?”
“Nope. He wants the word to spread so people know he’s not fucking around. At least in the underground operations.”
I nod, already liking him. Straightforward. Honest. He’s not afraid to show people what happens if they cross him. Roger sneers, “In other words, he’sing here today pretending he wants to help, only essentially he wants to renegotiate.”
“Maybe. But if he can help put a stop to this bullshit, I might consider it. The percentage loss would be worth it, being that we’re bleeding out money every day that the shipment is not found.” We exchange nces. “However, that’s only if it works in our favor.”
My phone rings, and my heart clenches in my chest. It won’t be her, it never is, but I always remain hopeful. Caterina’s reintroduced me to the concept of hope. I wish I could tell her, but I can never find the words I want to say when she’s actually in front of me. Forever, that more profound, darker desire wins out. Then I make mistakes. Where she’s concerned, I’m a raging lunatic. Obsessed and unhinged.
Speaking of mistakes… “This is the fourth or fifth time I’ve noticed her calling,” Roger observes when he sees Amalia’s name sh across the screen.
“Typical. The less attention I give her, the more she wants.”
“You never know.<i>” </i>He stands, shaking invisible wrinkles from his cks before crossing the room. “She could be calling to tell you she signed the papers.” The way he chuckles as he enters his office tells me he knows how unlikely that is.
No way in hell did she waste this much time only to turn around and sign the papers. Whatever game she’s ying is long, and it doesn’t end with her signing a damn thing. She would rather continue dangling this over my head, fucking with my life.
“Did you sign the papers?” I demand upon answering.
“Wow, hello to you, too.” She has the nerve to sound wounded after all she’s done.
“Can we skip the pleasantries? I think we’re past that bullshit now, wouldn’t you say?”
“Oh, forgive me. Sometimes I forget how busy and important you are.”
“Don’t act like you care if I’m busy or not. You’ve called me more in thest couple of days than in thest two years. What do you want?”
“Maybe I wanted to ept ountability in the way things unraveled thest time we met at Bob’s office,” she murmurs. “I let my feelings get the best of me, and that was wrong.” I roll my eyes. Somebody on her team must’ve told her how stupid she made herself look. Told her that she had taken things too far and that she was not doing herself any favors by behaving as she did. Now, I get the apologetic act she’s putting on.
“I’m not the one you owe an apology to.” My short nails dig into my palm when I recall how she talked abou. Caterina. A woman so far above her in so many ways, I don’t have time to get into it.
“Yes, well…” Sheughs softly. “I hope you don’t expect me to feel warm and generous toward the child who is fucking my husband. I don’t care whether or not she knew about the status of our divorce. I think it’s a good thing she ran off. She should really try to find a boy a little closer to her own age.”
Calm. Restraint. I have to be smarter than I was at thewyer’s office. For all I know, she could be recording our conversation. I wouldn’t put it past her, honestly. “That’s no longer any of your business, Amalia. My rtionships, who I fuck or don’t fuck,
I have more important things to do than-” ?re none of your business. Now, if you’ll excuse me,
“I’m sure you’ve heard the old saying you’ll attract more bees with honey than with vinegar.”
I swear to God, the way this woman thinks… I could get a migraine trying to decipher her word games. “Why do I want to attract bees?”
“You know what I’m saying,” she huffs, “I want to be friends.”
This duplicitous, stalling bitch. It’s enough to make me bark out inughter. “So that’s your newest tactic? You want us to be friends. Let me guess, you think if we are friends, I’ll be more likely to give you everything you think you deserve. Is that it?”
“Of course, you would say something like that. Always looking further than necessary into things. To you, everything is about keeping what you think you deserve.”
Think I deserve? The audacity.
“It is what I deserve, being that I worked for it.”
“Oh, really? You worked for it?” Venom drips from herughter. “Tell me, Gianni, does your little whore work for all the dors I’m sure you pay her?”
My jaw clenches so hard I swear I can feel my teeth cracking. I refuse to y into her hand. I cannot give her what she wants. All this push and pull, God damn it, she makes it impossible. Since the very beginning, she’s known precisely which buttons of mine to push.
“Tell me something. In your life, what have you ever worked for? You couldn’t even be bothered to be a mother to the daughter you wanted so badly, much less a decent, faithful wife. All you’ve ever known is how to use people in order to get where you want to be. So spare me your sanctimonious bullshit.‘
“I’m just saying. Maybe I’m not the only sanctimonious one.”
“Then why would you want a cent from me, considering your feelings about how the money came to be?”
She sputters, and I can practically see how red her face must be by now. She never wastes time stepping into a trap she set herself.
“You’ve taken up enough of my time. From now on, unless it has something to do with our daughter, I would appreciate youmunicating through ourwyers. I have nothing to say or share with you.” Before she has the chance to continue talking, I end the call and toss the phone onto my desk.