Chapter 5
1311words
"I never saw it coming," I confessed, reclining in my chair and staring thoughtfully into the almost-empty whisky glass I'd nursed for the past half-hour. Damon sat across from me at the expansive conference table in the Vitalo library, his usually jovial eyes now serious. He bore a strong resemblance to me, except for his steely gray eyes and long hair.
Our father occupied the seat opposite Damon, fingers interlaced over his stomach, a deep furrow between his brows. At sixty, Vito Vitalo still boasted a full head of hair, though now liberally streaked with gray. The lines on his face were etched more deeply than usual, but his clear blue eyes, like mine, missed nothing.
"Perhaps it's for the best that events unfolded as they did," my father mused. "I understand the weight of a friend's blood on one's conscience; it's not easily borne."
No, it wasn't. But it was a burden I should have borne.
"It is what it is," I replied, rising from my seat. "It's a mistake I won't allow to happen again."
My father sighed, as if about to say more but reconsidered, nodding instead. Lately, I had to coax words from him.
I'd been surprised when he retired three years ago, passing the Donship to me at thirty, but he had his reasons. While I hadn't expected to lead the empire so soon, having Vito Vitalo as my consigliere more than compensated.
"I have some loose ends to tie up. I'll be back in a few hours," I announced, draining the last of my whisky and standing. I acknowledged my father's nod and ignored the glint of curiosity in Damon's eyes. I left the room before he could offer to "drive me," which meant tagging along.
Normally, I wouldn't refuse; there weren't many who could match Damon's skill with both car and gun. But tonight, I craved solitude.
Falzone, a stalwart who'd served my family for over three decades, awaited me at the front door, holding a legal-sized envelope. Despite his aging frame and stooped shoulders, he still towered over me at 6'4".
"It's all here, Signore," he said, handing me the envelope, his fingers slightly gnarled with arthritis.
"Thank you," I replied tersely, taking the envelope and leaving without another word.
Outside, I drop the envelope on the passenger seat of my black Mercedes SUV and drive out through the Vitalo estate's gates and across town to Mariana's motel, doing my damnedest not to think about Leo and his lifeless eyes that had stared up at me from the bar's scratched wood table.
I park in front of the last motel door on the left and cross the cracked pavement to a weathered white door. I knock, using the signature rhythmic rap Leo and I have used right from childhood, knowing there's no way that Mariana wouldn't recognize it.
Of course, Mariana answers. She probably didn't even stop to check the peephole. She's barely five-foot-two, with brown hair and a roundish face, but when she smiles, it stretches from ear to ear and lights her up from the inside.
She isn't smiling today. She looks up at me, and something in my eyes makes her whole countenance change. Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears as her shoulders slump. She wraps her arms tight around her like she's trying to hold herself together while her body starts to shake.
She knows.
And then she begins to cry. No, ‘cry' isn't the right word for it. She wails in great, gasping sobs that wrack her from head to toe as she stumbles further back into the room. I've never seen a human being crumple before, so thoroughly go to pieces right in front of me.
Four-year-old Victoria is asleep on the bed, but the moment Mariana starts to wail, her eyes fly open. Her bottom lip quivers and her eyes fill with tears, and then the child, a near-replica of the mother, begins to wail too.
Fucking Christ.
I enter the room, close the motel room door behind me, and proceed to stare at the two wailing females waiting patiently and wait for the wailing to stop.
It doesn't.
This is what Leo has left me with?
Mariana drops down on the edge of the bed and pulls her daughter into her arms. I don't think Victoria has the vaguest idea of what has happened; she's merely responding to her mother's distress.
I reach down and lift Victoria up off her mother's lap, ignoring the pang in my chest when the tiny girl wraps her arms around me.
'It's okay, stellina. Mamma just got some sad news." I brush the wisps of hair back from Victoria's forehead and make my way to the closet on the other side of the room.
With my free hand, I open the closet door and start pulling clothes off the hangers, dropping them down on the chair by the bed.
When the closet is empty, I tuck Victoria tighter against my side, crouch down on the opposite side of the bed, and retrieve the suitcases from beneath it.
'Was it… did you…" She forces out more words, but they seem to increase the rate at which the tears are pouring down her cheeks.
I shake my head, ignoring the pang in my chest. 'It wasn't me."
Though it should have been.
Then, attempting a gesture I'm not entirely certain is the right one for offering comfort, I place my hand on her shoulder. 'You need to leave. Now."
Fucking women is my specialty; comforting them is most certainly not, but somehow it seems to be working because Mariana leans her forehead against my arm and starts to take slow, shaky breaths.
'Would you like to go on an adventure, stellina?" I ask Victoria as Mariana forces her thin body up off the bed and starts throwing their belongings into the suitcases.
'Sì zio Zade," Victoria replies, but her voice is already sluggish from the pull of sleep.
'Bene," I lower her to the bed. 'You go to sleep for just a little bit while I talk to your mamma, va bene?"
She nods as her eyes drift closed.
I wait a moment, then signal for Mariana to join me in the bathroom—the only area in the small motel room aside from the closet with a door.
Once inside, I close the door and hand Mariana the envelope. 'It has everything you'll need, from new birth certificates and passports to your airplane tickets, new bank accounts, and cash," I explain quickly. There isn't much time.
Mariana shakes her head as fresh tears well up in her eyes. 'I have a plan. I can't just—"
'Sì, che puoi. In fact, this is the only thing you can do, Mariana—for Victoria. And most important of all, no one can know, capito? You don't tell anyone you're leaving. You don't give your real names or any details about your life to anyone. Ever. Your new life is in that envelope, and the only way you and Victoria stay alive is if you do exactly what I say."
She nods, clutching the envelope to her chest, but there's something in her eyes, something she's holding back.
'What is it?" I ask as that prickling sensation ghosts across the back of my neck.
A fresh sob wracks her chest. 'It's too late," she whispers, her voice trembling.
Fuck.
'What do you mean it's too late?"
'Someone already knows. I mean, not everything. But some things," she says, her words coming out in a rush. 'But she won't tell anyone. She can't. I trust her."
I scoff. 'There are very few things people can't do when properly motivated, Mariana."
The sobs come faster, their volume increasing. It won't be long before she's teetering on the verge of all-out wailing again.
Double fuck.
