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“Calm down, Maria. Who did you tell?”
She takes a deep, shaky breath. “My therapist, that’s all.”
Triple fuck.
“But she won’t tell anyone, not even the cops. She won’t say a word. Client-therapist confidentiality, right?”
I sigh. “Not if you wind up dead.”
Her eyes widen, as if she’s just getting that her therapist could be compelled to break confidentiality.
If I wasn’t so pissed, I would laugh. Leo had done far too good of a job keeping his wife sheltered from our life. She doesn’t seem to understand how our world works.
“When you and Victoria turn up dead, it’ll have her thinking about going to the cops and spilling everything you told her.”
She’s silent for a moment, the wheels turning behind her eyes. Then she licks her lips and shakes her head. “Then we can’t turn up dead. I already have a plan. I can—”
“No. This is the plan, Maria. There are two bodies in the trunk that will be trapped in this room and burned beyond identification in a fire that’s going to start in less than half an hour,” I explain patiently, not something to which I am accustomed. “So, you see, your client-therapist confidentiality goes out the window tonight.”
Maria looks up at me, silent, her face etched with grief and guilt. I have a feeling she’s told this goddamned therapist a lot.
“Give me her information,” I demand.
Her eyes widen. “Why? What are you going to do, Nico?”
“I’ll take care of it.” That’s all she needs to know.
She shakes her head and takes a step back. “No, you can’t do that. She won’t talk. I’m sure she won’t.”
Christ. Now the woman decides to grow a backbone?
“You do realize who your husband was and the things he did to keep you in the lap of luxury, right?”
She’s silent because, really, there’s no argument to that.
“Give me your therapist’s information and finish packing. We clear out in ten minutes,” I tell her, then make to leave the room, fucking done with this conversation.
Maria grabs my arm, pleading “Promise me you won’t hurt her.”
I give her a long, reproachful look, and without me speaking, Maria understands. She heaves a sigh of grief and resignation, then starts to cry again.
Maria realizes that her husband’s betrayal has backfired. Instead of subjecting her to the traitor’s treatment she rightly deserves—leaving her fate to whatever Romano plans for her—I’m going out of my way to protect her. Because of her lapse in judgment, an innocent woman will now have to die, a harsh lesson in why one must never disclose the secrets of our world.
“I’m so sorry, Nico. I tried to talk Leo out of what he was doing, but it was as if he had a fever in his head or something,” she explains, her voice a mix of despair and regret.
He wanted a way out, and he got it, one way or another. I nod curtly in response. “Finish packing up, Maria. You have seven minutes.” As I turn and leave, her resigned sigh echoes behind me, trailing me all the way back to the SUV.
I shake it off, mentally counting off the last couple of steps left to make things right again. First get Leo’s wife and child out of here. Once Maria’s ass is on a plane out of the country, mine has a date with a feelings guru.
Fucking wonderful.
“The therapist likely knows too much. She needs to go,” I say to my father as we contemplate which of our safe houses Maria and Victoria should be taken before arranging a permanent life for them.
“Send Fredo Batti instead,” my father’s tone is uncharacteristically sharp. Almost like a command, like back in the days when he was Don.
“No, Padre. It will go down as one of the most fucked up hits I’ve ever put out. I should do it myself.”
My father takes a deep breath, shakes his head, and gestures with fingers pinched together for emphasis. “No, Don Vitelli, this is something you shouldn’t do yourself. That’s the reason you have soulless men like Batti. They see and do the things you don’t have to, so that you can do your job effectively.”
