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My mobile buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and saw a text from Zio Marco.
Come to the office. Now.
Minchia! Has something gone wrong with my father and Alessio?
“I have to go,” I told Frankie. “Are you okay out here, or do you want to come back to the castello with me?”
“I’ll stay here. Now that Rafe has seen me, he’ll have a complete meltdown if I try to leave.”
Bending, I kissed her cheek. “See you in a bit. Come find me when you’re back in the house.”
She promised she would, and then I hurried toward the castello. I should’ve stayed in their meeting. I never should’ve left Alessio alone with Fausto. My father was probably grilling Alessio about his previous jobs, including the hit on me.
I had to get in there and explain the situation to Fausto. Alessio never had any plans to kill me. Not really. I hadn’t been in any danger, and then we couldn’t keep our hands off one another in Scotland. My father would understand. It all sounded much worse than it played out.
And I needed to tell him about what happened in Palermo. Nino Buscetta and the broken truce.
I jogged up the small rise that led to the house. Across the patio. Then I was inside. My shoes thumped on the old tile, a floor I’d run up and down as a boy.
I didn’t bother knocking. Instead, I threw open the door and went in. The room was deathly quiet, the kind of silence after an argument. “Che c’è?” I immediately asked. Someone needed to fill me in right the fuck now.
“Sit down, figlio,” my father said. He leaned back in his chair, the angles of his face sharper than usual. Marco looked on edge, watchful.
Alessio wouldn’t meet my eye.
I sat down in the empty chair next to Alessio. I noticed he was gripping the armrests tightly, his knuckles white. I knew my father could be scary as shit sometimes, but I could handle him.
Reaching out, I touched Alessio’s arm, trying to reassure him. He just sat perfectly still, frozen, so I faced my father. “Pàpa, let me explain.”
“I will go first, please.” Fausto slid a glass vial across the desk toward me. “Do you know what this is?”
I peered closer. Metal fragments. “A bullet.”
“Yes. Specifically, the bullet they removed from me four years ago.”
“Grim. Okay, what does that have to do with me?”
“It has to do with your ragazzo.”
I glanced at Alessio, but received only his profile in return. “I don’t understand.”
Fausto turned his attention to Alessio. “Would you like to tell him, or should I?”
A muscle popped in Alessio’s jaw and I lost my patience. “Madre di dio! Someone tell me what the fuck is going on in here.”
Alessio’s voice wasn’t loud but it was clear. “The contract on your father? The shot from the Siderno rooftop? That was me.”
A huff of disbelief left my lips. “You? On the rooftop? That would mean . . . .” The truth snapped into place. It was like all the puzzle pieces instantly aligned inside my brain, the whole picture slapping me in the face.
My fingers slid off Alessio’s arm.
Pain lanced though my chest. My breath left my lungs as my spine straightened. Alessio had shot my father. No, Alessio had almost killed my father.
But this couldn’t be true. Alessio would have told me. We’d even talked about the assassination attempt. I slept with this man. Kissed him, fucked him. I’d trusted him.
I gave him everything.
Wait. There had to be something missing. Some reason, some explanation. This was too big of a secret, too important, for him not to share with me.
