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“I’m fine.”
“Yes, that is what you keep saying. G, no one hates what Alessio did more than me—”
I tried to step back. I didn’t want to hear his name. I didn’t want to discuss this. Ever.
Frankie’s grip tightened. “Stop. I have the right to say it. For fuck’s sake, I was there when Fausto almost died, too. And I will never forgive Enzo D’Agostino for putting those wheels into motion. But I also know who I married, the world I have stepped into here. I have to accept Enzo for the sake of Gia’s happiness. I need to put the past aside.”
“It’s not the same,” I said. “He lied to me.”
“You have to realize why he didn’t tell you.” She searched my face. “Come on, G. It would’ve been suicide to confess it.”
“Giulio!” Fausto bellowed from his office.
“I have to go,” I told her.
Frankie’s fingers didn’t leave my arm. “I forgave your father,” she said quietly. “We are capable of forgiveness, G. And sometimes it’s the most human, most beautiful thing we can do. Please, just think about it. I don’t want to see you unhappy.”
I kissed her cheek again. “Ti voglio bene.”
“Ti voglio bene.” Uncurling her fingers, she patted my arm. “Hurry, before he loses his mind.”
I went to my father’s office. The door was open and he was standing behind his chair, gripping the top of it so hard that his knuckles were white. Marco was scrolling his phone in his usual chair. I hadn’t expected him to be here this late. I closed the door and came inside.
“I told you,” Fausto started softly, his face taut with anger, “to come straight back. I told you it might not be safe.”
“I assessed the situation carefully. Everything checked out.” I held out my arms. “As you can see.”
“Do not be flippant. I expect you to follow orders, Giulio.”
This was why I didn’t want to live in Siderno. After being on my own for so long, I couldn’t go back to being his soldato. But I knew better than to argue with him. “Tell me what you’ve heard.”
Fausto gestured to Zio Marco and then gave me his back to stare out the window. Marco said, “There is another hit out on you. Don Buscetta.”
I dropped my head and stared at the floor. Figlio d’un cane. When would it end? I was fucking tired of being chased and hunted like a dog.
“Apparently,” Marco continued, “Nino had a camera in his bedroom. You took off your mask.”
Minchia! I remember Alessio’s surprise when I removed my mask that night. But I never considered that Nino had a camera in there to record him fucking. “How did you find all this out?”
“Your assassin.”
My spine shot straight, every muscle in my body tightening. “Che cazzo?”
“This was also our reaction.”
My skin heated, a burn in my chest that spread to every part of my body. I didn’t need—or want—Alessio looking after me. He had no business interfering in my life, even if it was to warn me. “What did he say?”
“It wasn’t a long conversation,” Zio Marco drawled. “He rang my phone, told me of Buscetta’s hit, and hung up. I didn’t call him back.”
“This isn’t important,” Fausto said, still looking through the window. “We have to deal with Buscetta. Immediately.”
I nodded, in complete agreement. “I’ll go to Palermo.”
“Not a good idea,” Marco said. “You’ll be spotted, especially after killing Nino.”
“The old man isn’t in Palermo,” Fausto said. “He’s in the hills somewhere. Hiding. No one has seen or heard from him in decades. Not sure how we can even find him.”
“What about Nino’s phone?” I had turned this over weeks ago, but hadn’t given it much thought since.
