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Roman had helped to organize the buying of Salvatore’s house, helped me sell off the cars and much of the furniture. He’d made sure the house was maintained, even though no one lived there. Why? Why would he help me after that night, when I was out, finished? When I was no longer a threat? One more Benedetti son out of the picture.
Why not, though? Why raise my suspicions by denying me help? And couldn’t he then keep better track of me? Keep me in my place, which was far from his.
I thought back to those years and wondered if he’d been a friend to any of us, really. Or did he manage each of us, his eyes on the prize all along—becoming head of the Benedetti crime family.
No, that seemed too far-fetched. Too impossible.
But maybe it wasn’t. To be so close to the kind of power Franco Benedetti wielded and sit impotent at his side for so many years? I knew how that felt. I knew what it made of me.
Power corrupted. And Roman was corrupt. I’d bet my fucking life on it.
I slowed as I drove the final mile toward the mansion. Night had fallen, and a crescent moon illuminated a thousand stars in the clear night. Gia stirred beside me.
“Are we there?”
“Yes.”
She rubbed her eyes and leaned forward to get a better look as we got close enough for the lights of the SUV to shine on the gates protecting the property.
I slowed the vehicle, and she took it all in.
The last few miles I’d been tense. Now, that tension had reached a new level. I hadn’t been back since that night. I hadn’t been in the dining room since the shooting, and I was about to face it all now.
“Stay inside,” I told her, climbing out to punch in the code. I watched the gates slide open. The single change I’d made to the property after buying it was to have all the locks changed and a keyless entry system put in.
Once the gates opened, I drove the SUV through, then stopped again to watch them close behind us. I’d change the code tomorrow. Roman also knew it. I hadn’t thought twice about him having it, not back then.
Gia sat awestruck at what she saw as we drove the long drive toward the front door.
“What is this?”
“My house,” I said, realizing it was. I’d taken over Salvatore’s home, kept some of his furniture. And he didn’t even know it.
I didn’t bother trying to figure out my own twisted motivation.
“Your house?”
“Mercenary life pays.”
“Can’t pay this much.”
I parked the car. Gia climbed out. I walked ahead to the front door and punched in the code. The number combination registered, and a click signaled the unlocking of the door. I pushed it open, memory of that last night flooding all of my senses as I stood on the threshold, gripping the doorknob to remain upright as the wave crashed over me, then, slowly, way too slowly, passed. I swallowed hard and reached a shaky hand to switch on the lights. The hallway illuminated immediately, and I moved aside to allow Gia to enter.
“Wow.”
It was all she said while she turned around in a circle, her gaze up on the vaulted, frescoed ceiling. Salvatore had tacky taste if you asked me, but watching her take it in, to see her in awe, made me strangely, stupidly proud.
I cleared my throat and pushed the door closed, hearing the lock engage when I did. I moved swiftly through the house, turning on lights as I went, seeing the layers of dust covering the sheets protecting the remaining furniture.
“It’ll need to be cleaned,” I said, trying to avoid looking at the closed door that led into the dining room. Trying not to think of that night. Of what I’d find there. That was the one room I hadn’t allowed to be cleaned. I wondered now how it would look—glasses left on the table now filled with dust, the whiskey having long since evaporated. Would the blood have seeped into the obnoxious marble floors? Splattered and stained the walls with permanent reminders? Would it take me back in time to that night, that terrible night, when I’d learned the truth and lost everything in the process?
“This room is off-limits,” I told Gia, gesturing to the closed dining-room door.
She shifted her weight onto one leg and narrowed her eyes. She looked like she was about to say something smart, but then her expression changed, like she knew this was serious. Like she knew not to fuck with me on this. She nodded.
I walked over to the liquor cabinet and found a bottle of unopened whiskey. I took it and found a glass. She followed me into the kitchen, where I turned on the gurgling tap and waited until the water ran clear before rinsing the glass. I filled it halfway with the liquor. I held it out to her.
