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No, she hadn't been crying.
There was a strange swelling of pride inside at that.
I had no idea if that was because I was happy she had that much spirit, or if it was because she trusted me that much, or a combination of the two. But it was there, a floating sort of sensation in my chest.
Her gaze slid up my father's body, her chin jutting up as she got to his face. She didn't look at me, and I got the feeling it was because she didn't want it to seem like we had any sort of connection. Which was good. My father would be pissed if he thought someone respected me more than him.
"What was your name again?" he asked, glaring down at her, trying to intimidate her. And if that didn't show you what a little fucking man he was, I didn't know what did, trying to scare a small woman less than half his age.
"Giana," she told him, no tremble in her lip, no tremor in her voice.
"Giana. You fucked up last night," he told her.
"Or did I make things easier?" she asked, shrugging one of her shoulders.
"How the fuck could killing a family friend make anything easier for me?"
"When did he ever pay on time?" she shot back. "And I can assure you, Mr. Costa, that when he did, it was only because I made sure it happened. My father was never good with money. I think he was very impressed with you," she added, and I could hear the hint of disgust in her voice, but only because I was beginning to know her well enough to. I knew what she was trying to do. Stroke my father's ego. And it was killing her pride to do it. But she was doing it. And I felt another wave of pride. "He was always trying to emulate you. Buying things we both knew he couldn't afford because he wanted to be more like you."
"He was a decent man. Flawed, but decent," my father said, chest puffing just the slightest bit. "Which makes me wonder how wicked his daughter must be to shoot him in cold blood with no provocation."
To that, Giana took a deep breath, giving him a version of the truth I had a feeling she had been working on all night, making sure there was no way any part of it could be taken the wrong way.
"I used to think the same thing about my father," she told my father. "That he was decent, just flawed. Which was why I always nudged him to do what was right and pay his debts, no matter the personal sacrifice he might have to endure. It's important for your word to be honorable. But last night, sitting at your dining table, I realized I was wrong all these years. He wasn't a decent man. He was the lowest kind."
"And what kind is that?"
"The kind who betrays his own family."
Christ. I could have written this speech for her.
Family over everything.
That was the code we lived and died by.
"How did he betray his own family?"
"Last night, you had a guest come in while we were all having our... meeting," she fumbled on that word, choosing it carefully.
"Yes. An associate of mine."
"Well, I'm sure you have no idea about this. I think people can hide their sins pretty well when they know powerful, moral men would be angry if they uncovered them."
"Are you talking about Paulie?" my father asked, the name making Giana cringe for a second before she shook it off. "What are his sins, then?"
"He rapes children," she told him, gaze going up to hold my father's. "He raped me when I was fifteen."
"There are a lot of men in the world who have a taste for young women," my father said, shrugging, suggesting that it could have been another man.
But I was reading more into that. Into the almost defensive way he said it.
Shit.
Fuck.
Goddamn it.
He knew.
He knew what Paulie had been up to.
He looked the other way.
Or he outright allowed it.
Either way, shit just went from bad to worse, and I had no way to get that information across to Giana.
So she went on.
"That's true, unfortunately. But I remembered something very specific about this man. A port wine birthmark on his left hand. I even drew a picture of it after the rape. I had told my father about it. And last night, he shook the hand with that very birthmark on it. He knew, Mr. Costa. He knew that Paulie raped me as a little girl, that one of his friends had raped my mother. Worse yet, I think my father let him do it, gave him a key to our apartment to do it."
"That's quite the little story you've created in your head. I'm sure if I invited Paulie over here to talk about it with us, he would say he had nothing to do with that event."
