"War inCosa Nostra.He was shot… near our farm."
I know so little about her. “Did anyone get the man who killed him?"
She shrugs. "Yes. Revenge, it never ends."
She's not wrong about that. "And your mother?”
She quickly shakes her head. I’m not sure what that means, but her eyes glitter with tears now. That’s the last thing I intended.
“Why did you really come to America?” I ask her, finishing up.
“I told everyone, for school.”
I don’t know her well, but some subtleties can’t evade me. “I’m familiar with deceit, Matilde. I’m a veritable expert at it, andthatwas a lie.”
Her mouth opens before she closes it again. Then she hangs her head. “I took this. Earlier.“
She reaches into her pocket and pulls out my stiletto switchblade, offering it to me. It was on my bureau this morning. She shrinks back at my expression, but I’m angrier with myself for leaving it out on a day she was going to be here alone with my children. Stupid fucking fool. I want to be furious with her for my failure, too. “So, you’re a liar and a thief?”
“No, I was…curiosa. Mi dispiace. I will not take again.”
I sigh. “If you would kill for my children, I suppose it doesn’t hurt for you to have some protection.”
“You let me keep it?” There’s an alluring darkness dancing in those beautiful eyes for a moment, a wildness that speaks to my own twisted nature.
“If you’ll keep it away from my children, yes. Do you know how to use it?”
“Yes, yes. Never near them. My father showed me.”
“I’d like to see what he showed you someday. You may borrow a clean t-shirt from my clothes. I believe you can find my bureau.”
Her eyes widen with alarm, trying to determine how much I know about her snooping, but I’d rather not tip my hand yet. “Thank you, sir.”
“I told you to call me Nico,” I snap, annoyed by her calling me ‘sir’ again. I want to hear her say my name.
“Yes,Sir Nico,”she snaps back before sliding off the counter and scurrying out of my reach.
8
Matilde
Orange and yellow leaves cover the sidewalk when I step outside at last, flexing my cramped hand. Detention and writing lines are the most boring things in existence. December and graduation can’t get here soon enough.
“Why is there always a limo waiting forher?”a snide voice remarks.
On cue, her minions cackle in unison. The Capo’s Charity Case and Primo’s Bimbo are some of the less offensive names the mean girls’ clique has come up with for me.
But their ringleader called me the daughter of ‘some whore’ this morning. I know they don’t know who my mother was, but it set something off inside me.
“How is your nose, Paola?” I ask, giving her my best evil smile. She quickly closes her mouth, deciding she doesn’t want to test my temper again when there are no teachers nearby.
Heading toward the black limousine, my smug smile disappears when Nico climbs out of the backseat. Impeccably dressed as always, his cold gray eyes latch onto me. I glance at Primo, who’s currently sitting ramrod straight in the driver’s seat, looking like he’s been glued that way.
“Wha-why are you here?” I stammer.
“Someone was a naughty girl.”
Heat blasts my face. He knows? I’m surprised he doesn’t sound angrier. “They call your mother.”
