“I just—”I just didn’t have a clue what to say.
Adriano turned to face me fully, tossing aside the bowl of popcorn. “Okay, tell me the truth. Right now.”
It probably wasn’t the right choice to say,I’m terrified that your best friend is a mom-murdering sociopath and I don’t want to be alone with him,so I said instead, “There’s notruth,Adriano.”
“Are you scared of him?”
I choked on the small piece of popcorn I threw into my mouth as it lodged in my throat. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you look scared as fuck.” He scoffed. “He would never hurt you, you know that, right?”
“Wouldn’t he?” I whispered, not realizing what I’d said before it came out. “Just like he didn’t hurt his mom?”
My statement wasbeggingfor Adriano to tell me I was stupid and that ofcourseMilan didn’t do that, but he didn’t.Adriano swallowed and blinked, but the new wave of tears in his eyes didn’t go even as he blinked harder. “I don’t know where you heard that, but don’t youdaresay that in front of him. He’s lived with what happened foryears.”
“But whatdidhappen?” I asked, my voice coming out like a plea.
He shook his head. “I can’t tell you.”
“Because you’ll die too?”
His eyes widened. “Fuck, Sicily, fuckingfuck.”Adriano ran a shaky hand through his hair. “You’re safe with him, withus,I swear it. I promise, he doesn’t want to hurt you; he wants toknow you.”
Nobody wanted to know me, and the people who did always found out I was too much, too emotional, and too much trouble. That fear clung to the nagging want that told me I wanted to go, that part of me, no matter how scared, wanted to know him too.
If I went, Milan would see for himself why he didn’t want to get to know me.
My trust in Adriano held stronger than my fear of Milan murdering me, and I nodded, drawing in all the air I could. The Consigliere could’ve been involved in it all, covering for him, pushing me to my death, but Adriano was an emotional being like me, and my heart could feel his breaking for his friend.
“Can you take me to him? To the garage?”
MILAN
I understoodwhy my wife did not want to visit my garage. It was dirty with metallic silver walls and oil-ruined floors, mechanics were not her interest, and we did not spend regular time together.
I understood, but my brain had lost all of its ability to think ordinarily, forcing me to focus on her instead. It was incredibly unacceptable, nonsensical, and distracting from the last-minute Maserati order we had received.
We had received it from myself. I had ordered the Maserati for myself to fix. It was an attempted distraction technique, one that was not working.
My garage was certainly not the most delightful of locations for my wife, but the soldiers who wanted to help this business in their free time treated it as if it was their home. It was cathartic to their busy, violent minds.Here, they were just men amongst friends, fixing cars and listening to awful music.
“Hey, boss,” one of the young soldiers said, sidling up beside me with his toolkit. He had just become a Made Man and was a soft, emotional boy until you handed him a gun. “Can I come work with you?”
“Hello,” I said, looking up from the car’s wheel and nodding once. “You may. Are they making fun of you again, Lorenzo?”
I glanced over to the mass of men who were sniggering and joking with one another across the garage. It was all in goodfun; I was aware of how men were, but he was younger, only sixteen and sensitive, and he deserved to walk away when he experienced emotional malfunction.
Many Dons expected their men to be hardened criminals, but I found that this did not make sense. My men were expected to be decent members of society, have hobbies and families, experience joy and love. Not only did they respect me more for it, but they had something to work for, come home to, and fight for, and they therefore worked harder.
“Yeah.” He sighed, throwing his spanner into the air and catching it again. “Because of a girl.”
My brow rose. “A girl?”
His cheeks flushed red, and I considered this to be his sensitive nature becoming embarrassed. He set down his tools, coming closer than was comfortable, but clearly this was somewhat private to him, so I allowed it. He kneeled on the ground next to me and the car’s wheel as he said quietly, “Ireallylike her, but she rejected me…again.”
He was an attractive and kind boy, so this seemed illogical. Many women found dark, curly hair and a big smile attractive; I knew because Adriano had received plenty of female attention, though he had never entertained them.
“I cannot say that I have experience to assist you in this scenario.” I looked down at Lorenzo. “Women are a variable that I do not understand.”
