Page 11 of The Beast Who Begged Me

And Dami also tells me about Marcello, who helped him escape and get back to the house. “So Tiberius has been keeping tabs on us,” he finishes.

“That’s interesting,” I say. “I need to speak to Tiberius again. There are a few things I should have asked last time we met, and didn’t. I wasn’t thinking as clearly as I usually do.”

“How about you?” Dami asks quickly, obviously in no mood to discuss Tiberius any further. “You find that ring before the place…” He waves his bad hand, trying not to wince. He had to get it bandaged up again after the shower, but the waterproof dressing underneath was still in place.

He hasn’t shown me the damage. Said it was no big deal.

“No ring,” I tell him. I hesitate just a fraction of a second, but I already decided not to tell him about the letter. Not yet. “And nothing else of use, either.”

“So that’s it,” he sighs. “We’re fucked.”

The side of my mouth tips up.

“What the hell are you smiling about?” he asks morosely.

“We.”

“Huh?”

“You said we’re fucked.”

We’re interrupted by the nurse, to whom Dami has taken an intense dislike for some reason. But he agrees when the nurse insists I need to sleep. “I’ll go check on the others,” Dami says, as he tucks me in. “And I asked Strike Ferraro to set up some guards for you. He was fuckin’ thrilled to be useful for once in his life.” He leans down, and for a moment I think he’s going to kiss me. I lift my mouth up, but his lips land on my forehead instead. “Get some sleep. I’ll be right outside.”

But once he’s gone, I don’t try to sleep. Having Dami too close fogs up my mind, and thinking about my slightly sinister cousin didn’t clear the view any. But there’s something I need to work out: if my father didn’t kill Vincent Orsini, then who did?

I want to believe Nonna Mellie’s letter. I want to believe it. That’s what gives me pause. I don’t want my emotions to overrule logic.

Besides, if not my father, then Nonno Lou is an obvious suspect. My grandmother’s letter was insistent that my father take me and leave, get out of New York entirely. Nonno Lou might have ordered a hit on Vincent Orsini as a warning to my father. A leash jerked hard, since my father was never as obedient as his brothers and sisters: get in line, or your friends will pay the price.

And I might have been leverage as well. I’d believe it of my grandfather, that he’d threaten my life to get my father to fall in line. He did it to countless soldiers, even senior members of the Family. So why not his own, least favored son, Cesario?

But…why then? If Nonno Lou wanted to frighten my father into line, he’d had years to do it. What changed? What had Dad done that suddenly made this message necessary?

Another question: when did Nonna Mellie write the letter? I have no memory of her being cold toward my father; we used to enjoy spending time together, the three of us. So whatever she learned, she must have learned before I was old enough to note a change in her attitude.

And why hide the letter away instead of giving it to Dad?

I need to talk to someone who remembers that time. Strike Ferraro nearly said something that first day I visited him. With a little work, he’ll spill what he knows. If anything.

I don’t like keeping the letter from Dami. It will hurt him when it surfaces. If it surfaces. Dami mentioned my clothes were smoke-damaged, and I assume the hospital destroyed them, and the letter along with them.

In any case, I don’t want to lie to him. I’ll have to tell him eventually, and it will hurt him less if I can add that my grandfather was involved. At least then what Dami did to me would be merely biblical instead of needlessly cruel.

It’s getting harder and harder to think, to stay awake. That interlude with Dami in the shower was tiring. And as usual, it’s easier to think of the way Dami makes my body feel instead of all the other worries going on. He’s right outside my door, making sure I’m safe.

I’m safe.

So I sleep.

I wake to Dami’s rumble, pitched low. “He’s still asleep.”

“I’m not,” I murmur, and stretch in the bed before I open my eyes. Dami stands at the foot of it, and I smile to see him.

Beyond him, I meet the stony gaze of Sammy Maitland.

“How you feeling?” Dami asks gruffly.

“I’m okay. How long was I…”