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Papa’s face looked exactly like it did when Mama was crying for him to fix something—placating, loving, just a bit impatient. “No one’s losing me.”
Ava shook her head. “We could all lose you. I know the children and Rosa don’t want to face life without you any more than I do, which is why you have to take me seriously. This isn’t about bootlegging or bookmaking. This is murder.”
“All right. Okay. Hush now.” He pulled her to him, wrapping his thick arms around her as she cried against him. “I’ll take care of it. I’ll see that any trails lead nowhere, and I’ll talk to Enzo about whether I should hire Darrow.”
Sniffing, Ava raised her face. “You need to cut it off quickly, Manny. You can’t let this get in the way of the wedding. Rosa will never forgive you if it interrupts things, and poor Sabina—she’s been through the wringer already, these last couple weeks.”
“I know. I do. Nothing will ruin my princess’s day.” Papa leaned down and kissed her lightly.
The tender touch was more devastating to watch than a passionate embrace would have been. Sabina knew well how passions could lead one into trouble, but this kiss spoke of habit, affection, a longstanding relationship. She glanced down to see that her knuckles had gone white around his case’s handle.
“Try not to worry, bedduzza. I’ll take care of this.”
“I’m a worrier, Manny, you know that. It’s all I’ve been able to think about since Sally told me what was going on. I’d hoped to handle it without involving you—”
“There is no need for that.” He kissed her again, presumably to stop her words. He wore an indulgent smile. “What you do need is a night out, a distraction. I would take you tonight, but I already promised Rosa I’d be home for dinner. Tomorrow, though, we’ll go out. Okay?”
“You’re so good to me.” She stretched up to kiss him more fully.
Every pulse pounded like a drum in Sabina’s ears. It was one thing for her mother or Lorenzo to vaguely mention other women, brothels, and spilling blood. It was quite another to see her father’s arms around a woman who apparently lived in such a place, discussing a murder he had presumably committed.
And this woman—this woman! How dare she speak of her and G and Mama as if she knew them, as if she cared? How dare she walk in their park and sit in their church and light candles for them, as if she weren’t…weren’t…
“I love you, Manny.”
Papa didn’t even hesitate. “Ti amu, me tisoru.”
Fury rocketed through her. She acted before she could think better of it. One hand pushed open the door, her feet propelled her in, and she sent the briefcase flying at the desk so that she could hear the satisfying crash as it hit the surface and sent pens and papers and who knew what else scattering. “How dare you!”
He at least had the decency to jerk away from his mistress. “Sabina! What are you doing here?”
“Learning the truth about you, apparently. How dare you dishonor Mama this way? Not just keeping a woman like that as a mistress, but flaunting it to the world? And giving her the exact same words you give your wife!”
Papa’s face went hard, muscle by muscle. “You’ve a right to be angry. But you will show some respect.”
“How can I show what I don’t have anymore?” Seething, she turned her hard gaze on the woman her father apparently found so irresistible.
Ava didn’t look like some temptress, a home-wrecker. Her eyes shone with regret as she said what Papa should have. “I’m sorry, Sabina. I never meant to hurt you.”
The apology brought tears dangerously close to the surface. Sabina wanted to blame the older woman, claim that Papa had been beguiled, that Ava had deliberately inserted herself into their family with the purpose of ripping it apart. She wanted to bring her to her knees with accusations.
But she was the woman who watched them from a distance in the park, who always asked after those who were absent, who always had a smile. She was the woman who worried about gunfights and lit candles for them in church.
Papa. Papa was the one to blame. The illustrious Giorgio Mancari, who took whatever he wanted and proudly bent the world to his will. In all likelihood, Ava had just been one of his many prostitutes until he chose to raise her up to the office of mistress. One could hardly blame her for accepting the promotion.
Sabina spun to glare at her father. “How could you do this to Mama? Don’t you love her?”
“Of course I do!” Genuine fervor colored the words, which had slipped into Sicilian. “Your mother stood beside me through everything, gave me my children. She is the love of my youth, the best wife I could ever ask for. My relationship with Ava has nothing to do with her.”
He believed it, clearly, even if she had no idea how. She replied in English. “I don’t think Mama would agree with you about that.”
“She understands these things, principessa.”
“No, she suffers these things. And you—you’re the one who makes her suffer. You’re the one who makes us all suffer. You’re a monster!”
“Princess.” Papa strode over to her, reached for her, but she ducked away. “You have been through a lot lately, so I will overlook these bursts of disrespect. But I expect better from you in the future.”
Sabina took another step away. “Or what? You’ll cut off my allowance? Kick me out? It hardly matters—I’ll be married in a month.”
