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Twenty-One
What life half lifts the latch of,
What hell stalks towards the snatch of,
Your offering, with despatch, of!
—Gerard Manley Hopkins,
from “Morning Midday and Evening Sacrifice”
Insistent knocking at the door interrupted Roman’s calculating daydreams. With time running out, he had been focusing much of his energy on figuring out how to get Sabina away from Capecce. Part of him still hoped that if he could get Baker’s deposition by August thirteenth, they could arrest Manny and halt the wedding as a side-effect, but he wasn’t going to bet on that. Baker was still out of town, and though due back soon, “soon” wasn’t good enough. He needed a backup plan.
All he had to do was get her away from Capecce for a while. A day or two with him, instead, and she’d break free of the sense of obligation that tied her to Capecce. He understood that she felt bad for hurting her old friend, that both their families expected them to get married, that expectation could be a strong motivation. He came from two families who could lay the guilt on as thick as Irish cream. But she couldn’t let that dictate her life. She couldn’t marry a Mafia lawyer and go on living in Little Italy forever, until that life snuffed out her own. He couldn’t let that happen to her.
“Coming!” he barked at whoever thumped on his door. Probably Cliff or Sally. One or the other of them was always pestering him these days.
For two people who snarled and spat at each other every time they ended up in the same room, they were in surprising agreement about Roman—especially his need to let go of both Sabina and his vendetta against the Mafia. They said that was good reason to listen to them. He said it was good reason to avoid them. And if they were here again just to annoy him…
He wrenched open the door, but his accusing words dried up in his throat. He could only get out a low, “Sabina.”
He’d looked at the picture of her every day, dreamed about her every night. But seeing her here, framed in his doorway—her beauty was a punch straight to the gut.
She stepped inside but held up a hand, palm facing him, to keep him a step away. Her face was cool and determined. “I’m not here because I changed my mind, so don’t get any ideas. I just came to warn you.”
His hands itched to reach for her, but that look in her eyes made him shove them into his pockets instead. He couldn’t screw this up like he had the meeting in the park. “This oughta be good.”
Folding her arms over her chest, she turned her head to take in his apartment. He was glad Sally had been by yesterday and had tidied up, even if she had kept up a steady stream of nagging the whole time. “Papa found out you intend to talk to Tim Baker, whom he says would say anything to have him arrested. Moreover, he was told you plan on stealing me away before the wedding.”
Her eyes came back to his, still cool and determined. His fingers curled up into his palm. Where was the fire he loved? Had Capecce snuffed it out entirely? “You have to get away from him, Bina. He’s no good for you.”
“I already said I haven’t changed my mind. I’m just here to tell you to get out of town, fast. I overheard Papa give the order to kill you. Tonight. You have to leave now.”
His shoulder muscles tensed at the suggestion. “No way. I don’t run away from a fight, especially when it’s exactly what I need to—”
“Put my father away?” Her lips parted in incredulity, and she shook her head. “Stop thinking like a cop for one blasted minute and consider what’s at stake. You really have a mother waiting for you in New York? And is your father really dead?”
Who knew her words could be a punch too? His mouth went so dry that he couldn’t reply with anything but a nod.
Her face softened into a plea. “Then think about her, will you? You stick around to play hero and you’ll be leaving Chicago under a sheet. That’s not how you want to go home to her.”
He blinked—just a blink, one moment when his eyes shuttered out the world, but that was all it took. Ma’s face was before him, that pleading look she’d worn when he told her goodbye. She’d tried to talk him out of joining the Bureau, chasing the Mafia. She’d tried begging, pleading, commanding—and when all those things failed, she had ordered him to come home alive.
He folded his arms over his chest, too. “Fine. If you come with me.”
“Roman, listen.” She held out a hand. He took it without hesitation, loving as always how perfect her elegant fingers felt in his. “I care about you. You woke me up from a stupor and made me realize that I didn’t have to settle for emptiness anymore. But I don’t want to be the person I was with you.”
His throat constricted. “Sabina…”
“It wasn’t love. You were exciting. I was a challenge. It was all heightened because it was forbidden. But if I had really loved you, it wouldn’t have turned to ice so fast when you made your move two months ago. And if you really loved me, you wouldn’t be plotting to steal me away from my own wedding. You just want me to be another nail in Papa’s coffin. Putting him away isn’t enough, you want to take something more from him.”
“That’s not it!” It couldn’t be. He tugged on her arm to pull her closer, raised her hand to his mouth. “I love you. You don’t get to tell me I don’t.”
She sighed. Her eyes turned sorrowful. “Maybe not. But I do get to tell you how I feel. I love Enzo, Roman. I know you can’t believe it, but I do. He’s…everything.”
He shook his head, hoping he didn’t look as wild as he felt. “He can’t protect you! He won’t get you out of that world.”
“And you will?” Her breath of laughter sounded harsh in his ears. “You’re the one with gangsters on your tail, Roman! You’re the one so set on fighting the leviathan that you can’t see its tentacles are all around you, can’t see that you’ve already let it win!”
