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I gasp in shock. It’s a question I definitely wasn’t expecting, and I feel like I’ve been punched in the gut. Stunned, I stare out of the windshield, desperately trying to stall for time, to think. Everything outside looks exactly the same as before, but my internal world has just blown up. How the fuck does she know about Ricci?
“Where did you hear that name?” I ask first, rapidly running through possibilities in my head. Gianni shut that all down, made sure that information wasn’t readily available, and he wouldn’t rat me out himself, no way. Someone else from prison, maybe? But how would Cecelia even enter their orbit?
“Do you know him?” she counters. We’re both asking questions but giving no answers. Who’s going to crack first? I need to know how she knows about this! I bring my hand to my forehead, pinching my temples in an attempt to alleviate the thumping that’s begun inside my brain.
“Who told you that name?” I ask again, louder.
She still doesn’t answer me. She presses her quivering lips together briefly and I know there’s more to come.
“Here’s another name: Secondigliano prison. Does that mean anything to you?”
I exhale heavily and slump back in my seat in defeat. That’s it. My secret’s out. She knows. Am I going to lose her?
“Michael, are you a convicted murderer?” Her lips barely move as she whispers the words. It’s as though they’re escaping from her mouth without her knowledge.
I look at her. She’s curled into herself like a frightened child unsettled from a nightmare, still unwilling—or unable—to meet my eyes.
I sigh heavily. “If I tell you what happened, do you promise to hear me out, to wait until I’ve finished? I want you to know everything, for there to be no more secrets between us.”
There’s a gaping pause while I wait for her reply. Eventually, I hear it. “Yes, I promise.”
As soon as I’ve released a thankful breath, I take another, preparing to tell the woman I love the whole truth about the past five years.
“Yes, I did kill Anthony Ricci. But the story begins shortly before that, when I found you in his cellar during a heist. That’s where I saved you from. That heist and removing you from his base meant consequences. A meeting to discuss a possible way forward between our two outfits was arranged and there was a very real possibility that my men and I might not end the meeting alive. That’s why I sent you away. If anything had happened to me, Ricci would have taken over my base and found you, if he wasn’t looking for you already.”
“So, the man you killed—Ricci—he was the one who kidnapped me from Naples on my birthday?” she asks, finally able to piece together the events of her past.
“Probably not him personally, but some of his men, yes. He orchestrated it and kept you prisoner, until I found you.” My voice catches as I remember her bound, bruised, and battered on that tomb-like cellar floor.
“So, what happened at the meeting?” she asks.
Encouraged by her questions, I continue, “Well, my instincts were right—the dockside meeting turned into a shootout and men on both sides were killed. I got injured myself, and so did Gianni. But if I hadn’t shot Ricci when I did, he would have shot Gianni in the head. I didn’t set out to murder him. I am not a cold-blooded murderer!” I say loudly—too loudly—and I pause to compose myself. “Anyway, the police came and arrested us, and I was eventually sentenced to five years in Secondigliano prison. I served my time, and I was awarded early release for good behavior a couple of months ago.”
Finally unburdened of the secrets I’ve been keeping from her, I wait with bated breath, unsure how she’s going to react.
Cecelia finally looks at me, tears coursing down her beautiful face. “I thought you sent me away because you didn’t want me, Michael.”
I instinctively reach out a hand and stroke her face. Mercifully, she lets me. “Of course I wanted you! I wanted you then and I want you now. I was just trying to keep you safe.”
“Why did you come to Sicily when you were released from prison? Why not stay in Naples if Ricci is dead—start over?”
“I came to Sicily for you,” I say. “You’re all I’ve thought about for five years. I loved you the moment I found you, Cece, and that love grew very deep very quickly. Whatever image comes into your mind when you hear the term ‘convicted murderer’, please know that I don’t fit it, whatever anybody tries to make stick. I’ve left all that behind me now.”
She launches herself at me, throwing her arms around my neck and I lean into her, nestling my face in her hair, the smell of her as sweet as the relief I feel that she’s still mine. Now she knows the worst about me, nothing will ever break our bond.
“I’m so sorry, Michael. I’m sorry I doubted you. I should have known he was only trying to cause trouble, to turn me against you.”
“Who?” I ask, pulling back. “Who told you about Ricci, Cece?”
“Raphael,” she whispers. “Just before we left, right after our terrible meeting with Papa.”
I nod; I should have known. That explains why she was so withdrawn, so miserable. I should have realized that fucker would want revenge for spoiling his rape plan at the hotel, and now because I’m with Cece when he wants her for himself. He needs to be told his grubby little gossip session hasn’t worked. I’ll take great pleasure in doing just that.
As we detach ourselves from our embrace, Connie runs out to the car, immediately looking happy and relieved that our tension has evaporated.
“Micah’s asking again if you will play with him, Michael. Maria says Papa’s gone back to work, so it’s okay.” She waves her hand, encouraging us to come inside.
I look at Cece and she nods, smiling and wiping away her tears. “Let’s go and spend some time with our little boy,” she says.
