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“So how come Marco’s parents were killed? They were married, right?”
“The contract only lasts twelve months. You get to start the timer again if you get pregnant.”
“So does Marco just want to get me pregnant so he won’t be killed for a year?”
They look at each other and then back at me. Eva looks on the cusp of saying something, but then she takes my plate and empties the toast into the trash. Giuseppe looks at me and then groans. “You didn’t hear this from me, but Marco needs an heir. If we can persuade him to keep you and the child, the Donatello family survives. That’s our plan.”
“Which is why you don’t want me to leave.”
“Do you want to leave?”
“Of course I do.”
“I mean, in your heart, do you?”
I hesitate for just a moment. “Yes, I do,” I say after a moment’s pause. They both noticed the hesitation, I’m sure of it.
“Hang on,” I continue. “If Marco and my father had a truce, why did he kill Marco’s parents and his sister?”
A deep voice growls behind me. “Because I refused to let him traffic slaves from America to Mexico to work in his drug factories.”
I spin around in my chair. Marco is swaying from side to side, an empty bourbon bottle in his hand. “I need more,” he says, slurring his words, his eyes blinking slowly as he takes an unsteady step into the kitchen.
“Told her everything then?” he says, looking at the other two. “After I expressly forbade it.”
Eva gets up, walking over to him. “You’re drunk, Marco. You should go to bed.”
“I want more booze,” he replies, crossing to the cupboard near the window, pulling it open and reaching inside for a bottle. “I hope you haven’t given her any food,” he says, turning around and almost falling, swaying on the spot again. “She’s still dressed like shit.”
“They didn’t,” I lie. “I begged, but they refused.”
He looks from me to them, his eyes blazing with anger. “Good,” he says at last.
He unscrews the top of the bottle and takes a long drink from it.
“How much have you had?” Eva asks.
“Not enough,” he replies. “Why?”
“No reason.” She looks at me and whispers. “I give him about five seconds.”
Marco glares at her and is about to speak when his eyes roll into the back of his head. He staggers forward and then collapses to the floor so hard the table wobbles.
“Told you,” Eva says, getting to her feet. “I better get him into bed.”
“You’re on your own,” Giuseppe says. “My back can’t take it anymore.”
“I’ll help,” I say, getting to my feet and walking over to Marco.
Between the two of us, we somehow manage to get him to his feet. He wakes up enough to start mumbling something, but I can’t make out what it is. “Hush now,” I tell him, stroking his forehead. “It’s all right.”
We lead him out of the kitchen. It’s slow going, but eventually we get him up the stairs and into his room. “Bed time,” I say as we nudge him forward. His balance goes, and he falls straight onto the bed.
On the bedside cabinet, I notice the drawing I did on the napkin in the bar. He’s kept it. Not only that, he’s had it framed.
“Most people would be dead after drinking that much,” Eva says, kicking an empty bottle out of her way. “Sixty percent proof, that shit. I don’t know how he does it.”
“Me neither,” I say, looking down at him as he rolls onto his back, still mumbling.
