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“Get in,” he says, acting like he hardly knows me, like nothing has ever taken place between us.
I climb in, and as he sets off down the drive, I look at him. That fury is back in his eyes. “The bastard,” he says, spitting the words out.
“Who? Your father?”
“If it wasn’t for the fact he was already dying, I’d have shot the fucking bastard there and then.”
I’m not used to hearing so much rage coming out of him. “It’s all right,” I say. “He didn’t do anything wrong.”
“He insulted you.”
“I’m not offended,” I say, managing a smile. Even if I was offended, I wouldn’t say so, not when he’s this angry.
“He thinks I’m lying,” Vincenzo continues. “Thinks I’m using you to take over control, doesn’t think we’re really in love.”
“He’s got a point. That’s exactly what you’re doing.”
“But he shouldn’t know that. You should have answered faster when he asked if you love me. No hesitation next time. I know the old bastard. He’s cooking something up about this right now.” He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, getting a hold of himself. “It’s better you’ll be at home while I sort this. I will come to collect you in time for the wedding.”
“It’s going ahead then?”
“Why wouldn’t it?”
“I thought you said he didn’t believe you.”
“I will convince him this is real. The rings on our fingers will confirm it.” He pauses for a moment, gripping the steering wheel so tightly his knuckles turn white.
“Anything to stop Michael getting his hands on the operation. He’ll wipe us out in less than a year if he gets access to all the accounts. My father is too blind to see it, thinks he can be cured of his gambling addiction. He took fifty grand from father last month to go to rehab and spent it all in Vegas in one night. That’s the kind of man we’re dealing with here. Once he gains access to the accounts, he’ll wipe it all out. We’ll be finished. I’ll be lucky to get a job cleaning Don Belucci’s toilets.” He looks at me again. “There’s something on your mind,” he says. “What is it?”
“Nothing. I’m fine.”
“Don’t bullshit me. What’s the problem?”
I think about keeping it to myself, about the anger he displayed once we were away from his father. Could I make him that angry again? “I heard what you were talking about,” I say quietly. “When you were talking to your father. Did you kill the guy that tried to kidnap me?”
“Do you really want to know the answer?”
“I wouldn’t have asked otherwise.”
“I killed him.” He says it bluntly, without a hint of emotion, like how he would describe swatting a fly.
“You killed him?”
“Does that upset you?”
I shake my head. “I’m glad you did it.”
“You are? Not squeamish about coldblooded murder?”
“Tell me this. What would he have done if he’d managed to get me and Cathy into his van?”
“Taken you to work in one of his brothels or used you to blackmail me. Probably both.”
“Then you did the right thing.”
“I agree.”
“So why did your father sound so pissed about it?”
