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I stalked on silent feet out of her room, locking the door behind me because I could not trust her to not flee. Rage was better than guilt.
The moment that I had charged into that smoking room and thought that she was already dead, a new fear had exploded into my existence. The fear of losing her.
I leaned my head against her locked door and quietly muttered, “Fuck.”
“Marco,” said my mother’s voice behind me. Quiet. Insistent.
I turned. She was standing there with the belt of her heavy silk nightgown cinched tightly around her thin waist. She looked tired.
“Beth will need to stay here for a while,” I said.
“How long?” Her eyes were flinty.
I knew she felt like Beth was an invader in her home. She did not say the words, but I knew my mother well.
“I will let you know when I know.”
“And are you going to tell me what is going on?”
“It is better if you do not know.”
She pursed her lips, but did not argue. My mother never started fights she knew she would not win.
I felt guilty. I might run this household now my father was dead, but I still considered this to be her house. I had an apartment of my own in the city, but I could not leave Beth there all alone while I went out. I had work to do.
“Be kind, will you?” I added. “She’s had a rough day.”
“So have we all,” she said icily, and stalked back toward her bedroom.
I padded back down the staircase, not bothering to change out of my eveningwear. I already had my phone in my hand, texting Sandro, telling him I was coming to see him right now.
Jacob was waiting at the bottom of the stairs. “You need anything, boss?”
“Check in with our contacts at the police station. Find out what is happening with Jonathan Landry. If he makes bail, call me immediately.”
“Will do.”
Jacob headed off toward his office, already dialling the number of one of his contacts. That’s what I valued about Jacob. He got things done without asking too many questions. I could leave this house in the middle of the night, trusting he would take care of everything while I was gone.
My drive to Sandro’s was quick, the traffic light at this time of night. He was still up and answered the door at my first ring.
Sandro was near my age, and I had been closer to him than any of my own brothers while we were growing up. He looked like me too, same dark hair, same stubborn jawline.
“You look like you could do with a drink,” he said, and headed in to his lounge to pour me one.
I tossed back the snifter of Scotch,and he topped it up without another word. “That kind of day, huh?” He looked amused.
I slouched down on his couch, nursing the glass in both hands, finding myself reluctant to talk now I was here.
“You came home from the party early,” I accused grumpily.
“Maybe because you left with the most gorgeous woman in the room.” He smirked.
I glowered.
He chuckled. Took a seat opposite me. “Marco DeAngelis, engaged, huh?”
“Something like that.”
