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“Am I wrong?”
I stab the letter opener into the desk, spin on him, and stare. He’s my baby brother and never needs to be afraid of me, but I can tell even he feels some instinctive fear, just a flicker.
“No,” I say after a moment.
I don’t want to scare my brother.
“Who is she?” he asks.
I sigh darkly. “You have to swear.”
“I’ll tell nobody. The Russians could torture me for a year straight, and I wouldn’t say a word.”
He’s telling the truth. I’d do the same for him.
“Emma.”
His eyes narrow as his face crumples into a confused expression. I can tell he’s trying to place the name, cycling through all our friends and acquaintances. He’s not connecting her to the woman in the basement because he can’t imagine it. It won’t enter his head, but then itdoes. His eyes snap open.
“You’re joking.”
“I wish I was.”
I’m not sure this is true. If I were joking, it would mean this certainty I feel would drain away. The visions of the future are only bad because of what it would mean for Rosa. Otherwise, I cherish them. More family. More love. More babies. More happiness.
Dario laughs, but knowing him, it’s an awkward expulsion more than anything. He shakes his head, strides over to the desk, picks up my glass, and knocks back the whiskey. Then he pours himself another glass. He spins and stares at me, his face slightly red from the booze.
“Jesus.” He knocks back the second glass and slams it on the table. “Christ.”
I say nothing.
“When did it start?”
“Yesterday.”
“Have you…”
“Don’t ask about stuff like that,” I snarl.
He holds his hands up. “I didn’t realize it was so serious.”
“It is. It’s the most serious thing I’ve ever done. She’s going to be my wife one day, so when you talk about her, remember that.”
“I’ll show the proper respect. Don’t worry, but Leo…”
“Say it. Tell me she’s too young. Tell me it’s wrong to be already considering having kids with her. Tell me she’s Rosa’s best friend, and I’m the worst goddamn dad who ever lived for even thinking about this. Tell me it’s ten shades of fucked-up because she’s locked in my basement, and I’ll never let her go.”
I’m trembling far more than when I killed a man.
“It seems like I don’t have to say it,” Dario sighs. “Rosa would take it hard, and thinking of kids, family, atthisstage, I can’t imagine that.”
“You could have once.”
He flinches and clenches his jaws.
“But she’s not too young for you,” Dario says. “Who the hell told you that? If two people want each other, two consenting adults, and if they want to be together… If one person isn’t using the other, what’s the issue?”
His words settle one of the quieter storms raging inside of me.
