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The walk down the hallway to my father’s office feels uncomfortably like a walk of shame, a relic of too many times during my childhood when I’ve walked the same path for some infraction or other. I’ve done nothing wrong, though. I’ve done nothing I wasn’t told to do, and more significantly, nothing my heart didn’t demand of me. And yet—I feel stupid.
Misled.
And these goddamn ugly light fixtures—each one I pass in this fucking hallway feels like a face staring down at me, mocking me. Judging me for trusting the wrong person.
For loving blindly.
I blink back the tears, and without caring what the soldiers behind me think, lift a hand and slap each cheek lightly in quick succession. The quick snap of pain helps orient me and reminds me who I am.
I’m Carina fucking Scarpetta, and I’m not a crybaby.
Father is seated at his ridiculously ornate desk. I swallow down that part of me that wants to please him no matter the cost, letting the pain and betrayal cover it up. He may not be the reason Francis is dead, but he’s the closest thing I have to a punching bag right now. I will have my answers.
Father ignores me, giving me the opportunity to study him uncontested. How would Enzo handle this?
Not well.
If Enzo learned that Luca Marzano killed his little brother, a real war would erupt, the Commission be damned. It wouldn’t matter who ultimately called the shots. Enzo would go for everyone’s blood, and he’d worry about the cleanup later.
Father continues to ignore me for a bit, scribbling on some paperwork at his desk. I stand quietly with my hands clasped loosely in front of me, Baccio sitting obediently by my leg.
I don’t make the mistake of seating myself. The Scarpettas are not as old school as the Marzanos, but there are certain traditions we still keep. One of them is that no one sits without the Don expressing a desire for that person to do so.
It’s a pretentious move. A power trip. It’s ridiculous and offensive that he does this with me, his own flesh and blood, but it’s fine. I don’t mind playing his little games. I’ve been playing them my entire life.
My tongue darts out and licks my lips. It’s something he never understood about me, my old man. Something many men failed to grasp, really. I gave up playing princess long ago, but only because the wounds engendered by the game created a warrior.
And one day—one checkmate, one wrong move that’ll be coming soon—I’ll be queen.
After enough time passes for him to suitably annoy me, Father finally lays down his pen and waves a hand at his men. They exit, leaving us alone in the room.
“Well?”
A lecture, then, rather than a seat. Father is going on the offensive rather than waiting for me to do so. It’s fine. He’s a cagey bastard, which I can appreciate.
I had to have gotten my intelligence from somewhere.
I decide to poke at him. “I’m not sure what you’re asking.”
A dull flush rises on his cheekbones. “Why are you here instead of with Luca Marzano as directed?”
“Because I’m in danger with Luca Marzano, Father. You have to realize that someone is targeting me because they think I’m a threat to his alliance with Evie O’Hanlon.”
“You foolish girl. This is a good thing. No one in their right mind is reckless enough to take out an Untouchable, so they try to hurt that person as much as they possibly can through others…people they’re close to.” He eyes me shrewdly. “If the gangs think that person is you, then whatever you’re doing is working.”
At my side, Baccio whines, and I realize I’ve tightened my fingers in his fur. I loosen them one at a time and stroke him gently in apology before replying. “You’re not worried about your own flesh and blood being targeted and possibly killed?”
“I think Luca Marzano is perfectly capable of keeping you safe. My trick with the police department proves how far his reach goes.” He rubs the graying stubble on his chin. “The Scarpettas could use someone with Luca’s connections.”
I frown. “Are you expecting us to marry now?”
He makes atchsound and eyes me condescendingly. “If Angel Valachi is anything like his father, a marriage pact between the Scarpettas and Marzanos would never be permitted.”
“So, what, then…you just want me to be his whore?”
His fist crashes upon the desk. “Watch your filthy mouth, girl. Worry about keeping his attention, and that’ll be plenty. That’s all I need to take advantage of his…advantages.”
His whore, then.It’s too much. Everything I know, everything I’ve raged against, swells against his edict.
