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“Carlos.”
“Rio. Good to see you, old friend.” Rossi approaches more slowly than before, darting glances between me and Bianca.
When he reaches me, he holds out a hand for a shake. I stare at him, unmoving, until he drops the hand and wipes it awkwardly on the side of his trousers.
“Yes. Well. You have had my apology already, but now you have it in person. A misunderstanding, Rio, and it won’t happen again.”
“An attempted shooting is not a misunderstanding, Carlos.”
“No. No indeed.”
I step forward and gesture at the sofa, waiting until he is seated before I sit opposite. His men stand nearby, watchful and impassive, just as my three teams do the same from different vantage points around the room.
At a nod from me, Danelli brings over a tray containing whiskey, glasses, and the Cuban cigar humidor I keep for occasions such as this.
Once drinks are poured and we have cut and lit our cigars, I allow a moment for enjoyment and watch the trail of smoke waft upward from the cigar end.
Then I turn to Bianca and hold out my free hand. I hope she can read the message in my eyes.
Behave, little bird.
“Come, my darling. I wish to introduce you.”
Her teeth work at her bottom lip for a moment, but after a brief hesitation in which her eyes narrow and I can sense her urge to disobey me, she shifts off the wall and walks over to me with slightly jerky movements. She takes a seat beside me, so close I can feel the trembling of her leg against mine. I clasp her fingers and lay our joined hands atop her thigh.
“Carlos Rossi, meet Bianca Carlotti. My fiancée.”
“Charmed, my dear, I am sure.” Rossi dips his head and then offers a wolfish grin that shows almost all his teeth.
Bianca recoils, then seems to rally, sitting up straighter. Her trembling fades to nothing.
Unexpected pride rises in my chest. Whatever she is or isn’t, this girl has a great deal of inner fortitude.
It is such a pity she is merely a pawn in this game. But that is the way of our world.
“Likewise.” Bianca’s voice is abrupt, as if she has to force the word out past some kind of barrier in her throat.
She looks down at our clasped hands, and I hold on more tightly when I feel her begin to pull out of my grasp.
“Did Rio tell you I knew your mother when she was young, my dear? Such a lovely woman. You are the spitting image of Rina.”
“Rina.” She repeats the name, this time in a more natural tone, and then looks up at Rossi. “You knew her? That’s very interesting. Did you know my father, too? What was his name?”
“You haven’t told her much, Rio, have you? Shame. Your father’s name was Stefano, my dear.”
Bianca nods slowly. “Stefano. And Rina. Did you kill them, Mr. Rossi? Did you kill my birth mother and father?”
* * *
Bianca
Rio’s handjerks on my leg, the only indication of his shock at what I’ve just asked.
But I have to know. Now that the can of worms has been opened, I need to know more about my birth parents. And what happened to them.
If either of the two men seated on this couch with me had anything to do with their deaths, I will do everything in my power to bring them down.
I will destroy them for destroying my family.
