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A shrill ring sounds nearby, causing me to jump, my heart rate accelerating again before I realize it is simply Rio’s cell phone. He answers quickly, and I sit up and dangle my legs over the bed, intending to go have another shower.
I was in the bathroom earlier for over half an hour, beneath a spray of water so hot it was painful, but it was as if I could not get the stench of blood and death off me. I know it’s just in my mind. I washed and scrubbed myself until my skin hurt. I can’t possibly have any trace of blood on me. But still… I shiver. Another shower won’t hurt.
Rio’s voice rises slightly in the saloon, its cadence changing to one of annoyance. “…with Carbone dead, we’ll have to launder another way. Get Carnarvon to look at…”
The voice fades, and with it, my sense of dread grows. I jump off the bed and rush into the bathroom.
I don’t want to hear it. I don’t want to hear anything that may tempt me to give him up. But now I can’t unhear it.
We’ll have to launder another way.
I turn on the water as hot as I can tolerate it and slide beneath the spray, praying yet again for some kind of oblivion from the moral quagmire that my life has somehow become.
* * *
The next afternoon,I pace back and forth in the saloon, my cell phone in hand as I try to gather the courage to make the call I know has to be made.
My husband or my child.
That’s what this moment comes down to, and in the end, it is no choice at all. I knew what I would have to do the moment I stared into Rio’s eyes that night as he stood over those poor, doomed men.
He trusts me—not much, but then, he doesn’t trust anyone much. And yet, there is a softening within him, at least when it comes to me. I see it in his eyes when he looks at me. He is beginning to care for me, and I don’t believe he has ever let himself feel for another woman like this.
It just makes what I’m about to do even worse. It feels like the ultimate act of betrayal.
My nausea is so bad I’ve been unable to keep anything down all day. I can’t tell if the roiling sickness in my stomach is from the pregnancy hormones or from stress at the knowledge I’m about to betray my husband.
Rio is out somewhere today, meeting with Tommaso to finalize the funeral arrangements for his aunt.
I clutch my phone. I have to call her. Felicity. It’s that or bring my child up to become just like his father. Immune to violence and death and steeped in immorality.
I am about to punch in the number when I receive a text message from an unknown caller.
My heart jumps into my mouth when I read the words on the screen.
Anders was acting unsanctioned. I would never want to hurt you, my dear. I want you safe, at all costs. Please believe me. I would never hurt Rina’s daughter.
Rossi? I sink onto the couch, my legs trembling so hard I don’t think they’ll hold me up. Is this a trick? Is he using me to send a message to Rio? To try and stop any revenge attack on his own family? Knowing Rio, there will be revenge, and I am certain it will be far more violent than what occurred the other night.
I read the message again. What if he’s genuine? I never had the sense from Rossi that he meant me any harm. What if he’s telling the truth? What if Anderswasacting without permission from Rossi?
A glimmer of an idea forms, and I tap the phone against my cheek as I think.
What if there’s a way to escape this violent world but avoid betraying Rio in the process?
Could it work?
Do I have the strength to use Rossi’s connection to my mother to evade not only Rio, but the Feds as well?
Quickly, I send back a reply text, asking Rossi to call me. Fifteen excruciatingly long minutes later, he does.
“Bianca, my dear. Will you pass on to Rio that—”
“Please, Carlos, listen.” My heart races and my hands tremble.
Rossi is silent, then finally, he says, “Yes?” The kind uncle tone is gone.
“I promise I will let Rio know what you said about Anders. But in return, I need your help.”
