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“Good one. Wolfe just likes fucking something that belongs to Arthur Rossi. You know, because Arthur fucked with his family. Poetic justice, and all that.”
“Excuse me?” I took a step back, assessing her fully now. I’d had my fill of surprises today.
Between the pregnancy test, Angelo’s confession, and now this, I realized that the universe was trying to tell me something.
Hopefully not that my fairy tale, which hadn’t begun just yet, was ending abruptly.
One of my bodyguards took a step forward, and I spun on him.
“Stay away. Let her talk.”
“He didn’t tell you?” Kristen threw her head back and laughed, pointing at me. Ridiculing me. “Did you ever wonder why he took you from your father? What he had on him?”
I did. All the time.
Hell, I asked Wolfe about it on a daily basis.
But of course, admitting this to her was giving her more power than she deserved.
Kristen leaned her elbow over a huge oak tree, whistling. “Where do I begin? This is all confirmed, by the way, so you can cross-examine your husband the minute you get back home. Wolfe Keaton wasn’t really born Wolfe Keaton. He was born Fabio Nucci, a poor, bastard Italian kid who lived not too far from your block. Same zip code but trust me—very different houses. His momma was a drunk, neglectful excuse for a human being, and his father was out of the picture before he was even born. His older—much older brother, Romeo—raised him. Romeo became a cop. He was doing a fine job until he was caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. Namely—Mama’s Pizza, the little parlor three blocks down from you. Romeo went to get Wolfe some pizza. They walked into a gun fight. Romeo, still clad in his uniform, burst through the back of the parlor to break things off. They had to kill him, or he’d have outed all of them. You father killed Romeo in front of your husband despite his desperate pleas.”
I never beg.
I never kneel.
I have my pride.
Wolfe’s words came back to haunt me, making my skin dampen and chill. That was why he was so adamant on not negotiating or showing remorse or mercy.
My father didn’t spare him any of those things when he needed them the most.
I stared at Kristen, knowing there was more. Knowing that was the tip of a very thick, very lethal iceberg.
She continued.
“After that happened, he was adopted by the Keatons, a rich family from the right side of the tracks. The same house you live in right now, in fact. The Keatons were Chicago’s finest. A high-profiled couple who never had any children and had the world to give to him. They changed his name to separate him from the mess that was his early life. Things were looking up for little Wolfey for a minute there. He even managed to overcome the severe trauma of seeing your father putting a bullet between his brother’s eyes.”
“Why didn’t my father deal with Wolfe? Since he watched, too?” I hated that I was asking her questions. But unlike my husband, my pride was not as vital for my survival.
Kristen huffed.
“Wolfe was just a kid back then. He didn’t know the key players and didn’t have an open beef with The Outfit like his brother. Not to mention, no one was going to believe him. Plus, I guess even your father has some morals,” she scanned me with disgust.
My jaw tensed, but I said nothing, too afraid she’d stop talking.
“Anyway,” she singsonged, “can you guess what happened next?”
“No,” I gritted out. “But I bet you’ll be happy to tell me.”
I knew that she was telling the truth. Not because Kristen wasn’t capable of lying, but because she was having too much fun delivering the news for it not to be accurate.
“Wolfe goes off to college. Makes friends. Lives his best life, so to speak. Second year at Harvard, he’s about to come back for summer vacation when the ballroom where his parents are attending a charity gala explodes with a ton of politicians and high-end diplomats inside. Any guesses who’s responsible for it?”
My father, of course.
I remembered that incident. One summer when I was eight, we didn’t go to Italy.
My father was arrested for the ballroom incident and released shortly after for lack of evidence. My mother was crying all the time, and her friends were always around.
