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Back when you conspired to have my father killed? Back when he knew his platform was stronger with a sweet, whole family and not with his wife leaving him for some mafioso?
“Yes. I did know that.”
“I had a feeling. You’re pretty, Delilah. But I can tell you’re not stupid. You play it, I’ll give you that. You play it well and made all of the men fall for you as you bat your lashes and play the game, but you’re not some dumb puttana.” I stare at him and smile, a sickly-sweet thing.
“Why, thank you, sir.”
“It wasn’t a compliment.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I let him take the lead. “You know, Dante was never to be the Don.”
The shift to speaking about Dante has my stomach churning.
“Yes. Your son Tony was, correct?” I ask. The Carluccio family Don sighs, an exasperated sound.
“Tony was pliable. That’s why I liked him. Made him that way, giving him whatever he wanted and taking it away any time he chose not to play things my way.”
“Interesting parenting choice.”
Carmine smiles, but the look doesn’t reach his eyes.
It stays on his lips, becoming incredibly snake-like and terrifying.
“We all make our decisions, don’t we? Turner chose to make you into a chameleon, able to shift and fit whatever role you desired.” I never thought about it that way, but he’s not wrong.
In a way, I used the skills Shane Turner forced upon me—the ability to win the vote, to charm a man with a smile, to use my body as a distraction—and let it benefit me.
“But like your mother, you didn’t like the path chosen for you. Wanted something that wasn’t yours. Power that wasn’t yours.”
It takes everything in me to let my old training kick in, to not let my jaw tighten, to not glare.
“Turner didn’t so much as choose a path for me as he forced me on one that benefited him.”
“Women interpret things in a way that makes sense to them. Still, you decided that being a politician’s daughter wasn’t enough. Found out about your whore mother, about your dead father and decided that sounded more fun, yes?”
I tip my chin up, refusing to let him know his words hit.
“Made some kind of plan, wormed your way into the Carluccio family business, got a job, started to win the men over.”
How the fuck—
“So you come in, make my son fall for you, and then what? Take over both families?”
How does Carmine know so much?
And when did he learn it?
Did he know it all along?
Has anyone confirmed any of this, or is it just whispers? Is it just him putting together pieces, scraps I didn’t clean up properly?
Don’t let it show, I tell myself. Don’t let it show on your face.
“I don’t think I understand what you mean.”
“Let’s drop the games, yes? I know you’re fucking Dante. Nice necklace, by the way.”
His eyes dip between my cleavage where the thin gold chain sits, the medal lying warm against my skin.
The medal that was given to my husband by his mother.
