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My cheeks flush red and I look away from him. I’ve said too much, as always. “Thank you for dinner, Alessandro, it was lovely. And I’ll speak to my men about the ceasefire.”
I turn from him and head for the door. If I stay here much longer, I’m afraid I’ll succumb to his charm. He’ll bowl me over with his wit and wisdom and I’ll be hard-pressed to turn him away again.
“You are welcome to reach out to me at any time,” Alessandro says as he follows me down the corridor back to the restaurant. Voices and laughter raise as we make it into the main dining room. Couples, families, and parties are gathered around dozens of tables, all in various stages of eating. The sun is nearly set outside and I can’t remember where I parked my car.
When we reach the door, Alessandro stops me before I have the chance to flee. He grabs my wrist and slips a piece of paper into my hand. “Call me any time. Day or night, life or death. I will always answer for you.”
The crumpled piece of paper in my hand feels like it’s burning the skin off of my palm. I want to drop it and keep going, but Alessandro holds me in place before the restaurant. We can only be seen by a third of the tables, but I feel their eyes all looking in our direction. I’m too dressed up for a casual night out. Alessandro is the owner of the restaurant. We’re making a spectacle. “Please,” I beg, “let me go before someone sees us.”
He releases my wrist but not as quickly as I would like. “Your family knew that you were coming,” Alessandro insists with a hard line where his mouth should be. “There is no reason to fear getting caught.”
I’m not afraid of his family or mine seeing the two of us together. I’m afraid that they’ll catch a glimpse of the intimacy that the two of us share and they’ll know what happened. It will be obvious if they see the way we stare at one another. “Thank you, again,” I press him with an urgent look, “everything was perfect.”
I flee from the restaurant with my heart racing in my chest. Outside the moon is growing in the sky. Fresh air washes over me like a tidal wave and I breathe it in until my lungs feel like they’re about to burst. I walk in the direction of my car and try to remember who I am. Before I go home, I need to steady myself. I need to walk through those doors with an easy, breezy look on my face and no remnants of what Alessandro and I shared.
I can do this,I think to myself. I spent years perfecting the ability to lie. I got up every morning and cooked for my husband’s men like I didn’t hate him, as if they weren’t the only people I enjoyed being around. I would go to the doctor’s office every few months with a new injury and tell her that it came from a fall or an accident; I never betrayed my husband. I watched women leave my house with a certain look on their faces and never once asked my husband if he’d just visited with one of his mistresses.
I have the strength of ten men, something that was drilled into me over the years. Concealing a little lie will not hurt my family. Telling them that the meeting was particularly boring won’t kill anyone.
This is my story to keep secret and I’m taking it to the grave.
10
ALESSANDRO
It’s been three weeks. Three long, torturous, painful weeks. Willow hasn’t called me or sent anyone to speak with me. There have been fewer attacks on my men so I know she made it home safely and spoke to her family, but that’s all the news I have of her.
My advisor tells me to forget her. He says that the Parodi and Giovanni families will never be bound. But it isn’t coming together with the Parodis that I want.
Slick with sweat and the sun beating down on me, I take another lap around the property. I lost my shirt ages ago when my skin started heating up. It was dawn when I came out here and now the sun is high in the sky. I’ve wasted hours making rounds of the property, but I have to get rid of this energy somehow.
My advisor’s words keep bouncing around my head. ‘I have a nice girl for you to marry. She is on the cusp of womanhood, a mere three months away, that is plenty of time to propose marriage and plan the ceremony.’ I saw the girl’s picture. She has an angular face not without prettiness, but she is no Willow. The fact that she’s only going to be eighteen is also a problem.
I have to marry soon. Any day an accident could befall me and I could lose everything. The Giovanni family will pass on to my brother. He’s got a hot head and is known for knocking women up. He does it for the joy of spreading his seed.
Seed. That makes me think of Willow once more. I hope that my child implanted in her womb. She would have no choice but to seek me out and marry me to avoid disgrace. It’s long enough past her husband’s death that no one could assume the child was Ricardo’s. But I’m afraid one night wasn’t enough.
Everything plagues me from the cut of the grass to the birds singing in the air. My mind goes everywhere and thinks about everything. I make lists regarding who I need to speak to today and where I need to go. I wipe away sweat and watch it stain the cement in the mid-morning sun. I’m in the midst of arguing with myself about taking a vacation when my phone vibrates in my pocket.
I expect it to be my advisor or another high-ranking member of the family. No one calls me unless it’s an emergency. Except for my father who calls from his retirement home to ask me if I want to come and have dinner with him. He does this at least once a week and more often than not, he forgets that he’s in a retirement home. I have arrived on more than one occasion ready for one meal and found myself being served another because my father forgot what day it was.
But the number on the screen isn’t one that I recognize. Usually, I would send them to voicemail, but something tells me to pick up. “Alessandro speaking,” I say into the receiving end. On the other end of the line, I hear controlled breathing. One deep breath followed by one exhale and repeat. “Hello?” My walk slows to a crawl. “Who is this?”
“Willow,” comes a feminine voice from the other side of the phone. “I need your help.”
My heart kicks into overdrive. Despite spending time walking and running, nothing causes my heart rate to spike like hearing her voice. “Where are you?” I stray from my path and head for the house making a quick mental list. Shower, shave, dress, leave, find Willow.
“Home,” she says solemnly. There is a moment of silence as I wait for her to tell me more. “I killed someone. I don’t know who else to call.”
My to-do list is cut in half. Dress. Drive to Willow’s. Hide the body. “What’s the address? I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
She rattles off the number and street name and I commit it to memory. When I hang up, it’s only because I’m in my bedroom and ripping off my workout clothes. I don’t bother to put on something nice. A pair of jeans and a t-shirt will do. It is the most dressed down I’ve been when calling on another family.
I splash some cologne on as I’m walking down the stairs. I set the bottle on a table and head out the front door, keys in hand. Of all the scenarios I predicted Willow would call me in, this was not one of them. But it makes me question who she’s killed that she’s turning to me. Was it a police officer? Someone in her family? I don’t recall her having a lot of enemies. Even when she took over the Parodis, many of the other families said that they wouldn’t hurt her unless she gave them a reason to. The old-school honor kicked in: you never hurt women or children.
So what has she done? And will getting involved cost me everything?
11
