Page 54 of Mercy in Betrayal

A knock sounds on the door, and I brush at the tears on my face before calling, “Come in.”

Sarah opens the door. “You have a guest.”

“A guest? Is it…someone for Enzo?”

“Don Scarpetta left during the night and has not yet returned. This is your company, madam.”

Oh. The information stabs. Where is he, if he didn’t come home? Is he hurt? With another woman? He didn’t intend to marry me, after all—maybe he has a mistress.

Is this what it will be like to be a mafia wife?

I follow behind Sarah numbly, Clementine trotting along behind us both. I’m only barely concerned with the fact that someone waits for me somewhere in this massive house, my attention wholly on the fact that Enzo didn’t come home to me. After a dizzying number of turns, we finally enter a study lined with bookshelves and furnished with dark wood tables and stiff leather sofas, and I find Evie waiting for me.

“Evie!” Sarah leaves, shutting the door quietly behind her. As soon as it closes, I burst into tears. Evie grabs me, pulling me close.

“Oh, sweetheart. What the hell kind of mess have you gotten yourself into?”

“Everything’s so f-f-fucked up! And I hate it here. It’s so dark and oppressive and…fancy.” I fling my hand out, indicating the luxurious room around us. “I feel like I can’t touch anything, like I can’t even breathe—”

“Shhh. We’ll put it to rights.” Her hand sweeps a path from my hair to my waist, soothing me. Drawing back, I meet her eyes and struggle to calm my breathing so I can speak.

“How, though? It’s done. We’re married. There’s no getting out of it.”

“No, there isn’t any getting out of that, I’m afraid.” Taking my hand, Evie leads me to one of the couches and sits. I allow her to pull me down beside her and lean into her, absorbing her warmth as Clem hops up beside us. “But you obviously liked him enough to have sex with him, so there’s that, at least.”

I open my mouth to protest and then close it. There’s no point. She’s right. “Okay, fine.”

“You want to explain how that happened?”

My shoulder lifts in a shrug. “He showed up at Columbia. I was working the Koffee Kart—”

“You were working?”

Belatedly, I remember she and Cassidy don’t know that small detail. “Yes,” I tell her. “I wanted a job like every other normal person. I wanted to know what it felt like to work for my money. So I got a job right there on campus, in the courtyard. It was perfectly safe.”

“Okay, let’s table that for now. You’re working this coffee cart thing, and he just…shows up?”

Poking my tongue in my cheek, I debate how to answer that. I just told her my job was perfectly safe, but technically, my and Enzo’s meeting proves it was anything but. However, I can’t be angry with everyone around me for lying if I’m a liar, too. I take a deep breath.

“He saved me from a mugger.” I explain how the man had tried to steal the cash box, and Enzo intervened.

Evie hums. “Probably engineered the entire thing. That’s the way these men operate.”

Shock ripples through me, and Clem protests when my fingers tighten in his fur. My initial reaction is to protest, deny that Enzo would do such a thing…but then—I don’t know Enzo Scarpetta very well, do I?

“We’ll deal with that later,” Evie continues. “Back to the house and really every other little thing. You need to remember that you’re not just any bride. You’re the Scarpetta bride. Just as Enzo is the Don, you’re the Don’s woman.” She stops when she sees my frown and strokes my hair back from my face. When she speaks again, it’s almost as if she’s talking to herself. “Oh, Rowan. You’re too sweet. Too soft. You’re never going to survive if you don’t toughen up and take what you want.”

I frown. “What I want has already been taken from me.”

“Yes, well, that’s done. You can’t control that. It’s time to think about what you can control moving forward. You don’t like the house? It’s yours. Own it.”

Own it. I look around the room with new eyes. It’s a small thing, changing what a house looks like on the inside. But it says a lot, I suppose.

It’s a choice.

Evie leaves shortly thereafter. Looking down at Clementine, I scruff his head gently. “What do you think, boy?” Clementine meows, then daintily stands on his hind feet and places his front paws on the edge of the sofa. Very deliberately, he begins to scratch. “Oh, my God, Clem, stop! I guess that’s that, then. We’re changing the couches.”

Rising, I move to an antique-looking writing desk and root around in its drawers until I find an ink pen and a notepad. On the first page I write “Study” and underline it. Beneath that, I write “replace leather couches.” The drapes are next on the list, followed by the dark carpet. The room needs brightening. I’ll start here and work my way through the house room by room.

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