Page 49 of Mercy in Betrayal

A massive corner hot tub-style bathtub dominates the room, heralded by a set of origami towel swans in a lover’s pose on its edge. Rage bubbles up, and before I fully realize what I’m doing, I find myself marching over and sweeping them off to the floor in a violent motion.

“Stupid swans…”

I tip the bottle up and take a swig of champagne. It seems like everyone wants to get me drunk today. Champagne at the reception. Champagne on the plane. Champagne here. It’s only polite for me to accommodate them.

Standing in front of the bathroom door, I tap on it with the rim of the bottle. “You know, Enzo…it’s very important to be honest, and you have been anything but honest with me.” I hear him come to stand on the other side of the door and take another swallow of the chilled liquor. It burns a fizzy path down my throat. “Or maybe that’s the problem. Maybe you have been honest all along.”

There’s silence for a moment; then his hand lands softly on the wood. “Open the door, little bird.”

“You probably don’t even know what I’m talking about.” I roll until my back rests against the door, lifting the bottle again. “Ernest Worthing, aka Jack, of Oscar Wilde fame. Ernest was a reprobate, a liar, and a troublemaker—”

“I’m familiar with the story,” his voice grits out. “Now open the door.”

“I don’t think I will.” Another swallow. “You lied to me, Enzo. Gained my trust and stole my virginity—”

“I didn’t take anything you weren’t offering.”

Shame burns bright within me but flares swiftly into fury. “I wouldn’t have offered had I known who you really were. I had no desire to be tied to this lifestyle. None. It took my parents. My brothers. And everyone. Lies! I’m sick of the lies. My parents lied about who they were. Cassidy lied about the depth of our involvement in illegal activities, passing it off when I tried to see how deep we were. I might have at least been prepared for what happened to Derek and Mark if I had known…”

“Everyone has secrets, Rowan. You’re a grown woman. You’re too old not to realize that.”

I don’t like the soothing, logical tone of his voice. “And then there’s you. If there’s one person who shouldn’t keep secrets from me, it’s my husband. Are you going to continue to lie to me, Enzo?” Silence screams from the other side of the door, and I release a bitter laugh. “That’s what I thought.”

I step away from the door, moving toward the bathtub. It’s as good a place as any to sit down and finish off this bottle.

I’m three feet away when the door smashes inward and bounces harmlessly off the wall behind it, a few slivers of wood falling to the floor. Enzo stands framed in the doorway, breathing hard. “I could have done that at any time,” he says, pointing a finger at me. “But I didn’t. Don’t ever lock a door against me again. Wife.”

Tears prick my eyes, and I turn away, levering one foot carefully over the edge of the tub. “Why didn’t you, then?”

His sigh is loud and aggrieved. Stepping forward, he stops me from climbing into the tub by taking my face in both of his hands. The gesture forces me to meet his eyes, wherein I see a mixture of irritation and concern, and…affection? “Because you were standing there, and I didn’t want to hurt you.”

One of the tears threatens to spill over, and I drop my gaze hastily, trying to blink it away. “They didn’t just lie about who they were, you know. They lied about who I was.”

“Who you were?”

My reply is a whisper, and I press the bottle of champagne against my chest. “I was organized crime right along with them, only I didn’t have a clue. I was mafia.” I laugh again. “Am mafia.”

His finger lifts my chin until I look at him again. “Yeah, you’re mafia. You had a window where maybe…just maybe you could’ve gotten out of it.” He shrugs. “That point is debatable, but we’ll play devil’s advocate. You’re going to a good college, you’re fucking brilliant…maybe you could have cut ties and made a career for yourself where this shit didn’t dog your every step.” His expression hardens. “But that window’s closed, little bird. Your future is marked, and it’s mine.”

I lose the battle with the tear. It falls, followed immediately by another, and then another. “And that’s one more choice I didn’t get to make,” I say. Pulling away from him, I finish climbing into the bathtub. I settle back against the curved edge and tip the bottle to my lips. “Cheers.”

Chapter 17

Enzo

I nurse my brandy and drum my fingers on the wooden surface of the hotel room desk. I’ve checked in with Tom and Arturo, and now it’s time to drink to my success.

Rowan O’Rourke is my wife.

My docks are thriving.

I’m well on my way to burying Luca Marzano.

In the bathroom, Rowan continues to struggle with her emotions. I listen, waiting for her to cycle through everything. Silence, then tears, then slamming things around. Her voice is small, just a mass of mumbles, when she talks to herself. I can’t hear what she is saying, but it’s okay.

I’ll be here when she calms down.

I feel strangely guilty for leaving her cat behind when she has a clear and legitimate need for the creature. It’s an uncomfortable feeling—knowing I’m in the wrong and need to make reparations.

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