Page 66 of Black Widow's Kiss

“She would have had to have liked it very rough according to what I heard.”

“My brother could get carried away. But I’m telling you, it wasn’t his idea. He didn’t even know who she was until someone whispered in his ear. Now he’s dead. Ricci needs to pay for what he did.”

Did she know that my father had collected on the Ricci debt by marrying me to Dante? She had to have known. Who in the organization didn’t know? That meant that she was questioning my father’s judgment regarding my marriage being enough.

“You really have no fear.”

“What is left for me to be afraid of?”

“Me,” I told her before leaving her office and closing the door behind me.

Having taken a taxi to the airport, I caught another one back into town. Staring at the address as we drove, I wondered what I should do with it.

Matteo believed that Vincent Ricci was in town to kill Dante. If that was true, he needed to be taught a lesson. But was it true? I didn’t know Matteo so I didn’t know if what he said could be trusted.

He had pulled a gun on me. If he was willing to kill me to save his brother, that was definitely a plus in my book. I would have done the same thing, only Matteo wouldn’t have seen it coming.

Redirecting the taxi to the address on the paper, we pulled into an Italian neighborhood in the Bronx. It was the type of place I imagined Dante growing up. The streets were lined with modest two-story homes with postcard sized yards. And there were more than one stoop with guys wearing white tank tops and gold chains.

The house at the address Vincent Ricci had put on his immigration form looked like every other house on the block.He hadn’t included who he would be staying with. But if he was staying here, the person had lived here for a while.

Could it be Vincent’s sister? Had Dante mentioned anything about having an aunt? I wasn’t sure but Italians were known for having large families. His father had to have more siblings. Dante was one of about five kids. The same had to be true about their father.

What must it have been like growing up in a family like Dante’s? I didn’t know much about him before our marriage, but the Ricci’s were a prominent mafia family in New York. Everyone knew the basics. Dante was the respected oldest son. Matteo was the psychopath. And the rest of them kept out of the spotlight.

If any of them, I had always imagined ending up with Matteo. Dante was right, though. Ten minutes alone and we would have killed each other. We almost already did.

But looking into Matteo’s eyes, I always saw a crazy bisexual looking back. He would be the type to pin you to the bed and fuck you until you lost feeling in your legs. Of course, he might also kill you for suggesting he was gay. So…

Could that be what happened with the chief custom specialist’s brother? I don’t doubt that it started with Matteo confronting him about what happened with his friend’s sister. But no one takes it that far with a made man.

And, he could have just killed him. Instead, he dragged him behind his car until he died. Then he rubbed it into my father’s face. What could possibly trigger that level of insanity other than gay panic?

What had she said about there being someone who whispered into her brother’s ear? What did that mean? If that was true, who would have suggested something like that? And why? Could they know the firestorm it would ignite?

As I sat thinking about it, an older Italian man descended the stairs of the brownstone I was watching. He was frailer than I pictured Dante’s uncle to be. He resembled Lorenzo if any of them. And dressed in a tan suit that wouldn’t grab anyone’s attention, he stepped onto the sideway with a smile on his face and a skip in his step.

This was Vincent Ricci. I had no doubt.

Feeling good about myself, I texted Dante on the way home.

‘I’ve been good. I think I deserve a reward tonight,’ I wrote with my skin tingling waiting for a response.

‘Have you? Haha. Did you find out something about Uncle Vinny?’

‘Treat first. Answers later.’

There was a pause before he replied,

‘What do you want?’

‘You know what I want.’

I considered replying with a winking emoji but I wasn’t in the sixth grade so I didn’t. He, however, replied with two emojis, a leather paddle and an open hand. The text that followed read, ‘Choose one’.

Heat washed through my body and my heart thumped.

‘Both,’ I replied.

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