Page 12 of A Game So Reckless

Curse comes to a stop beside us after completing his check of the roof.

“No one here. And no signs of a struggle,” he says.

His eyes go to me, and papà’s grip tightens on my bare upper arms. There are no accusations in my cousin’s probing gaze.

But there are questions.

And suddenly, I’m so furious that I swear I’m choking all over again. So furious that my vision pulses black. While they were doing God knows what downstairs, I was watching a man die and then nearly dying myself.

It hits me like a blow to the stomach. Like Darragh’s fists below my sternum. I almost died. And my family didn’t do anything to stop it, because they were too busy giving me alone time with the son of thefamigliathey sold me to.

The only one who deigned to help me was our enemy, even when it slowed him down. Even when it could have cost him everything.

For the first time in my life, I understand the saying “so angry I can’t see straight.”

And for the first time in my life, I lie to my papà.

I raise my chin and practically spit the words.

“He jumped.”

Chapter7

Valentina

By the time we get downstairs, it looks like most of the guests from the opening have been ushered out. There are a few traumatized-looking servers, paramedics, police officers…

And my papà’s legal team.

Lawyers descend on me like flies on a corpse, just before I’m led aside to answer preliminary questions from the police. I keep my story straight. Simple.

“He asked for the ring back,” I say woodenly. “Then he jumped.”

Whether it’s Papà’s dirty connections with the force, the veritable army of lawyers surrounding me and shutting down any questions they don’t like, or the fact that accepting a suicide is probably easier than opening up a murder investigation, I’m released from questioning before I expect to be. There’s the promise that I may be called upon to answer more questions again soon. And with that, I leave the building with Curse and Papà, their large, male bodies hemming me in tightly.

Anxiety lurches in my stomach when I move from the air-conditioned lobby to the sticky air outside. I expect to see Dario on the ground. Brains likegelo de melone, Papà said. Sicilian watermelon pudding.

I don’t think I’ll ever be able to eat it again.

But his body isn’t here, and I realize it’s because this isn’t where Darragh threw him off. He must have landed beside the building, in the alley. I clench and release the fingers of my left hand, feeling out the sudden absence of the ring I’ve been wearing for more than six months.

The sun has finally begun to set, the gathering darkness in the air so heavy it’s like a visual representation of this city’s godawful summer humidity. My hair feels matted and damp against my neck. My face is bizarrely numb. I wipe at my cheeks. Makeup comes away on my fingertips, but no new tears.

Even the tears I had before were because of the choking. Not for Dario.

I don’t think too hard about what sort of person that might make me. Not right now.

“You take your Zizi,” Papà says to Curse. “I’ll take Valentina.”

I can’t remember the last time Papà drove me anywhere. A man like him has better things to do than ferry his daughter around. There’s an unspoken undercurrent in the command. That he has no plans to let me out of his sight anytime soon.

I think there’s a good chance he doesn’t believe my story.

Maybe he shouldn’t. Because I sure as hell know it isn’t true. And Vincenzo Titone hasn’t gotten to where he is today by swallowing bullshit like mine.

But the only other explanation he can see is that his daughter somehow killed the man he chose as her fiancé. And if that were true, he’d have a serious reckoning coming his way. The Fabbri family don’t have the same standing we do in the underbelly of this world. But they have more money than God, and Dario was a local politician.

Papàhasto swallow my suicide story. No matter how bad it stinks.

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