Page 136 of Bitter Poetry
Her sulky tone makes me want to smile.
“Your father will know it was us.” Or at least heavily suspect, after our last conversation with him. I will find a way to let him know.
“This is part of the plan? The one you made with Papa?”
“Yes.”
“And what about Jessica? She’s going to be upset. What if Ettore does something to them? What if he hurts?—”
“He won’t.” I cut her off. “He hasn’t seen your father as a threat in a long time, and he’s done nothing to present himself as one.”
“I disappeared after visiting him!”
“And your father is cooperating with Ettore and his men and is doubtless appearing visibly shaken. Jessica is a bright girl, and she will likewise do her part. Think about it. If you were really going into hiding with your father’s help or knowledge, the last place you’d choose to disappear would be while visiting him.”
Her eyes are still full of tears, but at least she’s listening, and the edge of panic has eased its grip. “It’s been a terrible year, Dante,” she says softly.
She said those exact words to me when we met in the coffee shop. At the time, she hadn’t been assaulted by Cosmo. Had I known that was waiting around the corner, I’d have taken her then and there, consequences be damned. “I know, and I hate the fact that, through my inaction, I played a part in it.”
“I know my father told you something important the day you visited.”
“He told me lots of things,” I hedge.
“Jessica found pictures and a report. She thought they might have to do with what happened to our mother. After you came, she found them burned in the fire.”
A weight settles over me as I acknowledge the magnitude of that information. There were many things her father should have handled better. Ettore Gallo features in every one.
“You know what it was about, don’t you?”
“No.” This woman is going to be my wife. I would protect her from everything, even her past.
“I don’t believe you, Dante.”
She uses my name like a weapon. The sound of it on her lips, spoken intimately close is a test of my resolve.
Her eyes search mine. “Don’t lie to me. Not today. If you want me to trust you, you can’t treat me like a child.”
My gut is churning. I run a fingertip down her cheek. “I definitely don’t think of you as a child.”
Her lips are trembling, and her eyes are glistening with tears. “No more lies. No more secrets. For better or worse, I deserve the truth.”
She does. If it were me, I would demand it. But the truth will only wound her, and she doesn’t need more pain. Her eyes hold mine, and I see a fire that takes me by surprise.
“Dante.”
“I know nothing about the pictures.”
She slaps me. Hard. In the face. She doesn’t stop there and pulls her arm back for another shot.
I grab her wrist just in time.
“You’re such a liar,” she hisses. “I expected better from you. Get off me. I’m leaving, and you can’t stop me! You’re no better than my father. You’re no better than my husband!”
I know she’s intentionally provoking me, but I react, regardless. I roll above her, pinning her to the bed with my weight, and, grasping her wrists, I pin them above her head.
“Fuck you, Dante!”
“Don’t ever call him husband.” There is a dangerous edge to my voice, one I barely recognize, and which rarely surfaces. “He’s nothing. He’s dirt you scrape off the bottom of your shoe. Before this is through, you will bearmyname and call me husband.”
