Page 104 of Thorns of Death
“Fourteen years ago, when Enzo was just a baby and his brother was still growing in his mother’s belly, my brother died.” God, it seemed like centuries ago, yet also only yesterday. “My older brother.”
Her gulp sounded loud in the small space.
“Enrico Marchetti died.” There was my smart wife. “So that means you’re really the dead brother.”
“Yes, Enzo Lucian Marchetti.”
I tensed, waiting for her to yank her hand back. She never did.
“That’s why you said you weren’t married.”
A sardonic breath pulled on my chest. It was a peculiar and unexpected thing to focus on. “Donatella was my brother’s wife. They despised each other.”
“And the boys?”
“Enrico called it a hate fuck,” I muttered. “Donatella called it rape. Fuck if I know, but the boys are innocent in all this.”
She squeezed my hand. “They are. And we won’t let anything happen to them.” No fucking wonder I fell for her. How could I not? “I’m assuming they don’t know?”
They didn’t. I could never bring myself to tell them something like that. Not after they experienced their mother’s hate and rejection. For Pete’s sake, she’d been trying to murder them since they were born.
“They aremysons.” My voice came out sharper than I intended it to. “I’ll never let Donatella have them. I had to have her restrained while pregnant with Amadeo so she wouldn’t hurt the baby. I didn’t know until my brother was dead that he did the same while she was pregnant with Enzo.”
“Jesus Christ.”
“I don’t know what happened between Donatella and my brother. I was close to him when we were growing up, but when he took over our papà’s seat in the Omertà, our paths didn’t cross as much. I ran the legitimate side of the Marchetti business. My brother ran all the Omertà businesses. I knew what he did, but I kept to my side. Except that Enrico kept pulling me into his shit. He was impulsive. I was strategic. But Enrico was smart, and we both knew if something was to happen to him before Enzo and Amadeo became men, our enemies would come knocking on our door. They’d wipe out our entire family for our seat at the table.”
Her delicate eyebrows scrunched. “What table?”
“As one of the five Italian families in the Omertà. Greed and power are compelling motivators.” Isla remained silent, listening intently. “My brother and I had a clause put in place when little Enzo was born after our papà died. If Enrico died, I’d assume his identity.”
“But why? Why couldn’t you have just taken over as his brother?”
“Because I rejected my blood and oath in front of all the Omertà members to have any part of that world while my father was still alive. The responsibility would have fallen to baby Enzo who was just approaching his first birthday.”
“So you became him.” Her whisper was barely audible. “Couldn’t you have rejected it for all your family and for Enzo?” She knew the answer, but it was a lot to take in. “I can’t believe nobody recognized you.”
“People often couldn’t tell us apart. The only thing that really set us apart were our tempers.”
“But not even Donatella?” Her raspy voice shook. “She didn’t realize you’re not her husband?”
I shook my head. “My brother and Donatella didn’t share rooms. Barely even talked. She was on medication and drugs. Sometimes she couldn’t even recognize her own husband. It was easy to fool her, plus her mental instability was always there. She has been in and out of psych wards for the duration of their marriage. Later we learned, for most of her life.”
“This is like a soap opera,” she muttered. “My head is spinning.” It was understandable. “I just cannot grasp how you pulled it off.”
I shrugged. “It wasn’t all that hard. We claimed Enzo’s body was in that car. It helped that Enrico had been driving my car, although that was what ultimately cost him his life. My car wasn’t bulletproof. His was.”
This talking in the car wasn’t bad at all. No wonder people raved that it was therapeutic. Fuck if I didn’t want to pour my soul out. But only to her—my wife.
I switched lanes, recognizing the exit to our hotel.
“What about Donatella’s death?” she murmured, still staring at me with disbelief. “How did you pull off convincing people she was dead?”
“She was supposed to be in the car with my brother. He was coming back with her from the psych ward, but being the fucking lunatic she is, she jumped out of the moving car. According to my uncle who was tailing my brother’s vehicle, not a moment too soon because in the next instance, they were ambushed by the Callahans.” When she gave me a blank look, I clarified. “The Irish from New York.” I took a deep breath, then exhaled. It took me a long time to learn that it was Luca DiMauro’s father who set them up. “He died on my front lawn. Before oursoldati—” She frowned at the vocabulary and I clarified, “Before our soldiers could see which one of us was dead, I had my brother’s body in the car and set fire to it. We told everyone Donatella was in it too.”
“Wow, Enrico. This is a lot.” Then she shook her head. “Am I supposed to call you Enrico? My head is spinning.”
I brought her hand up and brushed my lips over her knuckles. “It’s best if we stick to Enrico. But in the bedroom—”
