Page 65 of Cruelest Contract
I have so many questions. The course of my life depends on the answers.
Stretching to reach the phone I left on the nightstand, I hesitate to call Alice. She’s baffled and distressed by this whole ordeal. The arcane world of the Mafia, shrouded in dark secrecy, is unfamiliar to her and I’ve already dumped too many of my troubles in my best friend’s lap.
As for Gabe, there’s nothing he can say that would help me reach any conclusions and I hate adding to his distress.
Instead, I’m stuck calling the one brother who might actually know something. I can feel the scowl deepening on my own face as Angelo’s phone rings four times before I hear a click.
“Yeah?” he says in the hurried tone that implies I’ve just interrupted him while he’s trying to run the country. Whatever. I’m surprised he picked up at all.
“It’s me,” I say. “Cecilia.”
“Like I don’t fucking know that. What’s up?”
What’s up????
I want to scream and curse him with a receding hairline. I want to throw paint on his favorite leather jacket.
My teeth grit together and I force a civil tone. “I’ve had trouble getting in touch with Gabriel. Is he all right?”
Angelo blows out an annoyed breath. “Sure. He’s living it up while I’m taking care of everything. Hope that asshole is enjoying the beach while the rest of us work.”
“So he’s still in San Diego?”
“I just said that, didn’t I? He needs to quit partying and get his head on straight. Playing with pussy doesn’t pay the bills.”
I’ll just pretend I didn’t hear that vivid narrative. “Angelo, I need to ask you something and I need you to tell me the truth.”
“Ask away.” He sounds bored enough to fall asleep.
“What kind of personal information about me did you share with the Tempestas? Did you, for instance, tell them that my favorite color is pink?”
“No. How the fuck do I know what your favorite color is?”
Good point. Angelo probably forgets that he even has a sister until I’m needed to be used as a Mafia pawn.
“Anyway, what difference does it make?” he asks.
“None,” I sigh.
“Hey, when in the hell are you getting married? Grandfather’s pretty fucking pissed he hasn’t heard anything yet.”
Rather than answering his idiotic question, I end the call and turn the phone off before tossing it aside. That’s all the Angelo I can handle right now.
The three top buttons on my sweater are still open. My journal is also still open. My list remains unfinished.
If Julian made a list, I wonder what it would look like.
We’re not in love.
No doubt Julian would agree with me on that point.
Everything else is cloudy. I don’t know how he feels or what he expects. He keeps his thoughts to himself.
The only person who can answer questions about Julian is Julian. We’re due for a very direct conversation.
If I think too hard, I’ll talk myself out of marching to his room right this minute. I check my reflection in the square mirror on the wall beside the door. My cheeks are flushed and my loose hair is slightly tangled. I swiftly run my fingers through the length and let it be.
There are drops of water visible on the dark wood floor right outside my door, as if Julian stood at the very edge of the carpet runner while deciding whether he ought to just barge in. My bare foot lands in a damp spot. I should have slipped on shoes but I’m not turning back.
