Page 151 of Wounded King
"I suppose these will do," Margarita scrutinizes the brand and decides to light one. Her first inhale ends in a coughing fit, but the second and third relax her tense expression, and she even closes her eyes.
"And they said these would kill me," she chuckles.
"So, you were pregnant," I prompt, wanting to get on with it.
"Yep, quit smoking for the little brat, too." She hisses out a cloud of smoke.
"Leonardo told me to get rid of the kid or he'd tell Riccy. Got Carlos to take me—your fucking father," one more time her hate spews toward me. "The bastard got me to trust him. Said he would keep me and the baby safe, promised me one day he would help put my son on the throne that belonged rightfully to him."
"So you had a son?" Enzo questions.
She doesn't answer, as if her silence could conceal the obvious.
"He helped me hide the pregnancy, kept Riccy and Leonardo busy and distracted until I gave birth. And then, like all the other men, he betrayed me," Margarita glares at me as if I were Carlos. "He took my son. And there was nothing I could do about it. He told me that if I raised a fuss, he would out me to both Riccy and Leonardo.
"Our Don had remarried by then, and I was certain that he and Riccy wouldn't just kill me, but my son too."
My mind is working a hundred miles an hour. If Margarita had a son with Don Leonardo, and that son was born before Edoardo, he would make an interesting contestant for the position of Don. Legitimate or not. Finding him needs to be our number one priority. Having an alternative for Don Edoardo would sway the holdouts.
But then another thought occurs to me, one that horrifies me to no end. What if that son was me? Or Angelo?
She laughs, "Oh, don't look so spooked, you're not mine, neither was Angelo, your dear brother." She saysdearwith enough derision to make it clear that she knows exactly what kind of relationship he and I had.
"I didn't know who my son was for thirty years," she pauses, "thirty fucking years." She repeats wistfully, then her eyes turn cold again. She shakes the ashes off the cigarette and onto the ground, uncaring where they land.
"Thirty years of wondering. Yearning to see him, to find out who he was. To look at every man of a certain age, thinking, is that him? Do you have any idea what that does to a person?"
If she's playing for my sympathy, she's appealing to the wrong man. I find it much more plausible that she was chomping at the bit for her son to take his rightful place so she could receive hers.
"Whoever he is, he's lucky not to have been raised by you." I can't stop from remarking.
She throws the cigarette to the ground and crushes it under her heel. The teakwood floor is probably going to be ruined, but that's the last thing on my mind right now. "Why did my father want your kid?"
"Why indeed?" She glares at me. "What could a capo possibly want with the illegitimate son of our Don?" She rolls her eyes at me. "Pity, I thought you were smarter than that." And then, as if tossing me a bone, "remind me what branch your family is in again?"
She knows exactly what my family's business is, but I humor her, having an idea where this might lead. "Extortion is one of them."
"Extortion, right." She smiles benevolently, like a teacher whose favorite student just gave the correct answer. Like a light switch, she turns cold again. "My son was his insurance policy."
This doesn't add up, "If that is the case, then why didn't Carlos use it as hisget out of jail free cardwith Edoardo?"
Margarita is too refined to roll her eyes at me, but the look she gives me is damn close. “Do I really need to spell that out for you? I thought you were smarter than that.”
No, she doesn’t. I get it. Carlos might have initially taken her son as leverage against Leonardo, but over time he must have realized that her son’s true value to him was to keep his identity from Donna Margarita. Her power grew over the years, making her a much more formidable threat than even Leonardo or his successor Edoardo. Even cornered Margarita managed to outwit Carlos. He had an ace in the hole, but it was one he could never play, unless he wanted to die.
“I see you get it,” she lights another cigarette. "How about a scotch? Doesn't a condemned prisoner have a right to a last drink?"
Enzo throws me a questioning glance, and at my nod, he moves to the door to get Margarita what she wants.
"Men," she puffs out. "You never use your brains, do you?"
I ignore the barb. Enzo returns with the drink, ice and all.
"Thank you, you're a real gentleman," Margarita flutters her eyelashes at him. Enzo looks slightly amused. I have to give it to her; she does know how to put on a show.
"Do you play chess, Marcello?"
The dots connect in my mind. "You orchestrated all this? You made my father think it was Edoardo who wanted him to put a hit on Jacomo, to make Carlos use his one trump card after he found out he was being used. And then you played Toni to kill my father out of revenge to get a vendetta going in the family."
