Page 153 of Wounded King
"Come on, Marcello, time to feed the sharks." Enzo puts his hand on my shoulder.
"They're ready, boss," Marco adds, looking at Donna Margarita's retreating form without much pity. She deserves everything that's coming to her. She's been manipulating and killing people for years, and she would have incited several vendettas if we had let her. It's time for her reign of terror to come to an end. Her end will be worth every unanswered question we still have.
I don't move. My eyes stay on the space she just vacated, as if the ghost of her lies still lingers there.
Raffael.
The name settles over me like a noose. He killed Roberto to protect Sophia. That should count for something. And yet, he's her fucking son. Margarita's. Molded by thirty years of shadows and silence. No matter what he did for my sister, he was raised by someone Carlos trusted to bury the truth. That doesn't breed saints.
So who is he?
Another snake waiting for his moment?
Another Leonardo, cold, calculating, never letting love get in the way of ambition?
Or is he something worse? Something smarter. Because if he's Margarita's blood, he's not as incompetent as Edoardo.
I could use a man like that.
Or I might have to kill him.
And that, more than anything, makes my blood run cold. Because if I do, I'll hurt my sister.
Slowly, I follow the others and turn toward the sea, where the water churns, hungry and patient.
"This fucking family's going to be the death of me."
"Are you alright?" I ask Marcello the moment he enters the bedroom, looking tired as hell.
His eyes find me, and a smile lights up his face. "Now I am, tesoro."
I pet the place on the bed right next to me in invitation, but he shakes his head, "I need to take a shower first. I don't want the stink of my work to sully you."
"Get your ass over here, mobster boss," I order, petting the bed harder.
With a sigh, he finally follows my invitation. I'm still a bit woozy at times. Otherwise, I would have gotten out of bed and given him a hug, but now at least I can take his hand in mine. "What happened?"
He runs his free hand through his hair. "Donna Margarita won't bother us again, but her legacy might."
I knew it would bother him, killing a woman, but when he tells me her sordid tale, I can honestly look him in the eyes and say, "She deserved everything that came to her."
I get that she might have been afraid of her husband finding out she was pregnant, but giving up her son was her decision. She could have left. I'm not saying it would have been easy, I didn't know her dead husband, but there are always other ways to get out of a bad situation. I might be jaded from what my mom did and not in a very forgiving mood, but I don't feel one bit sorry for Margarita. She was vindictive and cold.Just like your mom,a voice whispers, and I tell it to shut the fuck up. This isn't about me. This is about Marcello.
"I know; it was still hard," he says, looking haunted.
"Don't let her ghost touch you." My other hand moves up to cup his face, grounding him. "It doesn't matter that she was a woman. She played a man's game. She dealt in blood, betrayal, and ambition. And she lost. That's not on you, Marcello. That's on her."
His jaw tightens beneath my fingers, but he doesn't look away.
"You're not a hypocrite. You're human. And the only reason you feel anything right now is because you still have a soul." I pause and harden my voice. "She didn't."
He leans his face into my hand, kissing my palm. "I don't know what I did to deserve you, but I'm sure as hell never going to fuck it up. I love you."
Hearing those words from his lips still gives me pleasure beyond words. "I love you, too."
"What do you think about getting married in Vegas?" He abruptly changes the subject.
"What?" It takes me a moment to connect the dots. "So you and my father… bonded?"
