Page 100 of The Butcher's Wife
Stefano’s smile falters. He places a hand on my upper back and shuts the front door behind me.
“Aw, come on,” he says. “The Serafina I know would never say no to a smoke.”
The effect is like a fist to the gut. Stefano guides me through the living room to the first set of stairs. We pass by a friend of his, a portly guy I haven’t seen before. He leers at me and Valeria over his phone in his cushy armchair as we pass.
Stefano claps his shoulder. “Sit tight, Lasso. We’ll be right back.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Lasso watching us until we move up the staircase.
Acrylic paintings of landscapes, and not a single family portrait, press in on us from both walls in the narrow stairwell. Valeria bows her head with her shoulders pulled in as Stefano leads us between a massive stone coffee table and a leather couch. Behind the sofa is a door, opened just a crack, and there’s a glimpse of dark wood furniture inside that could be their dad’s office.
Stefano slides open the glass door to the balcony.
“Where’s your husband, Serafina? I’m surprised he’d let a girl like you walk around all by herself.”
“He’s very progressive.”
At this, Stefano laughs, a sharp sound that makes Valeria flinch imperceptibly at my side.
“Ladies first,” he says with an easy grin.
The balcony is intimate, with string lights and a few potted junipers around the perimeter, each with a little fleece blanket tucked around its base. Exhaling a great white plume of warm air, Stefano slips into a coat hanging by the back door and swipes a pack of cigarettes off one of the outdoor tables.
Valeria also wraps herself in an oversized coat, and herlegs press together for warmth. She studies me from the other side of the balcony.
“I’m sure that husband of yours won’t mind, seeing as how he’s so progressive,” Stefano says with a wink as he passes me a cigarette. When I don’t immediately grab it, he wiggles it in my direction. “Your favorite.”
Despite the cold, my thick coat and the cocktail of nerves in my belly are melting me. My hair sticks to the back of my neck with sweat. I need to find Aceto’s office and plant this before he gets home or before Dom finds out where I am. And where the fuck did Valeria get her black eye from?
I take the cigarette from him. Was this really Serafina’s favorite?
He cups his hand over his mouth, lights his cigarette, and steps forward to light mine.
“It’s been a while, hasn’t it?” he asks, squinting one eye against the cigarette smoke. “You still ‘friends’ with Russell? Probably not, since I heard he’s still walking around with his balls attached.”
I hold the slender cigarette between my fingers but make no move to raise it.
Stefano glances down and frowns. “Smoke the damn cigarette,Serafina.”He chuckles darkly. “You’re making me feel like I hardly know you.”
My throat goes dry, and I lift the cigarette to my mouth. Carlo let me try one of his once. I can do this.
My lips touch the paper wrapper. I inhale, tasting ash.
And Icough. Violently, in wracking gunshot bursts. It’s more intense than I remember, and the more I try to stifle the coughing, the worse it gets.
Valeria rushes to my side, patting my back. When Ifinally stand, eyes watering, I meet Stefano’s grinning expression.
“I think I’m done here,” he says and crushes his cigarette into a nearby smoke tray. “You ladies enjoy your time together.”
Valeria waits until he walks out and starts back down the stairs to hiss at me, “What are you doing? You shouldn’t have come here.”
The truth presses at my tongue, desperate to be free.
“Valeria,” I say, dropping my cigarette into the tray.
She glances from the cigarette to me, before her eyes go wide. “Absolutely no way.”
A world of meaning passes between our shared look.
