Page 68 of Till Death Do Us Part

I let that sink in for a second.

It was.

I’d never felt it before.

Roma Corvo was bringing out foreign emotions in me, and they threw me back and forth between love and loathing.

If I stood with this feeling too long, I was going to turn around and find Jack. Find a creative way to have him beg for his life. The thought satisfied the dark thoughts, but my life was never run by thoughts. It was run by actions, and I didn’t plan on taking any that would lead to his demise. Ending his life meant ending the game.

We were just getting started, in my opinion, and Jack was being used as a pawn.

I had no doubt Gramps Maggio and Emanuele Corvo had a chat with Jack after the incident at the museum, which was why he started bringing an entourage with him wherever he went. Alfonso wanted to keep him swathed. Corvo wanted him to wine and dine Roma, so to speak.

One thing I couldn’t take away from Corvo was that he knew his daughters. He probably schooled Jack on how to salvage what he’d been fucking up. Which was why he was backtracking his stance on Roma working at the museum. Corvo knew if Jack pushed the issue, the marriage would be on a fast track to the end before it had even gotten started.

What none of them ever saw coming was me. The train they wouldn’t be able to stop.

Jack could try every single trick in the book, until he was down on his knees begging, and she’d never belong to him. He might never admit it, but he knew he was on the losing side. Just like he knew he was going to lose the rooftop game.

Most men instinctually know if they’ve won a woman’s heart. It’s the ones who know they’ve never had it to begin with that start to hide her away from the rest of the world. Can’t keep her if she has too many options. Which was why Jack didn’t want Roma working.

My issue was not the same as his. I didn’t have an insecure bone in my body. But fuck me if it didn’t burn me deep when she smiled at him.

I parked in front of Tommaso’s house in North Riverside, about thirty minutes outside of Chicago. The man had made millions but lived in a modestly priced, multi-family house. His place was three stories, separated into three units. He claimed he rented them out. It was just another way for him to prove a legitimate source of income. He was old school and kept his riches buried in the walls and under the tomato plants in his wife’s garden.

While the car idled, I called Cassio and had a quick conversation. I wanted an update on Roma. I stuck my phone in my pocket as I walked up to the house. I knocked and waited underneath an old white lattice awning. His wife opened the door and invited me inside.

The house was immaculate but hadn’t been updated since the 1950s. It was plastered with floral wallpaper, and the kitchen and bathroom countertops were all Formica. The furniture was covered in plastic to keep it looking “new.”

Tommaso sat on the sofa watching television, a blanket draped over where he sat. I checked my watch. It was just 7’o'clock, and he was ready for bed. He invited me to take a seat across from him in a chair. The plastic crinkled underneath my ass and legs.

His wife offered me something to drink, I declined, and she left us alone.

He yawned but didn’t bother to cover it up. “Seven o’clock and it feels like midnight.” He turned the television low, then grabbed his phone. He had a flip. No text messages. No pictures.Niente.“Got a call from Emanuele. Alfonso Maggio’s boy told his father you showed up at some party for his girl’s work. Emanuele’s not happy about you pursuing his daughter. She’s been promised to Alfonso’s boy.”

I didn’t say anything. I let him continue.

“Emanuele told me to stop you.”

Told. Not asked. That was a fucking risky thing to do, ordering Tommaso Russo to do anything. “Told” and “ordered” meant the same thing to him. He’d be asked, but never bossed, even if he was indebted.

Our eyes locked.

My phone rang, cutting through the silence.

“Answer,” he said in Italian.

My chest felt so tight, my heart didn’t feel like it could beat. This man was a master at word play, and he probably got creative after Emanuele had called him and insulted him. I forced myself to answer, but my jaw was too tight to speak. I didn’t have to.

Cassio. Breathing heavy. Rushing the words out.Roma. Elsa. Car accident. The first car flipped them over, but it flew past, then the delivery truck clipped them.

I hung up, not seeing anything but red. Her blood spilled. The scent of it. Not being there to protect her from it.

“Emanuele didn’t say how to stop you. When you order me to do something, you better be specific.”

What Tommaso had done was a warning to me and a fuck you to Corvo. Tommaso might have owed him, butEmanuelewouldn’t boss him. Yet he took care of the problem. I burned with hate for Tommaso for what he’d done. I felt a cold burn for the man who called himself her father for involving a man like Tommaso Russo. Emanuele wasn’t dense, and he knew how Tommaso could be.

“John,” Tommaso stopped me before I could leave. “Emanuele has a right to feel as he does. Do some research. Find out why.”

---