Page 64 of Till Death Do Us Part

My hand trembles around my gun, my breaths falling out of me in heavy pants while I try to pull myself together. My heart slows as I take the final steps. A steel door waits ahead of me, the flickering light spilling from the slight opening.

Closing my eyes, I pull in a deep breath, holding the oxygen in my lungs for a long moment. Something tickles at the back of my mind, a memory from being eleven. The first day I ever shot a gun.

The words Papá whispered to me.

For me.

“Sii coraggiosa, mia dolce ragazza. Solo tu puoi salvarti quando arrivano.”

Be brave, my sweet girl. Only you can save yourself when they come.

The memory spreads over me, filling me with warmth as I remember the man who loved me my whole life. Tears spring to my eyes, though not in sadness as expected.

He taught me.

He trained me.

My whole life, he led me along this pathway, preparing me for the day the darkness comes.

I don’t know why, and I’m not sure I ever will.

But with his memory in my heart, my hand presses against the steel, the door opening slowly.

“Hello, wife.” Antonio’s voice follows the sound of cocking guns, all aimed at me the second I step into the room. “How about a story?”

“Sure, why not.” I shrug, my voice laced with false bravado. Once upon a time I could stand in a room and face down death, but now I’m not so sure. I’ve always believed death to be inevitable, something that we couldn’t defeat.

But what if life is worth the fight?

What if when we’re truly faced with death, we choose to live instead?

“Take a seat.” He gestures to a rickety wooden chair to the left of me, a vicious grin on his face.

“I think I’d rather stand, if you don’t mind.”

“I mind.” Hands clamp around my shoulders, dragging me to the chair before forcefully pushing me down. The gun in my hand falls limp to the floor when my arms are pulled backwards, the grip on them unrelenting as the feel of metal closes over my wrists, keeping them pinned behind me. “And it wasn’t a question.”

An ache forms in my shoulder blades at the position of my arms, but I bite my tongue to stop from wincing. Never show them fear or pain. People like Antonio get off on it, and I’ve given him far too much of it since moving to New York.

Another chair is dragged along the floor, stopping about a foot away from me for Antonio. He drops down, his teeth glistening in the dull light as he continues to smile at me. His legs are wide, and he lowers his arms over them, his hands limp over his thighs.

“I’m sure you have questions.” He cocks his head, leaning forwards as he speaks. I clamp my mouth shut, biting my tongue. “I wanted to make this union easier for us both, you know. Muddle through life together, pop out a kid or two, and live peacefully.”

He chuckles, though it’s a brittle sound with no amusement. His eyes never leave my face, but he cocks his head, his tongue swiping over his lips.

“Why?” I ask, keeping my tone emotionless as I stare at him.

“Because I’m a nice guy, Pippa.” Fighting the urge to scoff, I twist my hands, trying and failing to break free from metal bindings. Funnily enough, this predicament reminds me of when Leonardo chained me to the wall—though I think the outcome will be very different this time. “But then you went and looked at Leonardo with stars in your eyes, and I knew I was going to lose if I didn’t take control of the situation.”

My eyes widen, my blood chilling as his words hit me. Seeing my reaction, he laughs loudly, slapping a hand on his thigh. “Neither of you were very good at hiding your attraction, Pippa. But I knew I had to get in first.”

“That’s why you came to my room that first night?” I whisper, my eyes falling to the floor.

“Yes,” he answers, his voice cold. “There was something between the two of you that day, it was palpable, and I can’t compete with that kind of thing. I don’t even want to. I don’t want your love, or even your loyalty, Pippa.”

“Then why? If you don’t want me, what’s the point?”

“We’ll get to that in just a moment. But first I want to talk about your father.” Bristling as he mentions Papá, my gaze snaps back to him. There’s no smile on his face anymore. He looks angry, and my heart slows as he aims that at me. “Darius Marchesi. A former Capo who asked my father to pardon him from his role in exchange for you, when you turned twenty-one. Did he ever tell you why?”

---