Page 61 of The Fixer

“He can’t.” Hugh’s voice is low and urgent. “Listen to me, Leo. You have power and influence.Use it.Guerra cannot be in Venice, and I cannot talk to him.”

“Why not?”

He looks tormented. “I can’t tell you.” He clutches my arm. “Don’t ask me questions I can’t answer.Please.All I can say is this. For Rosa’s sake, keep Guerra away from me.”

Turning on his heels, he hurries away. He almost collides with Rosa, who’s carrying a candlelit cake in her hands, twists out of her way and heads in the direction of the front door. Rosa gives him a briefly puzzled look and then beams at me. “It’s time for cake,” she announces. “Happy birthday, Leo.”

The room bursts into song. My soon-to-be wife wraps her arm around my waist and smiles up at me, her eyes dancing with laughter. She’s radiantly beautiful, and the cake she’s made is delicious. With a shrug, I abandon the idea of chasing after my future brother-in-law and blow out my candles.

If Hugh had stuck around, I would have assuaged his concerns by telling him that Guerra doesn’t work for Santini. I would have assured him that he wasn’t here to discover what happened to the missing ten million euros, and I would have told him that Ciro Del Barba personally guaranteed that Guerra wouldn’t hurt his family.

But he’s twenty, impulsive, and prone to drama.He freaked out and took off before I could tell him anything.

This problem can wait. Right now, Rosa is offering me a slice of chocolate cake, a cake shebakedwith her own two hands. There’s food and wine and a roomful of family and friends. We’ll make love tonight, and she’ll fall asleep in my arms. The house is bright, the nightmares can’t intrude when I’m awake, and I’m going to enjoy the fuck out of this moment.

“Nice party,”Antonio says. “I saw your skirmish with Tran before he practically ran out of here. What’s up?”

I summarize our conversation. “This is a mess,” I finish. “On the one hand, we’ve got Guerra insisting that he needs to talk to Hugh. Then there’s Hugh, who wants nothing to do with him.”

The padrino shrugs. “Max Guerra is not our problem,” he says. “All we promised Del Barba is that we wouldn’t kick him out of Venice. It’s not our job to make his life easier. If Tran doesn’t want totalk to Guerra, that’s between the two of them. We’re not obligated to ensure he cooperates. And if Ciro bitches, I’ll handle him.”

“You’re being very calm about this.”

“Lucia’s in her first trimester. She throws up every time she smells pasta sauce, so basically, every day. There’s a small handful of things she can eat that don’t make her sick.” He looks at the plate he’s holding, which contains a massive slice of chocolate cake and nothing else. “Cake is on the good list. She’s lost three kilos in the last two months. Her doctor is unconcerned, but I’m freaking out and want her to get a second opinion.” His eyes track his wife as she talks to Alina, Rosa’s friend from the gym. “I have better things to worry about than Del Barba. Ciro likes the maneuvering, the deal-making, the endless machinations. I’ve been there; I’ve done that. But here I am, at a party with my wife, surrounded by friends, and eating delicious cake. This is my reward, Leo, and I’m going to enjoy it.” He fixes me with a serious look. “Have you told Rosa?”

“Told her what?”

His eyes narrow. “Don’t play the idiot with me. Have you told her about your first marriage?”

I take a deep breath. “No,” I confess.

“Why not?”

I wish I knew. “I’ve been having nightmares. Every night. I dream that Rosa dies. That, once again, I couldn’t protect the people I care about.”

“Tell her,” he urges. “There’s no room for secrets in a marriage, Leo. This might have started out as a way to save Rosa’s family, but anyone can see that it’s much more than that now. Rosa threw you a birthday party. She baked you a cake and invited all your friends. She deserves to know what happened with Patrizia, and you’ll feel better once you tell her.”

He’s right. I can’t explain why I’m hiding my first marriage from Rosa. There’s no reason to. She’s not going to judge me for my failures—that isn’t who she is. She’s not going to turn away from me—Rosa is far too good a person to do that.

Fear holds my tongue captive, but if you asked me what I was afraid of, I couldn’t tell you. I’m clinging onto old traumas and deep wounds, and I can’t seem to let them go.

The party windsdown at one in the morning. The caterers are leaving when I get a text from Goran.

Max Guerra’s private plane just touched down at Marco Polo.

There’s really never a dull moment, is there? Fuck.

30

ROSA

It’s late when everyone leaves, and I’m more than a little tipsy when I hand Leo his present. “Happy birthday.”

“It’s past midnight. It isn’t technically my birthday any longer.” He takes the box from me. “You didn’t have to get me anything.”

“Yes, yes, and I don’t have to cook for you either. Open it.”

There are two kinds of people—those who open packages carefully, sliding their finger under the tape so as not to ruin the wrapping paper, and those who are the rippers. Leo belongs to the latter category. He tears the paper apart and lifts the lidof the shirt box.

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