Page 14 of Mafia Virgin (The Kings of Italy)

“Prego,” he said with a deferential nod. “Signora Buscetta, a pleasure to meet you. I am Francesco Zaniolo, your husband’s incredibly handsome friend and right-hand man.”

Buscetta snarled something in Italian, but the only word I caught waspig.

I shook Francesco’s hand. “Nice to meet you, Signore Zaniolo.”

“Please, call me Zani.”

“Then you must call me Emma.”

Don Buscetta grunted. I frowned at him, even though he ignored me. Not a big talker, this man.

Awkward silence filled the car as the elevator descended until I blurted, “I’m going back to Toronto.”

“You are not leaving until it’s safe,” Buscetta said through clenched teeth. “And that is the last I want to hear about it, capisce?”

Then the doors opened and he bolted through them, walking briskly into the lobby. Zani put a hand at the small of my back and led me out through the front entrance.

“Get in,” Zani instructed, gesturing to a sedan parked on the street. I could see Buscetta’s bulk in the driver’s seat.

“That’s not necessary. I’ll find a hotel.” Shoot, I didn’t have any money. Could I get my sisters to reserve a room for me without explaining why I was in Palermo?

Ugh. Probably not.

“You have nowhere to go.” Zani gently guided me toward the car. “And it isn’t safe for you to be alone here. Come, Emma. Let’s, the three of us, figure this out together.”

I didn’t see the point in arguing. I hadn’t slept in more than twenty-four hours and all I had to eat today was an orange. At least Zani was coming with me. He seemed more friendly and reasonable than Buscetta. “Fine, but this is only because I’m too exhausted to fight you.”

Zani opened the back door of the car for me and I slid inside. Buscetta stared straight ahead, his fingers tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. His knuckles were still bleeding. I stared at his large hands, remembering what he did upstairs. I didn’t think I’d ever forget it.

When Zani got in and shut the door, Buscetta hit the gas and the car shot away from the curb. I quickly buckled myself in, then gripped the leather seat underneath me as the car swerved and jerked in the Palermo traffic. “Can you slow down, please? More than a million people die each year in traffic accidents.”

Buscetta said nothing, but Zani spoke up. “You have to deal with this, Mo. Are you willing to lose everything? Are you willing to start a war? Lose your life? Her life?”

Buscetta merely changed lanes, so I answered for us both. “I don’t need to stay here. We’re married. That’s enough.”

“I heard what Virga said,” Zani said. “It’s not enough—and you both know it.”

A baby.

I swallowed the panic threatening in my chest. Then I remembered who I was, who I was related to. “Listen, you only need to involve my brothers-in-law. They’ll put a stop to this and set Virga straight.”

Buscetta didn’t answer, but his shoulders remained tight as he maneuvered the car through traffic.

Zani’s response was patient, but firm. “Signora, both Ravazzani and D’Agostino—as well as your father—answer to Don Borghese, who is in agreement with Virga. Unless we want a full-scale war, we must abide by the decisions of our leaders.”

This was what Virga said back in Toronto. That, and that he would kill my father.

“Minchia!” Buscetta shouted and slapped the steering wheel with his palm. Then he took a sharp turn, throwing all of us sideways.

“It won’t be so bad,” Zani said.

Buscetta snarled something in Sicilian, and I only caught the words “scared” and “my dick.” Was he talking about me? Was he saying I would be scared of his dick? I really needed to learn the dialect down here.

I knew I wasn’t sexy or desirable. Men never noticed me like they noticed my sisters. And I was fine with that. I wasn’t trying to impress anyone. Getting into a good medical school and completing my residency required all of my focus.

That, and taking care of my dying father. Which was why I needed to be in Toronto, not here.

“Please, Don Buscetta,” I said. “It’s important that I get back to Toronto. Just drive me to the airport.”

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