Chapter 98
She shook her head. “No, not good. Veronica… she… the first thing she does is protect me. She stood up to Inferi without thinking about herself just as she stood up to Luca to save me. That’s who she is,” Valentina continued, her hands twisting together. “Nothing else matters when it comes to me.” She swallowed. “I need to speak with you about her p>
Marco understood what she was not saying. “Fine,” he said at last. “I’ll come by tonight. It might be midnight cause I’m sure we will have a busy night planned p>
Valentina did not ask what that meant. She already knew. “Thank you, Marco,” she said softly. “And thank you for responding so quickly.” When she had sent that desperate message earlier, she had not known if anyone would make it in time.
Marco gave a small nod. “Take care, Valentina. Be safe p>
She nodded. “I will p>
He descended the porch steps and crossed the short path back to the car.
Nonnina had set Luca’s first broken finger when he was seven years old. She had stitched him when he was twelve and already learning the ways of the familia. By sixteen, she had extracted bullets. Bruises, cuts, scrapes, gunshot wounds, stab wounds, fractured ribs, dislocated shoulders, concussions that left him silent for days.
She had treated them all. She had been contracted before he ever opened his eyes. She had watched him grow from infant into a man carved from violence. She knew the map of his body.
So when Veronica was carried into the house, it was not shock that struck Nonnina.
It was fury. “Idioti, testardi, sempre così, sempre sangue p>
Veronica lay still while Nonnina worked. The knife had not pierced deeply enough to require a surgeon, but it had cut through skin.
Nonnina’s hands were steady despite her temper. She cleaned the wound thoroughly, the sting of antiseptic making Veronica’s vision blur.
Marco tried to explain what had happened. But Nonnina kept interrupting, firing questions.
Nonnina finally sat down beside her.
Veronica’s dark hair spilled across the pillow beneath her head.
“Why didn’t you let Luca handle this before it got to this p>
“Because Luca’s way of handling things will leave blood on my conscience,” she said quietly.
Nonnina’s lips curved faintly. “You want to make him good,” she said, a low chuckle rumbling from her chest.
“Is that so hard to imagine?” Veronica raised an eyebrow despite the exhaustion settling into her bones. “That he can become good p>
“He never told you about his family, did he?” Nonnina asked.
“He never talks about himself,” Vee sighed.
The drugs were beginning to blur the sharpness of her pain. The stabbing throb in her ribs softened into a dull pressure. Her limbs felt heavier, her thoughts slower.
Nonnina folded her hands in her lap, her fingers still faintly stained with iodine.
“Until you understand where he comes from,” she said, “you will not understand that he cannot be changed p>
“Changing the man,” Nonnina continued, “means he has to go to war with his entire family. No one makes it out alive.” She paused, eyes narrowing slightly as old memories surfaced. “Well, almost no one. And that is because she was American p>
“Who p>
Nonnina held her gaze. “Luca’s mother p>
“He never talks about her either,” Veronica murmured.
“For good reason,” Nonnina replied. “His ways may be extreme, but you let him take care of you, Zuccherino p>
“You know about his wife?” she asked suddenly.
“Yes. She was raised to be a Genovese,” Nonnina continued. “She had been picked out by Luca’s father since she was nothing but a baby p>
“So it was always arranged p>
“Yes p>
“Is she a good woman?” Vee asked.
“Why do you ask?” Nonnina said.
“I want to know how much guilt I need to carry for messing with another woman’s marriage p>
“You make him happy, Zuccherino. That’s all that matters p>
“It doesn’t bother you?” Vee pressed. “That he has an affair p>
“Genovese men keep mistresses all the time,” Nonnina said evenly. “Wives learn to deal with it. You get some sleep p>
Mistresses.
Was that what she would be?
Was that what he considered her?
It would not be enough. She wanted everything. And that wanting made her sick. Ashamed.
She had always believed she was good, fundamentally decent.
Luca was bad. The world said so. The law said so.
And she seemed to care that she wasn’t everything to him.
At some point tonight, when Inferi’s hand had fisted in her hair and the knife had pressed against her skin, she had been furious.
She had wanted Inferi dead. She had wanted to watch him bleed. To see his arrogance drain from his face. To hear him beg. The image had flashed in her mind with disturbing clarity.
The desire had not repulsed her in the moment.
It had satisfied her.
Her stomach turned now at the memory.
Maybe Luca’s world was not just around her.
Maybe it was seeping into her.
Luca did not need to drag her into darkness. It would invite her.
Luca did not go to her immediately he got back home. He waited until after dinner, after a cold shower. He was still angry. He had not gotten his hands on Inferi. Marco was still working on it. Luca trusted Marco’s efficiency. But it did not cool the fury burning in his chest.
What gnawed at him most was not just that Inferi had touched her.
It was that it could have been avoided.
He could have ended it the first time the man stepped out of line.
If Vee had told him.
He had sensed something was off. He had given her the benefit of the doubt.
That was his mistake.
She asked him to trust her with one cheek and did something reckless with the other.
When he arrived at her apartment, the bedroom door was half open. He pushed it open and found her standing in front of the mirror.
Her neck was plastered carefully where the blade had grazed her. Her face was a wreck.
(Brought to you by: Jennifer Willard)