Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 56365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 282(@200wpm)___ 225(@250wpm)___ 188(@300wpm)
Giulia touches my shoulder, looking at me with evident emotion. “She doesn’t know what she’s saying. Try not to overthink it.”
“You’re right,” I murmur. “It’s just so weird. She’s never said anything like that before. She doesn’t even talk about Mom, really, not ever. I can’t even remember the last time she mentioned the fire. The cops and the fire department all said it was an accident.”
“Hey …” Giulia takes both my shoulders in her hands. “This all sounds suspiciously like overthinking to me.”
“You’re right. Shall I make us some coffee?”
Without waiting for an answer, I walk into the kitchen and begin making it. I know what Giulia said is right. Aunt Rosa probably won’t even remember saying any of that to me. She’s bringing it up a lot, and I’d rather not deal with it. I still remember the fireman kicking down my bedroom door, pulling me into his arms, and running through the house as my child’s brain tried to figure out what was happening.
“You’re still thinking about it, huh?” Giulia says when I sit down.
“What if it wasn’t a nightmare? Now that she’s ill, what if she’s ready to tell the truth?”
“Everyone agreed it was an accident. I know you’ve always wanted some rhyme or reason to it, Elena, but I can’t imagine Rosa lying to you about something this important. First, how would she know more than the fire department? And if she did, why wouldn’t she tell anybody, especially you?”
“She said she was being punished for it.”
Giulia snaps, “So what, you think your aunt burned down the house?”
“I’m not saying that.”
“I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be harsh. I just don’t want you to torture yourself over this. I remember how you used to obsess about it, but you’ve done so well these last few years. You’ve moved on. I’m proud of you.”
I take a sip of scalding coffee as if I can burn the thoughts away. “You’re right. I can’t go down this rabbit hole. I’ll never climb out.”
“Just think, when she’s better, if it’s still playing on your mind, you can ask her what she meant.”
Shaking my head, I say, “No, you’re right. I’ll drive myself crazy if I keep thinking about this. Remember before this mob-marriage thing, when Aunt Rosa was convinced she could fly? It wasn’t like I sat at her bedside, waiting for her to float away. I’m just being silly.”
Yet deep down, something niggles at me. She seemed so, so convincing.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DARIO
“How’s the land grab going?” I ask, looking across the desk at my father.
Salvatore Moretti steeples his fingers, watching me in a calculating way that reminds me of Paolo. Then his expression softens, barely visible. Only I would be able to notice it. “It’s going,” he says after a pause. “You know what this city’s like—red tape upon red tape. However, we’ll legally own almost half the city when it’s done. Legal, legitimate ownership that will outlast me and outlast you. This is the kind of arrangement you can pass on to your children.”
I look down at the desk, resisting the urge to grit my teeth.
“Am I making you uncomfortable?” Father asks.
“Call me arrogant,” I say, “but I have an inkling I know where this conversation is going. You’re going to tell me you disapprove of Elena.”
Fierce anger enters my voice. Maybe this makes me a hypocrite. Last night, after the steaminess, I spent the rest of the evening attempting to convince myself I didn’t feel a goddamn thing. I wasn’t successful, but that gives me no right to be pissed at my father.
“Your mother seems to have taken a liking to her,” Father says, not sounding too happy about it.
“I thought she was just drunk.”
“This morning at breakfast, she commented on how charming Elena was.”
“Did you disagree?”
“I reserved my opinion,” Father replies. “I have also, at least so far, reserved my instinct to have my men look into her history. I trust you, son, that you’ve vetted and confirmed her as a suitable match. I’m not working this hard to establish us as the most powerful Family on the East Coast only to have it turn to ash once I’m gone.”
“Don’t talk like that,” I tell him. “You’re going to be around for a long time yet.”
“Legacy,” he says fiercely. “That’s what keeps me going at this point. When I was your age, you were already a teenager. I want you to have a family, Dario. I want you to know what it’s like to hold your child in your arms for the first time.”
“I thought you wanted me to marry a proper girl from a proper family so that we looked suitably upper class to the rest of the city.”
“You can have both,” he says, with a hint of desperation, which isn’t how Salvatore Moretti usually behaves.