She’s My Queen

10. Suspect #1

10

SUSPECT #1

CRISTINA

S everio remains at the villa overseeing the cleanup, his wounds plugged enough that they’re not bleeding. When they pick up Gio’s body, Severio closes his eyes for a moment. I think he grieves for his uncle, even if he’s the one who made me distribute the poison to see which of them would die.

That seems like it happened a year ago. Everything before the attempt on Severio’s life seems like it happened last year.

We’re sitting on the couch, which someone covered with plastic so we don’t stain it with blood. Gio’s body and the debris are cleaned up before the resort security arrives. Apparently, someone overheard some gunshots coming from this part of the property and called the front desk, who called Giuseppe Ionolo. We call him Peppe.

Corrado meets him and two other men at the door and tells them the gunshots came from “somewhere over there.” When Peppe refuses to leave, I’m afraid Corrado will shoot him. As I try to get up to answer the door, Severio clasps my wrist again. “Where are you going?”

“I want to talk to Peppe.”

“Who is that?”

“The security guard at the door.”

“Corrado will handle him.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of.”

Severio smiles. “He’ll settle it. Don’t worry. Birds are rarely Corrado’s targets.”

By birds, he means men and women who aren’t in the Order. I want to say he shot at me, but then remember I’m not a bird anymore. I’ve been well and truly initiated.

“Are you going to be okay?” I ask Severio.

“Maybe. Maybe not. You worried about me?”

“You saved my life.” He covered my body and took two bullets for me. He also protected me from Corrado, who would’ve ended me for sure. When he saw his wounded brother covered in blood, Corrado snapped. Gio was alive until Corrado unloaded an entire magazine into him. Had it not been for Severio’s protection, I would have ended up in the pile of bags Jesse took out minutes ago.

“Now, you owe me.” Severio’s cold again, the mask of the Order leader back on his face. I’m unsure if it ever slipped off. Owing Severio my life seems worse than dying. I shouldn’t think this way, but I’m thinking this way now that the most dangerous, and most resilient, man I know is telling me I owe him the fact I’m breathing.

Instinctively, I glance at the door.

Severio’s hand on the back of the couch moves to my nape, fingers tracing, then pinching my jaw with his thumb and forefinger, forcing my gaze back to him.

“I know you want to run,” he says. “I don’t blame you.”

“I don’t want to run. I have nowhere to go besides down the street to my house. I want to go home.”

“Smart girl. But in case you think about running, know that all your assets are frozen by now and the ones that aren’t will be. I will personally ensure you don’t leave my sight while I’m recovering.”

He reminds me of how he messed up my life. “Maybe you won’t recover.”

“Maybe you can pray for me.”

Dr. Tru walks in with two nurses, both of whom I went to school with. They’re identical twins, Nedda and Jacinta. Jacinta must have recently dyed her hair blonde. They’re carting in hospital equipment and setting up what looks like a mobile hospital.

Are they in the Order? I wonder.

Dr. Tru, our only surgeon on the island, drops his large duffel bag on the table.

“Cristina, darling, are you okay?”

“I’m fine.” I point at Severio. “He’s been shot.”

Dr. Tru nods and regards Severio, whose eyes are narrowed and looking between me and Tru. When I was in my early twenties, I went on two dates with Tuan Tru, but we didn’t work out. He tried a few times after that, but gave up when he got the clue I wasn’t interested. He’s a nice man. Treated me kindly. We didn’t have chemistry, is all.

I’d forgotten all about it. Not even sure why I’m thinking about it now, but maybe I’m wondering what my life would’ve looked like if I stayed with him. He married Sofia Favarolo, who teaches third grade. They have two kids and a Dalmatian.

“May I see your wounds?” he asks Severio as he sits on the living room table across the couch.

“No, you may not,” Severio says sarcastically. “I called you here to flirt with my girlfriend.”

The medical staff freezes, unsure what to do.

Corrado comes to stand near me again. “She’s not his girlfriend.”

This close to Corrado, I want to crawl out of my skin. I don’t notice how much nearer I move toward Severio until I’m plastered against him and his arm comes around my shoulder.

“It’s okay,” he comforts me again, and I just feel terrible that he’s having to do that while wounded. I’m handling this shooting like a baby. Grow up already.

But I can’t. Even though I’m not shaking now, it’s only been an hour since bullets flew all around us. Granted, it’s probably Severio who’s not handling it the way most people handle a brush with death, and I’m the one who’s being normal about it. He speaks calmly and remains chill enough to direct everyone around him when freaking out and being scared should be a part of the ordeal.

“Do everything you can,” Corrado says to Tuan, then points at me, crooking his finger. “Come here. I want to speak with you.”

It’s a good thing Severio tightens his grip around my shoulders. “She’s staying.”

Corrado fires back in a language I can’t make out. Not French, English, or Italian. Not Spanish either, but maybe adjacent. I’m trying to make out any Latin words, but they speak as if they’re fluent and sound like they’re arguing.

Most foreign languages sound like arguments, but I think this one might very well be.

Dr. Tru is examining Severio’s wounds, and when he uncovers the one on his calf, blood gushes out. Severio pauses and looks down. “Aw fuck.” His eyes roll into the back of his head and he sways, but Severio manages to steady himself. “If I pass out, Corrado will scare you because he’s worried about me. But he won’t touch you. Nobody will.”

With that, Severio’s head plops back, and his eyes close.

I sit up on my knees.

Tuan checks his pulse and then gets the nurses working on his patient. Corrado drops the back of the couch down so that it turns into a queen-sized bed we can use to turn Severio on his belly. I move out of the way when I see Nedda bringing bags of blood and hanging them up.

“We only had O pos at the blood bank and no time to type,” she says to Corrado as she hands the bags.

“He’s O pos,” Corrado says.

Wow. How does he know that? If this were my dad, I wouldn’t have known. It never came up.

The nurses and the doctor work on Severio. I wish he’d gone to the hospital, where they could care for him better.

I chew my nail.

Corrado leans in. “Are you worried he might live?”

I drop my hand. “I wish him well.”

“Do you?” Corrado jerks his head toward the bedroom. I follow him there, but he doesn’t enter, choosing instead to lean on the wall near the door.

I cross my arms over my chest. “Why do you suspect me? I was here when it happened. Do you think I orchestrated a hit on myself?”

“Was it Gio?”

“I don’t know.”

“You must know something,” he hisses in my face.

“I know nothing. I swear it.”

“I don’t believe you. Get in here.” He twists the handle.

Be alone with Corrado? I don’t think so. “I’d rather not.”

“I’m not asking. Get in.”

I remain in the living room.

Corrado pushes the bedroom door open wider and walks into the room. I can tell by his expression he’s truly at the end of his rope and that I don’t have a choice. Severio is undergoing minor surgery. Regardless of what he said, he can’t guarantee what Corrado will do.

If I stay here, he’ll start shooting. If I walk into the bedroom, he might kill me quietly. Inside, alone with him, at least I’ll spare the other three people.

I move toward him, and when my knees start wobbling, Corrado catches me under my armpit and leads me the rest of the way. I sit at the foot of the bed, and he closes the door. Somehow, I remember I’m filthy, and I get off the bed so as not to dirty the sheets. My knees give out, and I drop to the floor, a mess of tears again.

This time, I bend over and hold my belly as I cry.

Corrado neither comforts me nor confronts me. He stands there watching me like I’m a piece of dirt on his shoe. I allow myself to cry as long as I need to, then calm down by rocking and finally sit up with my back against the bed.

Corrado crouches in front of me and scrubs his jaw. “If you’re just a girl caught at the wrong time in the wrong place, then I promise I’ll make this right. I’ll find whoever did this, and I’ll hang pieces of their bodies on my Christmas tree.”

“Oh God.”

“Mmhm. But if I find out you’re lying, you’re a good actress, and I’ll shove an Oscar down your throat. Now, tell me what happened. Word for word. Leave nothing out.”

I wipe my face, and Corrado leaves to wet a towel and bring it to me.

I use it on my face and the front of my neck, then I wipe my bloody hands, which can’t seem to stop shaking. He sits cross-legged in front of me and gives me all his attention. It’s unnerving, to say the least.

I narrate the events of the morning after we crossed paths in the hallway. As far as his emotions go, Corrado’s face gives nothing away, not even when I tell him about the poison. He doesn’t interrupt me either until I finish recalling the entire morning.

“He got his wounds protecting you.”

I nod.

“Could you have been the target?”

My breath hitches, and Corrado presses two fingers over my pulse. “Breathe.” He breathes with me, almost as if showing me how. As soon as I calm down, he removes his hand. I notice that his eyes stray toward the gauze covering my tattoos and not my breasts. I appreciate that more than anyone could understand.

“You said you slapped my brother.”

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I was angry with him. I was concerned about his life, and he found it funny.”

“I’m not mad about that. I’m surprised, is all. Tell me, when he fucked you last night, did he breed you?”

I gape.

Corrado expects an answer. “Did he?”

“I wouldn’t call it breeding.”

“I don’t give a shit what you’d call it. Did he or didn’t he use a condom?”

“We didn’t have sex.”

Corrado seems confused. “I saw you in my brother’s bed wearing his T-shirt.”

“We didn’t have sex,” I repeat.

Corrado scrubs his jaw. Cracks his neck. “Whatever. I don’t know what kind of kinks Severio’s trying out with you, and I can’t say I’m interested…unless—” He side-eyes me, then reaches for my front.

I slap his hand away.

He reaches again.

I slap it away, now starting to panic.

I think he notices my response because he lifts his hands. “I only want to see the tattoo.”

“He said it’s a serpent.”

Corrado nods. “I want to see it. For myself.”

I start to peel off the gauze just as someone knocks on the door.

Nedda’s voice drifts inside. “Severio is awake and calling for you.”

“Coming,” Corrado answers, but he doesn’t move toward the door. He enters the bathroom, and I hear a gush of water hitting the bath. A moment later, he’s in front of me and offering me a hand. I take it, and he helps me stand up, then walks me to the tub and sits me on the edge. The man drew me a bath. With bubbles.

“Thanks,” I whisper, surprised he’s done this, but then I remember he’s married to a woman with a kind smile, so he does have a softer side.

Corrado’s fingers close over my throat. “You seem like a sweet girl, but if I find out you’re playing my brother, I’ll meet you in hell, where I’ll torture you until Lucifer is bored.” He releases me and jerks his head toward the bath. “Clean up and take a nap if you need to. I’m on duty now.”

I must have a death wish because I stop Corrado at the exit.

“Hey,” I say, making him turn. “I’m not going to hell.”