She’s My Queen

12. Liars

12

LIARS

CRISTINA

S everio seems as if he wants to continue speaking, but his eyes roll back, and he slumps against the pillow.

Alarmed, I rush to his side. “Severio?”

“I put a sedative in his drink,” his brother says. “Otherwise, he won’t rest.”

“Oh my God, Corrado. But you have no idea if you can give him anything besides what he’s already taking.”

“He’ll live.”

I adjust Severio’s head on the pillow, moving a stray piece of dark hair over his forehead. He scrunches up his nose as if it tickled him. For a moment, I get to watch him as he sleeps. Hard-edged jaw, high cheekbones, straight, masculine nose. His forehead is slightly larger, projecting an impression of high intelligence.

Corrado comes over, and I move away more hastily than I should. It makes me look guilty of ogling his gorgeous but villainous brother. I feel the heat on my cheeks and know I’m blushing.

“You like my brother,” Corrado states.

“He’s a good-looking man, is all.” I shrug. “Women look at him. It’s what we do.”

“You like him,” Corrado concludes.

“Um, not really, Corrado. He disrupted my wedding and owns my entire inheritance. Not to mention he killed Gio, whom I’ve known my entire life.”

“Aww,” Corrado says. “Poor Gio. But my brother did none of those things.”

A memory of Corrado arriving on the terrace like a hurricane and putting an entire magazine into Gio’s body enters my mind. Corrado ended Gio. What kind of man kills his own uncle?

“You killed him,” I say.

“Killed who?” he asks with a smirk.

“Gio. You emptied your magazine into him.”

“Gio was never here, and neither was I.”

“What are you talking about?” My hands start to shake, and I wish I could shove them into pockets. I settle for interlocking my fingers in front of me.

Corrado walks toward me, and I walk back until I hit my bottom on the chair.

Corrado rounds the bar. “You can’t escape unless you throw yourself from the terrace, but I don’t think you’ll do that. Have a drink with me. Cooperate with me. Convince me my brother is right about you.” He’s fixing another drink.

I sit at the bar. “What did he say?”

“That you are innocent.”

“I am. I’ll take some ice, if you don’t mind.”

Corrado makes us Kahlúa. Mine over ice.

He sits across from me. “Gio and your father were lifelong friends, weren’t they?”

I nod, sipping the drink, oddly comfortable sitting in a white shirt with no bra across from this violent man. Corrado has no interest in me whatsoever, and that makes him “safe” to be around in my current state of undress and distress.

“Would you say what one did, the other must’ve done as well?”

“I really don’t know.”

“Have they ever worked from your father’s office?”

“Rarely.”

“Do you mind if I search his office?”

“Be my guest.” I breathe a sigh of relief as I rise. He’ll take me home and away from this villa, where I can wear my clothes and move on with my life. Or whatever is left of it. Wait? What is left of it?

I’m supposed to be married to Gio for another few months, after which we were going to file for separation, which would be no easy thing if we actually married in the Catholic Church. We didn’t. The fake marriage would dissolve itself, and we could have gone our separate ways even if we stayed on the island.

Now I’m a widow?

If so, I’ve lost the deal Gio and I made, which means when I get home, I must hide the hotel deed. I can only hope that Gio separated the hotel from the resort property before Severio came in and took everything.

Corrado jerks his head toward the door. “Get dressed. We’re leaving.”

“I came here in my wedding dress with a cape covering it.”

Corrado walks into the spare bedroom and comes out with my coat. He drapes it over my shoulders, and I notice he smells different from Severio. More woodsy. Sandalwood?

When he opens the door, I move toward it. “Wait. What about my wedding dress?”

“Severio burned it.”

I watch him for a sign that he’s joking, but all he does is jerk his head again. “Come on.”

The man with the devil tattoo over his jugular, Jesse, I believe, walks in as we walk out. He’s carrying plywood and a hammer. We move out of his way and, after he passes us, close the door behind him. Corrado descends the steps, passing more guards.

He’s fast and long-legged, and I struggle to keep up with him. When we get to the street, he puts on sunglasses and offers a local boy on a bicycle money for his ball cap. The boy happily obliges, and Corrado dons the cap, looking around us as if assessing threats.

“Are we in danger?” I ask.

“Always.”

“Jesus. How do you live like this?”

“I carry two Walthers.”

“Walthers?”

“The maker of my guns is Walther.”

“Ah.”

“Where to?” he asks.

I hook my thumb behind me as he fixes my cape over my head. We’re a pair of criminals sneaking through the streets of my town in broad daylight, and Corrado’s long strides make me almost jog next to him.

He notices I’m trying to catch my breath and slows down. “How tall are you?”

“Short.”

He chuckles. “I’ve noticed.”

“So,” I start, trying to get to know him better. “Have you visited here before?”

“You mean this island?”

I nod as we round the corner.

“We came once while my father was alive, but I don’t remember much of it.”

“Did you attend church?”

Corrado smiles a wicked sort of smile. “Mmhm. Devil loves the nuns.”

“Gross.” Blasphemous and gross.

We don’t speak after that because the speed-walking is affecting my lung capacity, meaning I’m panting like a golden retriever who chased a racehorse, and by the time we reach my house, I’m ready to collapse.

I sit down on the front steps.

Corrado tucks a hand under my armpit and helps me up.

He’s pretty much dragging me. I manage the last few steps to the front door. I lean on it for support at the same time that my mother swings it open.

I lose my support, stumble, and know I can’t catch myself in time to stop from hitting the marble in the foyer. I smack it with the side of my body and bounce off once. Since I’m curvy, my cushions are plentiful, and I break no bones. But also, while I’m not hurting from the fall other than a sting on my side that’ll go away shortly (this isn’t the first time I’ve tumbled), my pride is hurt.

I wiggle my feet as I sit up in the foyer and fix my hair. “Hi, Mom.”

Corrado offers me a hand, and I take it to rise and arrange myself before my mother scolds me for bringing a guest uninvited.

“Cristina,” she says, looking between me and Corrado as he stands beside me. “And Corrado Mancini.”

He slams the door closed. “Start talking, Maria.”

My mother drops to her knees and takes Corrado’s hand in both of hers. She touches her forehead to his knuckles. “I had nothing to do with it, Corrado,” she sobs unconvincingly. After spending a single day with the Mancini men, I know they can tell fake from real in a matter of seconds, and I’m terrified of what my mother knows.

He’s not reaching for his Walthers, which I interpret as great news. He lets her beg before spitting on her and moving off toward the office. He knows exactly where my father’s study is.

I should’ve known better. The Order knows everything, and I’ve brought a viper into my family’s nest.

Huddling on the floor, my mother glares up at me, all her fake tears gone. “All you had to do was marry Gio. Was that too much to ask, hm?”

“I was going to marry him. You and Gio seemed to have pissed off the wrong people, don’t you think?”

I peek in the direction of the open office, where Corrado’s searching my father’s desk drawers. Some of those are locked. He’ll need a key.

“What’s he looking for?” I ask.

Corrado disappears from view, but returns shortly with a fire poker that he uses to break into Father’s locked drawers. Who needs a key when you can just break in?

Corrado looks up. From his angry expression, I take it he’s found nothing.

He marches out of the office. He yanks my mother up and presses her against the door, then backs away, clearly barely containing his anger. I understand him. I do. His brother was almost murdered, and it’s apparent to anyone who bothers to look that Corrado loves his family, particularly his older brother.

It’s also clear he thinks my mother knows something I don’t.

“Where is the Capone family ledger, Maria?”

We have a ledger?

“I don’t know,” my mother lies.

Corrado reaches for his weapon. This man doesn’t bluff, so I scream, “Wait! I’ll find it. Mom, what am I looking for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Damn it, Mom. Tell me!”

“A green leather-bound book,” Corrado says. “Your father carried it to Frenchy’s at the end of each month.”

“I know where it is.”

“Cristina,” my mother warns. “That’s the only leverage we have. They’ll kill us once they find it.”

“They who?”

“The Head Triad.”

I guess that’s what Severio and his siblings are called. The triad. Very fitting considering other criminal organizations are named triads too.

“I’ll give you the ledger if you swear to me you won’t hurt my mother.”

“I swear,” Corrado says immediately.

“He’s lying,” she spits.

“You have my word.”

“No,” my mother says. “I want a position in the Order. I can help clean up the mess, and you’ll need someone local to clean up the mess.”

“I have locals.”

“I know all of Gio’s political contacts. You’ll lose powerful ties when they figure out he’s disappeared. They’ll be asking for me.”

She doesn’t know Gio’s dead yet. I can see Corrado’s calculating now. She wasn’t involved in that, and she’s not lying about her position in Gio’s political career.

Corrado takes a moment too long.

I’m about to lose it when he says, “You have a deal.”