She’s My Queen

31. There goes my heart

31

THERE GOES MY HEART

SEVERIO

F renchy hosts my uncle’s repast. Having gotten held up trying to propose to Cristina, who, gracefully, saved me the embarrassment of actually being rejected when I asked the big question, I’m late arriving to the restaurant. When I walk inside, everyone’s already seated, drinking, and munching on various cold cuts, dips, and bread.

I make a round and shake hands, paying my respects on the way to the table tucked into the alcove in the back that Cristina’s family used to rent out for all their occasions. It’s the best table in the house.

And it’s full of people I greet and smile at before sitting down.

I haven’t eaten all day, but I won’t eat here, of course. If I complain of hunger to Cristina, she’ll want to feed me, and since I refuse to eat at Frenchy’s, she’ll have to take me home. Or to the villa. Either way, she’s ending up with me tonight.

I miss her, and I’m not spending another night without her, even if I have to move back into the Capone house again and irritate her endlessly.

It was nice seeing her today, even under such grim circumstances. Perhaps because of the grim circumstances. Now, as a widow, she can marry again. After a year of mourning. A scandal about her involvement with me would upset the traditions, but I won’t wait or hide our relationship any longer.

We should compromise. For her sake, I’ll wait a few months. But then again, if I take her with me to Paris, we won’t have to wait at all. Hmm. Decisions, decisions. I don’t have to decide now or even by myself. We can choose together. Since I’ve never made important decisions with a woman before, my sister notwithstanding, I’m a little out of my depth.

Even Paulina lets me choose for her. Cristina, my future wife, while cute and very much submissive both in and out of the bedroom, won’t let me get away with choosing everything for her. She enjoys independence and having the freedom to make her own choices. She’s also a risk-taker. She’s not reckless, but calculated. An entrepreneur, I’d say. I like this about her.

Cristina’s mother enters the alcove. She’s wearing a black dress, and her dark hair is pulled up in an elegant, tight bun. Her intelligent brown eyes assess the room, finding me at the head of the table. She moves toward me, followed by a younger man who reminds me of someone I can’t quite place.

I stand and pull out a chair for her.

“Severio Mancini never forgets his manners.”

“Indeed.”

“Before we sit down, let me introduce you to the man I was telling you about. Roberto Ricci.”

She has told me nothing about this man, but I play along and shake his hand.

Firm grip; youthful, handsome face. A blond with green eyes, and of Slavic ancestry, I’m certain. Kind of looks like tragic Romeo. Ah. I see now. They’re probably related.

He expresses his condolences for my uncle. I express mine for his relative, and he tells me Romeo was his brother. I’m unsure what Maria Capone wants me to do with him now.

“He studied law and is interested in a position in my new government,” she says. “I was thinking I could introduce him to a few people.” She’s asking permission to place him on our watch list, meaning for him to become a cardinal. Trouble is, his brother Romeo proved slow at assessing threats, and I would rather we didn’t rush into anything lest such terrible survival instincts run in the Ricci family.

“Is Cristina here?” he asks.

Maria scans the room. “I don’t see her.”

“She’s not here,” I say in what I was sure was a measured, neutral voice. Several people pause their conversations, and the man steps back. Did I bark? Possibly. I’m annoyed that he’s asking about her.

“Where is your family gathering?” I ask him, because Romeo’s funeral was at the same time as Gio’s. The members of the Order are here. I don’t know where everyone else went, and I’m trying to send him off before he asks more questions about my future wife and the gravediggers have to bury him next to his brother.

“At Papone’s down the street,” Maria answers, “but I was thinking Roberto could dine with us.”

As a new member of the Order, Maria hasn’t a damn clue about how things operate. No birds attend Order functions, even if those functions are funerals. Maybe especially the funerals. “I’ll tell you what, let’s meet next week for lunch, and you can present me with any proposals you have. I hear you want to build another ferry.” Maria does. I have no idea what this man wants.

His eyes light up, and he shakes my hand again, thanking me for my time, yada-yada.

Once he’s gone, I remain standing, checking the entrance for Cristina. I can’t see the entry from here, so I walk through the restaurant and go outside to look down the street.

I flick my wrist and check the time on my watch. Cristina might’ve stayed for a prayer. I should’ve probably joined her and sought forgiveness from both her and the Big Man. I think I will the next time she attends.

Blaring sirens draw my attention toward an ambulance that’s trying to make its way past the jammed cars scurrying out of its way by pulling up onto the sidewalk. Thankfully, it’s a hot day out, so not too many pedestrians are on the beach, but there’re enough that they curse and have to run out of the way of the cars pulling to the curb for the ambulance.

A man dressed in a long gray skirt runs down the street, apparently after the ambulance. His cross swings back and forth before him. Father Thomas.

Dread, like mold, spreads over my lungs, my heart, my belly. It’s cold and terrible and feels like…fear. True fear. The never-before-felt kind of fear. The fear I can’t dampen. It grows into a molded forest over my lungs, and I hear myself wheezing.

Jace elbows me. “Is everything okay, boss?”

I’ve told him not to call me boss a thousand times.

From inside Frenchy’s, a woman cries out in pain. It’s not a pain that’s physical. This is the kind of pain that comes from loss, the kind of pain my grandma experienced, the kind of cry my sister cried when our father died.

Maria bursts out of the restaurant, a phone in her hand. Since I’m in her way, she runs into me, weeping. “My baby girl, my baby girl!”

I hold her up so she doesn’t crumple to the ground, yet I can barely hold myself up. Something happened to Cristina. The mere thought of it is not letting me breathe properly. Maria sobs and screams, pulling at her hair, mad with sorrow.

I restrain her and bring her closer so she doesn’t start to hurt herself. I ask her nothing, because if I hear Cristina’s dead, I won’t want to breathe. I won’t care. I’ll collapse and will myself dead too.

“Maria,” Father Thomas shouts.

I turn toward the man, who is almost at Frenchy’s.

Frenchy walks out, a phone pressed to his ear. He hangs up and looks at me. “There’s been an accident, and Cristina’s been rushed to the emergency room.”

I take a moment to process his words. People are already mobilizing themselves for the trip to the hospital. If they’re rushing her to the emergency room, she’s still alive.

I hold Maria tighter. “Maria,” I call to her, my gaze on the ambulance still making its way through the traffic jam. “Maria, look at me.”

The poor woman who went through the loss of her husband and a friend and is now facing the loss of her child looks up at me, her tearstained gaze seeking hope. “Is there anything you can do for my daughter?”

People want me to play God. I’m not the all-powerful, but she doesn’t want to hear that. “I promise I will give her my heart if that’ll save her life. How’s that?”

She blinks, having no idea that I’m going through much the same fear as she is, having no idea I’m serious about giving up my beating heart for her daughter. It would be of no use to me if she were to die anyway.

“Thank you,” Maria says. I hand her over to Frenchy while I search for Father Thomas. He’s almost reached us, but I can tell he’s struggling to close the distance. He’s pushing eighty, and walking the distance from the church to the restaurant isn’t easy. I move toward him, Jace at my side.

“Tell me,” I say, jogging toward the priest. He sees me coming and redoubles his efforts.

“None of her team of guards are answering,” Jace says.

“That means they’re dead.”

I reach Father Thomas, who’s near collapse. I grab his elbow and find a bench where he can rest and catch his breath. There’s a bruise on the man’s face, as if he fell and scraped it.

“There were men there,” he says, his breathing labored. “I saw them drag Cristina Mancini out of the church, and I tried to stop them. I swear on my life, Severio, I tried.” As he’s catching his breath, I suppress the urge to throttle him so he can speak with more clarity.

“What men?” I ask.

He shakes his head. “Never seen them before. Not from around here.”

“And?”

“They dragged her to a van. I ran after her, but”—he points at his face—“one of them hit me with the butt of his gun.” He touches his cheekbone. “It’s broken again, just like you broke it that one time you thought I was looking at her.”

“Forget that now.” He’s losing it. Old. Stressed. Near collapse. “Tell me what happened next,” I order, shaking him by the shoulders because he’s losing consciousness.

“They were pushing her inside a van, but she fought them and ran.” He starts to sob like Maria.

“Did they shoot her?” I ask. I’m not ready for the answer. I’m not ready. But I must hear what happened so I can handle the situation.

“A car hit her.”

“Jesus,” I breathe out and run a hand through my hair. Those are all the shocks I’m allowed before I must issue orders. “What color was the van?”

“What?” The priest’s eyes roll back. I shake him harder. “What color was it?”

“White,” he says. “No windows.”

I can’t release him yet, and I can’t assume anything. I must be sure, because time is of the essence. “Where is Cristina now?”

He points toward the ambulance, which has finally cleared the traffic.

Now I release him. “Help over here, Frenchy!” I shout before I sprint toward the hospital.

Jace sprints with me.

I look over at him. “You’re in charge of the search for the white van without windows.”

“That’s it?” he asks.

“Not even close.” I pick up my phone and jump over a fallen trash can and a bench, zigzagging between cars to avoid the pedestrians on the busy part of the beach. As I run along the street, I open the Order app, which looks like a game app featuring three serpents on a pot of gold. I press the red serpent and hold for longer than usual.

My phone blares, red emergency lights flashing, telling me the members’ phones are blaring too. The emergency channel opens, and I instruct it to send out a mass message to any Order members on the island.

“Members, this is the Red Serpent. We have a situation on Isola Serenella . I’m looking for a white van seen in the proximity of the church. Anyone driving it or with it is to be taken alive. I repeat: alive. I want all exits, air, and water closed and the island completely blocked off. Lock it down. Lock it all down. Nobody leaves. Anyone who departed in the last half hour is to be apprehended and questioned.”

I round the corner of the hospital just as the emergency team of two men and one woman roll Cristina out on a stretcher. There’s blood all over her face and body. They rush her into the emergency department and are wheeling her into the back when she turns her head as if she sensed me running toward her.

Our eyes lock, and I make it to her side before they push her into a room.

“Cristina.” I take her hand. It’s cold, like my grandpa’s was.

She’s trying to say something.

“Sir.” The nurse bars me with an arm across my chest, stopping me so they can bring Cristina into what I presume is an operating room. “Sir, please.”

I don’t know what this woman wants from me. I must look confused, because she points at my hand still holding Cristina’s.

“Let go of her hand,” the nurse says, her brown eyes showing sympathy.

I look down, and for a moment, I think I’m not going to let go. I’m going with her. Wherever she’s going, I’m going with her.

“Sir, please. We have to operate.”

The woman pries my hand from Cristina’s cold one, and I stand there watching as the operating room doors swing shut.

This is where her mother and everyone from Frenchy’s find me. I turn toward them and say, “We wait.” Then I make my way to the chapel, where I allow my knees to fold.