“What happened to you?” I ask her, watching her eyes all along. “What made you like this?”
She watches me, too, then turns her head away. “I’m tired.”
“No. Look at me.” When she doesn’t, I take her chin and make her look. “Something happened to you. What was it?”
Her eyes search mine as I explore hers for answers. The brilliant jewel blue grows cloudy, the whites growing pink as they water. Tears slide out of the corner of each eye and slip over her temples. She doesn’t try to cover them. She doesn’t have the energy to. She’s using up her reserves to hide herself from me.
“Tell me what happened to you.” My voice is quieter, but I want to know. I want more than anything to know what it was that broke her.
Her expression changes, hardening, her jaw setting. “What doesn’t kill you makes you stronger,” she says flatly, not like herself at all, and tugs free. I let her roll over onto her side, her back to me. “I’m tired.”
“Killing a man will do that to you.” I draw the blanket up over her narrow shoulders and lean close to her ear, combing her hair back with my fingers. “I’m going to find out, Dandelion.”
No response. Utter stillness in fact. She’s holding her breath. What will happen when I leave this room? Will she break down and sob? Maybe. But I know one thing. It won’t be remorse for what she did to that man. Our dandelion is dark. And I will uncover what made her that. Who made her that.
7
AMADEO
“You all right?” Bastian asks as we pull out of the gates and head toward Positano, where Sonny visits one of his regular whores. She’s apparently become such a favorite that he bought the house for her. She must be a hell of a fuck. Although she is all of eighteen while he’s in his late fifties.
When I glance at Bastian, I catch my reflection in the rearview mirror and notice how the line between my eyebrows has deepened. I merge into traffic, two more SUVs following ours. Jarno has men stationed nearer the woman’s house as well.
“I’ll be fine. It’s fucked up, that’s all.”
“No shit.”
“Bruno arranged a meeting with Tilbury while we’re in New York by the way.”
“How did he do that?”
“Told the doctor our sister was in need of his services.” I know at the mention of sister, Bastian thinks of Hannah. I wonder what he remembers of her. It’s strange how memories fade. How the faces of the dead fade.
“You think it’ll explain what happened in the barn?”
I shrug a shoulder. “Maybe. Give us a clue at least.”
“I don’t think even she has a clue.”
“It’s the missing year. I know it in my gut.”
We arrive at the woman’s house an hour and a half later. It’s a small cottage outside of town that Sonny gifted her. It’s nice with access to the water. No gates here. When our entourage parks along the edges of the steep, narrow road leading to the entrance, Sonny’s two soldiers who stand casually at the front doors straighten, alerted. One disappears inside. He’ll announce our arrival. I’m surprised there aren’t more. Sonny usually travels with an entourage like he’s the fucking king.
Bastian and I climb out of the SUV with our soldiers, who fan out around the property. I don’t expect Sonny to make a run for it, but it’s time to put him in his place.
Bastian and I head toward the front entrance. The man standing as the lone sentry looks at us, then at the men behind us. He hesitates, unsure whether or not to block our entrance or draw his weapon.
“Don’t,” I tell him. He’s outnumbered, and he’s not completely stupid.
“What the hell is the meaning of this?” Sonny demands, coming through the door as he tugs his shirt over his head. I catch a glimpse of his hairy, round stomach I wish I didn’t. He stops short when he sees the number of men assembled.
“Uncle,” I say by way of greeting. Bastian and I climb the stairs. Sonny stands his ground, and I walk right up to him. The man at his back puts a hand on the butt of his pistol. “Tell your man to stand down.”
Sonny’s gaze moves over my shoulder again. I guess he’s counting my men. He turns to his soldier and nods, and the man folds his hands in front of him.
“Aren’t you going to invite us in?” Bastian asks.
Sonny steps aside, and we enter. I take in the living room. It’s overcrowded, every surface covered with something gilded and hideous. A woman rushes out of the bedroom wearing what I’m sure is the smallest bikini ever made. She’s pulling on a wrap and her long hair is loose down her back, her lipstick smeared. She stops dead when she sees us all.
“Nadia, right?” Bastian says, looking her over. She tugs her wrap closer and shifts her gaze to Sonny. “Did we interrupt?” he asks her. “You’ve got a little something,” he starts, pointing at her mouth.
The woman flushes and wipes the corner of her mouth.
“What the fuck is the meaning of this, Amadeo?” Sonny asks.
“We’re going to need you to leave,” Bastian tells the woman and makes a point of taking out his wallet and unfolding a couple hundred-dollar bills. He holds them out to her, and her gaze shifts from Bastian to the money then to Sonny.
“This is my house,” she says stupidly.
“Yeah, well, if you’d rather stay,” Bastian tells her. Tucking his hand into his pocket, he pushes his jacket back so she can see his pistol.
“Nadia. Go,” Sonny says.
“Yes, Nadia. Go.” Bastian takes more bills from his wallet. I don’t miss the way my uncle looks at her. It’s certainly not like him to care about anyone other than himself. “We’ll try not to make a mess,” Bastian tells her with a grin that quickly disappears as he gestures for her to exit. She gives Sonny one more look before taking the money and heading to the door, her heels clicking all the way. “Your wife know about her? Or the dozen others? I do hope you’re using a condom, Uncle.”
“Explain yourselves,” Sonny says once she’s gone. “You can’t just charge in here like you own the fucking place—”
“My wife was attacked.”
Sonny’s face gives nothing away. He doesn’t even blink.
“She’s fine, thanks for asking,” Bastian says, moving to close the windows and blinds. Sonny doesn’t miss what he’s doing.
“An attack on your wife has nothing to do with me,” he says.
“No?”
“Of course not. What reason would I have to attack her?”
“To show us you can,” I say. “Six of our men were executed.”
His eyes narrow.
“Twelve of yours are dead.”
“It wasn’t me, nephew,” he says, sitting on the couch casually, too casually.
I sit on the edge of the coffee table.
His eyes narrow, but he also leans away. He’s nervous.
“If it wasn’t you, then who was it?”
He shrugs a shoulder. “You have many enemies. Where should I begin?”
“Uncle, have you ever considered just telling the truth?” Bastian asks, coming up behind him and setting the muzzle of his gun to the back of Sonny’s head. Sonny doesn’t blink. I hold eye contact with him. When Bastian cocks the gun, Sonny flinches. “Say the word, brother.”