Page 59 of Souls and Sorrows

“I find it alarming how unconcerned you seem with your daughter’s welfare,” I say, crossing my ankles. “You haven’t asked about her, and I know she hasn’t been visiting you, so it’s not like you’re keeping tabs on her.”

“Ah, but clearly, you are.” His lips curve up. “If there’s a warrant out to search her, it means they’ve found something. Vitus wouldn’t risk involving officials unless he’s trying to get an arrest. Otherwise, he’d just steal her away from you. He still wants her, you know. Or wants her name anyway. I’m surprised he hasn’t intervened yet.”

Anger throbs behind my eyes.I should’ve put a bullet in him outside the club.

Rafael continues, “She’s slippery, that girl. Unpredictable. You never know how she’s going to react or what she’ll do when she’s upset.”

“You don’t give her enough credit.”

“Credit is given where credit is due, Mr. Primrose. Ariana is hardly a beacon of emotional stability.” He presses his palms into the table, sighing. “Then again, sometimes, I think she’s lucky she turned out the way she did, given the mother she was cursed with.”

The comment strikes me as odd, because in all the research I’ve done on the Ricci family over the years, strained relationships within the immediate five were never touched upon. In fact, it was always widely assumed by the media that Rafael, his wife, and his daughters were incredibly tight-knit, as families in the underground tend to be.

They rely on their connectedness for discretion and networking.

But I suppose they’d think the same thing about my family, and that couldn’t be further from the truth.

“And what of her father?” I ask, rejoining the conversation.

When he meets my gaze again, there’s an almost-thoughtful glint in his eyes. But when he blinks, it’s gone, and I think his daughter is far more like him than he lets on.

“He couldn’t save her from her mother,” he says, looking past me at the wall.

Tapping the table, I wait for him to elaborate, but nothing ever comes. It’s like he’s checked out, stuck reliving his mistakes. I gather my papers and stuff them back into my briefcase, then stand up, dusting off my jacket. The electronic security system bleats from a speaker above the door, and then it opens up, and a guard steps in to retrieve the prisoner.

I nod at him in passing, silently acknowledging my thanks for letting me in. Normally, prisoners of Rafael’s status aren’t allowed one-on-one meetings like this, but clearly, the man has more pull than he’s willing to admit.

A throat clears, making me pause just as I’m crossing through the door.

“Ariana is not what she seems,” Rafael says. “She is a deeply broken girl and not the kind of broken you can repair. She’s shattered glass that slices deep before you even realize what you’ve stepped on.”

Halting in place, I step back inside, requesting five more minutes as my interest piques. I’m surprised he seems so attuned to his daughter, given the dismissive way he acts toward her.

The officer grumbles under his breath, but slams the door shut behind him anyway, leaving us in semi-private.

I stop in front of the table. “Tell me more about her.”

Rafael drums his fingers on the metal. “She likes roses and expensive jewelry. Stuff her nonna had and would gift to her, because her mother would refuse to buy it outright, and I was hardly around to realize what a bitch Carmen was to her. I remember she used to take bubble baths nightly in high school, soaking her feet and muscles after rehearsal. Her feet were always purple, and always bloody.”

“And Ricci Inc.? How did she feel about that?”

Did she care if it went under?

Or would the burning of this empire set her free?

He shrugs, giving me an odd look. “She wasn’t into it. Said the politics and drug running were boring. Frankly, how anyone can say something is boring while they spend their time spinning in a tutu is beyond me—”

I hold my hand up, effectively cutting him off as my mind begins weaving thoughts together, figuring out a way to free Ariana from the clutches of her demons.

“Okay,” I tell him, unsure of whether he’ll agree or not, but still willing to try. “What happens if the company no longer exists?”

18

Dippinga roller into the tray of paint, I don’t bother turning around as the bell above the studio door dings.

I don’t need to look to know who it is.

He comes at the same time every day, as if checking to make sure I haven’t burned the place to the ground yet.

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