Page 165 of Bitter Poetry
“I don’t understand why someone hasn’t contacted us yet,” Rocco says. “Unless she orchestrated her own disappearance… Do you think she orchestrated her own disappearance?”
He’s supposed to be a fucking consigliere, why is he asking us?
“I’m just Jero’s shadow,” I say.
Jero gives me a sharp look. I keep reminding myself of that conversation where he implied he was on team Christian andDante. But I’ve been bluffing like a pro for two years, and it’s possible Jero is too.
He covered for me when he caught me putting my hands on Carmela.
He covered for her meeting with Dante.
I’m certain Ettore would have already started pulling my fingernails if he knew either of those things, but this is seat of your pants flying, and I can’t be fucking sure.
“Nothing is off the table at this point.” Jero’s eyes go to the door where the voices have once more risen to a roar—sounds like Bosco is giving it back to Ettore. “It could be anyone, and they could be waiting for any number of reasons, including to fuck with Ettore. We’re wasting time here. Give us the names you’ve got. Christian and I will have a gander. Keep working on the rest.”
Rocco tears out a piece of paper from the pad and pushes it across the desk toward us.
A loud thump sounds on the other side of Ettore’s office door.
Rocco sends us a frantic pleading look as Jero glances at the paper and shoves it deep into his pocket.
Jero doesn’t look back, and neither do I.
It’s late and dark outside when I pull out of the parking garage. It’s been raining and the streets are slick and wet.
“Anything you want to tell me, mate?” Jero asks.
“No, don’t think there is.”
The ants finally calm down.
He doesn’t ask me more.
CHAPTER 52
CARMELA
The bedding is tangled around me, and I’m drenched in a cold sweat. My heart is hammering. I press my palm to the center of my chest and force my breathing to steady.
It’s late and dark in the bedroom, but the door to the corridor is open an inch and light spills through.
Dante is here. I can hear a very faint rumble of him talking.
My heart skips a beat. Just him being close calms me and kicks off a pulse of arousal in my core.
I wonder who he is talking to… Is Christian here? Leon? Or someone else.
Pushing the covers aside, I rise and use the bathroom. I splash cold water on my face, pat it dry with a towel, and stare at my reflection.
I’ve changed inside. It’s really confusing how I look just the same on the outside.
Not entirely the same. My hair could do with a trim, and instead of the Victoria’s Secret nighties Ettore favored, I’m wearing Dante’s T-shirt to bed. The changes sound superficial; it’s not like I care about my hair needing a trim.
But I don’t think I can wear Victoria’s Secret ever again… which is a shame now that I think about it, and I can imagine Dante’s face, how the expression would light me up, whereas my husband’s always made my skin crawl…
He said he wants to make me his wife.
Do I want that?
