Page 64 of The Crowned Garza
While I’m processing this revelation, Saint and his men disappear into a room to meet with whoever he came to see. I’m left in the company of the wife and a younger woman who I’m assuming is the mistress, if the resentful tension between them is anything to go by. The wife keeps touching my hair as if she’s never seen textured curls before, but I resist the urge to punch her in the throat only because I heard her husband be referred to as “capo,” which I guess means he’s to be feared.
Thankfully, Saint’s meeting lasts less than fifteen minutes and I sigh like a little girl when he emerges, takes my hand, and leads me out of there.
The next four stops are the same. Mansions. Men in suits. Dons andcapos. Girlfriends and wives.
Brain stuck on “processing,” I’m quiet during the drives in between stops.
“This will be the last meet,” Saint says as he drives onto an expansive property of what looks like a farm of sorts.
“Oh, okay.”
“You’ve been quiet.” He parks under a large tree and pulls up the handbrake. “Tell me what’s going through your head.”
Idon’t even know what’s going through my head. “You’re…part of the Italian mafia.”
“Born into it, yes.”
“And you’re adon.”
“As of today, yes.”
“How does that even—I don’t… How are you able to be a mafia donand‘Guy’?”
His fingers drum against the steering wheel. “It will only be for a few days while I straighten some things out.”
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not leaving Red Cage,” he clarifies. “Guy will be back.”
“So you’re leaving, um, the mafia?”
He smiles as if he thinks I’m cute. “There’s no leavingla famiglia.”
“I don’t get it, then.”
“I’ve been working on some loopholes…” He pauses and rolls his lips contemplatively as if deciding how much to tell me. “There’s lots to it. But the quick of it is that I’ll be stepping into a ‘benefactor’ role for the time being. Figured out that it all comes down to bringing in a steady and healthy cash flow and keepingla famigliafed and safe. If everyone’s eating, everyone’s happy.”
“Oh.” I only half understand. This feels like a fever dream. “Will someone act in your place?”
“Yes.Mia sorella.”
That bit has me perking up with intrigue, a grin stretching my lips. “That sounds dope. Your sister’s reallythatlevel of badass?”
Headlights shine in the rearview mirrors as a vehicle drives onto the property.
“Ask her yourself,” he says, getting out of the car.
The vehicle pulls up next to ours and, excited to finally meet someone who knows therealhim, I spare no time getting out and hurrying around to the other side.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but the woman who exits the car is just, well, for lack of a better explanation, a woman. Who looks as innocuous and nonthreatening as a feather. Nothing that screams “fear me.”
Dressed in a modest skirt suit, she’s toweringly tall. Lithe, almost delicate. A sleek chin-length bob cut framing a plain, forgettable face that has zero resemblance to her brother’s.
I don’t know if I’m disappointed or impressed.
With a quirked smile akin to a smirk, she lifts a thin, dark brow at me then looks at Saint. “I see you brought your—”
“Tillie, this is my sister, Iseppa,” Saint cuts her off.
