Page 123 of My Dark Ever After
“Who are you to dare ask me that?” she hissed, stepping closer. “Some Americanputtana?”
I stepped closer too, my free hand falling to the slit in my dress, ready to grab the knife strapped to the inside of my other thigh. Ludo had been teaching me about wielding a dagger for the last few weeks, and I was getting good enough that with the element of surprise, I was sure I could take Donatella.
“I am Raffa’s fiancée,” I said calmly. “And a member of Clan Romano. I am free to ask you anything I want, and you are free to answer, unless you want to witness his fury when I tell him what you just called me.” My smile cut into my cheeks like knifepoints. “He is so protective of those he loves.”
Donatella’s laugh was brittle. “You think he loves you,ragazza? Your sister believed the same of such a man, and look what happened to her.”
I felt as if I had run headlong into a brick wall.
“Excuse me?”
Donatella’s sneer glowed orange in the firelight. “Her name was Gemma, wasn’t it? I recognize the cross. I saw it last summer when they stayed with me in Venice.”
My heart had slowed to a crawl, my blood like wet cement churning thickly through my veins. “You knew Gemma?”
“Keep up, child. Of course I did. I was the one who introduced them. The Albanians work through the port of Venice, and I transport the goods for Raffa and those eastern European gangsters in the east. With his ties to Venice, it made sense for Raffa to make him a liaison to my outfit, just as Carmine is with the Albanians and Renzo is for those scum in the south.”
“Who?” I whispered.
She waved her hand, gold bangles clanging together. “Who? I am surprised you don’t know, given you have been living with him for some time. You are staying at Villa Romano, no?”
Dread poisoned every breath I struggled to take into my suddenly weak lungs.
“Who?” I repeated.
But I knew.
I knew.
“Are you Italian?”
“What is your last name?”
“So you did not know who Raffa was before you ran into him?”
“I am sorry. You just look like someone I once knew ...”
And then . . .
“I was rude when we first met. It didn’t have anything to do with you. Not really.”
“I fell in love with a foreigner once too. She was charming and beautiful, and I thought at the time that I would give up anything for her.”
“It didn’t end well.”
Leonardo di Conte.
The postcard I had written to Gemma was in his desk.
He was the one living at the villa with Philippe, taking charge of the compound while Raffa and the rest of his crew stayed in Florence. I thought about the curve of dark ink peeking out of his opened shirt when we danced atla vendemmiaand decided it could have been the curl of aG.
Gemma had always thought it would be so romantic if her boyfriend got her name tattooed on him somewhere.
My breath burst out of me like a bullet from the chamber of a gun.
“Did he kill her?” I asked Donatella, seizing her arm like a life raft.
She shrugged delicately, completely unperturbed by the chaos roiling inside me. “I was never sure. He seemed to love her, but you can never really trust a man.” Something dark flickered over her face. “You should have left Italy behind when you had the chance.”
