Page 49 of Sapphires and Snakes
“It doesn’t matter, Z. We’re in her territory. Wherever we go, she’ll know.” Pat nods toward the pair across the room, and the implication is clear: Those are Tamayo’s people. And if she doesn’t know where I am yet, she will soon enough. Goddamnit.
Pat settles back into the booth, too at ease while I’m experiencing internal bleeding and extensive organ failure. They clock the server greeting the new table. “No use in throwing out perfectly good tech.”
I press a hand against my chest, maybe adding pressure will slow the bleeding. My eyes travel without my permission, narrowing into a scowl when I find one of her people staring directly back at me.
“I should have run that night,” I mutter. “Actually run. Out of Louredo, out of the country. Changed my name and got lost in Nice or Monaco then over to Hong Kong. Get out and never come back.”
“You know why you didn’t.” Pat stares at me until I meet their gaze. It’s so full of understanding, like they see to the bottom of the deep, dark abyss inside me. A place even I don’t allow myself to comprehend. But they do.
“You care,” they say. “Even when they fucked up so bad, you care.”
They’re right. That little girl hidden in the black inside me does care. She cares so much, she wishes someone returned the favor, someone considered her before cutting life-altering deals. But here I am, abandoned and left to pick up the pieces everyone else broke.
“Why?” I frown, blinking at my fingers as they unclench, one by one, from the stem of my glass. “Why do I care when they don’t?”
Pat cocks their head, watching my hand tremble before I pull it off the table. “Because they’re your parents. And there’s more to the family than them.”
“And I wanted to prove I could be a don, too.” I shove my hands between my thighs and shake my head. I thought I could fix it, save myself and my family andfix it. What a fucking idiot. I don’t have the power to keep the Gallos afloat or stop the merger without sentencing us all to hang. And I thought I could.
What hubris. My ego is at least as big as Father’s, Mother’s, evenhers. I’m not a don. I’m barely a mafia princess. I have no solutions to offer and still refuse to marry Marcus Accardi. That’s one compromise I won’t make. I can’t.
All for petty fucking revenge.
“Goddamnit, I hate this.” I drain the rest of my wine and slam the glass on the table. “I hateher.”
Pat glances to the others and then back to me, lowering their voice. “Did you love her?”
An unamused, ironic laugh jumps out of my mouth and grows until I can feel a scratch at the back of my throat. I have no idea. Did I? Could I? I don’t think I can ever know, ever allow myself to admit anything other than attraction. Not anymore.
“There’s no love without trust.” I twist my wine glass and wish I had more.
“You did trust her,” Pat says.
I purse my lips and glare at the real ruby set into my fake engagement ring. Pat’s probably right, but I don’t want to examine it. Not when the idea of actually thinking about it threatens to unleash enough pain to fell a two-ton whale. Not when I knew it was fake with an end date. Not whenyesisalready on the tip of my tongue, threatening to gag me when I swallow it down.
“I was stupid,” I mutter. “A stupid, foolishgirl.”
Pat studies me again, and something like pity crosses their face. I choose to ignore it. They’re seeing too much, too deep, and if I acknowledge that look on their face, it will make all of it too real.
They turn and signal for another round. “I’m getting you drunk.”
“Finally”—I heave a sigh—“a plan I’m on board with.”
Pat slides their glass over to me, and I down half of it before the server arrives. Pat orders a bottle this time, and I slump into the booth, wine in one hand and a furrow between my brows.
I can’t look away from the ruby on my finger. I should take it off. The Gallo ruby around my neck, too. Both sit heavy on my bones, each carrying the metaphorical weight of betrayal. But removing them means admitting something worse—that I’m alone.
No one is coming to save me, to help me. The trust I placed in my parents, inher, was misplaced. And here I am, pouring glass after glass of wine like it wasn’t my own ego that created this opportunity to hurt me so effectively, I don’t know if I’ll be able to rise up again.
Stupid, foolish girl, indeed.
The server delivers a second bottle, rounding me up to a buzz nearing on drunk, when my phone finally rings. I don’t look at it, unwilling to see the one name that has the power to make this night worse. I don’t understand why she’d call. She must know where we are with her lackeys sitting in the fucking corner. So I let it ring until it stops, not bothering to take it out of my bag.
And then it rings again.
“Fuck’s sake.” I snatch my phone out and almost smash the decline button when the name on the screen registers. The scowlon my face drops, and I can feel the blood draining with it. Because it’s not her calling me, not even Darius.
It’s Marcus Accardi.
