Page 79 of Sapphires and Snakes
“Tamayo.” I don’t move to touch it. We haven’t spoken since Christmas, since everything upended into chaotic disarray. I’ve barely had time to breathe, let alone think.
But that’s a lie. Because most nights, when I’m trying to sleep, my mind doesn’t go over the decisions I made for my family that day. It sneaks into a back room where I’ve placed Tamayo and our memories, our conversations, our connection. And rather than reliving her betrayal and the subsequent pain, my subconscious cozies up into the comfort of her presence on Christmas Day and every other day when things were good between us. Without being present, she’s the rock I’ve leaned upon to keep myself sane, the song that’s lulled me to sleep most nights. It’s terrifying how deep her hold on me has sunk under my skin. And part of me wants to root it out and raze it to the ground.
But if I do, I don’t think I’d be anywhere near okay. And I’m already too far from it to let go of the one thing that’s helping. So I stare at the box in front of me like it’s the Schrödinger experiment. Either it contains the pain of a venomous snakeready to lunge at my throat the moment I open it, or the comfort of a dozing cat lying in a ray of sunshine. And I won’t know until I raise the lid.
“Have you called her?” Pat sits with one leg on the desk, the other on the floor, and their arms crossed. I imagine they’re holding themself back from opening the gift for me.
I chew on my lip. “No.”
“Do you want to?” they ask.
Yes. No. I don’t know.
It’s been three weeks since Christmas, when Tamayo stormed the castle to save me only to realize I didn’t need saving. I’ve thought about calling her every day. Thought about her even more often. So much so that my orders to shun Mother were for me and the family, but also for Tamayo and the role Mother played in her violent expulsion from the Gallos.
Pat taps the box. “It’s a gift. It doesn’t have to be anything more than that.”
“Right.” Like that’s remotely true. “Ugh.” I huff and lay my hands on either side of the lid. The box is soft against my fingers, the blue as cold as the view outside the windows behind me.Whatever’s inside won’t bite me, I tell myself. It won’t.
So I suck in a breath and tear it open.
“Holy shit,” Pat breathes.
Inside, on a bed of silk, lies a crown wrought of gold. Its spires swirl into sharpened spikes, rubies dripping down them like blood. The band is shaped into ivy with black diamonds set as the leaves, as if the spires are thorns grown out of the foliage.
I stare at it. The clarity of the gems, the specificity of the shape. This was made for me. For the new Gallo queen. Which means it must have cost a fortune.
In the middle of the circlet sits a note. The front saysHappy Birthdayin her scrawl. I almost don’t want to open it, a sliver of apprehension raking down my spine. She didn’t commission anoutrageous piece of treasure for nothing. And I’m not sure if I want more than nothing from her yet.
Naturally, Pat has no such qualms. They pluck the note out of the box and open it with a flourish while I stare at the rubies glinting in the muted daylight.
“A crown fit for a queen,” Pat reads. “I’d like to call in my favor. Eight tonight at mine. See you there, princess.”
My lip hitches in annoyance at the contradictory titles. And the commanding tone. I glare at the crown as if it’s the woman who gave it to me.
“You gonna go?” Pat drops the note onto the desk. It lies open, Tamayo’s words barely legible inside.
I push back from the desk and stand, stretching my hands over my head and cracking my neck. “I can’t.”
“Why?”
“I have the Capone meeting to prep for.” I pour myself a cup of honey lemon tea, the set sitting on the sideboard, and grab a bottle of whisky to add a dollop for a hot toddy. “It’s tomorrow, remember?”
“You’re plenty prepped.” Pat slides off the desk to stand. They’re wearing suspenders over a starched white shirt tucked into trousers, looking far more dapper than their usual suit-worn-like-a-straitjacket. I shake my head, knowing they dressed up because Angie stopped by. She probably didn’t even stay for longer than five minutes, but Pat likely spent an hour ironing their shirt and styling their perfect slicked-back hair. What a simp.
“Come on,” they say, “you’ve swum in these waters your whole life. You know exactly how to charm these little men with their fragile egos.”
While that’s true, it’s also not. I’ve never been the boss before, never been the one negotiating the deals and commanding respect beyond being Riccardo Gallo’s daughter.It’s different now. I’m not an object owned by a man anymore. I’m not a masculine woman who can pass as one of the guys like Tamayo. I don’t know how they’ll receive me—ifthey’ll receive me. “It feels different now. Like I can’t simply charm my way through this.”
“You can if it gets you what you need.”
“What I and the family need is to get out of this house. The ability to go back to work, to make moves without fearing an Accardi around every corner. None of the dons can give us that. Not alone, at least.” I blow on my tea, pressing my fingers to the warm porcelain. Tamayo’s note cycles through my head again. “What does she even mean, call in her favor? She didn’t even keep up her end of the bargain. I owe her nothing.”
Pat rolls their head with a grimace. “I mean, technically?—”
“No.” I hold out a hand to stop them. “Not even technically. And she knows it.”
“Maybe that’s the point.”
