Villainous (21 page)

My father came into view ahead, looking out over the water in the same way he had last time. His men were around, too, sitting on benches, pretending to be reading books or newspapers, or leaning against the railing pretending to be enjoying the view. Only this time, Joey Giordano was with them, standing about three yards down from my father with his arms crossed. Dad must not be planning to offer me the organization a second time, then.

“David,” my father greeted coldly.

“Lucio,” Dave replied. He paused to engage in a short alpha-male glaring contest with Joey then walked a few yards away to give my father and me space.

“You had to bring him?” Dad asked.

“He worries,” I replied.

This was the first time we’d met since Mary’s death. Under any other circumstances, it should have been heartwarming: a father and daughter sitting side by side in wheelchairs, watching the waves of the sea. All we needed was a score of soft piano music.

“He makes you weak,” Dad spat.

“Maybe. But he’s worth it.” I studied my father’s gaunt face. “Was Mary not worth it? Was whatever test you wanted to put your
heirs
through really more important than her life?”

“Do you want me to say no?” His voice remained almost toneless. “Do you expect me to say that I don’t care that she’s gone? I regret her death, Valentina. I regret that she wasn’t strong enough to survive.”

“She didn’t die because she was weak. She died because you made me kill her.”

“A choice you were strong enough to make.”

I made a disgusted noise. “It’s not impressive, Dad. Do you know how many people would kill someone to save their own life? Pretty much everyone.”

“If it were easy? Yes. If it were up close and personal and nasty? No, that takes resolve. I wonder if Sonia or Bianca could have brought themselves to do it.”

“Leave them out of this. They don’t need you getting them killed any more than Mary did.”

He sighed in annoyance and rested his chin in his hand. “Why did you want to see me, Valentina?”

As I chose my next words, I was very much aware of his men all around us, of their weapons and powers. Dad didn’t like Dave being here, but had he prepared for him? Joey was one of the few people in the world who could fight my husband at full strength. This could get very bad very fast.

“I just wanted to repeat my answer to your offer, since I’m not sure you took it to heart last time.” I tried to look him in the eye, but he still hadn’t done me the courtesy of turning from the water to face me. “I’m not coming back,” I said. “I’m not taking over the family business. I’m done. Deal with it. And don’t manipulate anyone else into coming after me.”

My words had as much an emotional impact on him as a weather report. “That last part sounded almost like a threat.”

“It wasn’t.”

“I should hope not. I indulged your threats last time, but I’m not putting up with disrespect like that again.” His lips twisted, deepening the wrinkles on his face. “Now let me do the talking. I built this organization from the ground up. I dedicated my life to it. It’s my legacy. You may think you can—”

I never got to hear his actual threat, because a bullet struck his chest and cut him off. The sound of the shot followed a split-second later, echoing off the water, and I froze. The next shot grazed my arm, and I dove to the floor.

The pier burst into chaos. People screamed, ran, and dove for cover. Dave threw himself on top of me, shielding me from any more potential bullets. Dad’s men pulled out their guns and swarmed him, shouting.

“Did it hit the bone?” Dave asked.

“Don’t think so.” I moved my arm experimentally. “Just feels like a scratch.”

“Good.”

I turned my head to look at my father. He was still in the chair, head lolling back as though he was taking a nap in the sun, except his eyes were open and a bloodstain was spreading across his white button-down shirt beneath his tie. Joey knelt in front of him, his face colorless and twisted in horror. He clutched his hand to his own chest and lurched forward dizzily. I hadn’t anticipated his reaction being so strong, but considering he’d worked for Dad since he was a teenager, I probably should have. He had a much better relationship with my father than I did.

One of the other men placed his fingers on Dad’s neck. He looked at Joey and shook his head.

I laid my head back on the hard wood and waited to feel something—grief, happiness, regret, anything—but there was only numbness. The sniper would be gone by now if he’d done his job properly. There was nothing for me to do but wait for the rounds of hospitalization and police interrogation to start again.

So I waited, listening to the sound of waves and screaming.

Chapter 20

This time, I didn’t have the convenient excuse of prison to skip out on the funeral. Which is why four days later, Dave was pushing me up the handicap ramp to a cathedral, with Elisa, Irma, and Eddy following close behind. Other mourners trailed up the steps, talking in low, hushed tones. It wasn’t just grief or condolences they were whispering, but questions. Who’d killed him? Who’d finally offed Mr. Lucifer?

Two of Dad’s men stood to either side of the tall, engraved door, one of them holding it open for those who entered. You could almost mistake them for ushers if not for the telltale bulges of the guns under their somber suit jackets. The Belmonte Mafia might not know who’d killed my father, but they were on high alert in case he or she struck again.

We’d almost made it through the doors when Sonia, standing just inside the foyer to greet the attendants, spotted us. She cut off mid-sentence and stalked toward me. Dave moved to intercept her, but I put a hand on his arm.

Let her get it out of her system
,
I told him.

He reluctantly stepped aside, and Sonia stopped in front of me. Picture a slightly younger, slightly less breathtakingly attractive version of me, and you’ll have Sonia. She wore a prim black dress, expensive pearls, and had her hair pulled back neatly. A proper, grieving daughter all around.

“Stand up,” she said.

I stood and raised my short, netted veil to give her a clear shot. My hat was pinned to my hair at the perfect angle, you see, and I didn’t want her to mess it up.

She punched me, and Dave put his hand on my elbow to steady me as I lurched back. The intensity of the whispers around us rose to a peak, as traffic on the steps had completely stopped. Sonia threw another punch, but I caught her by the wrist.

You only get
one
,
I told her.

She pulled her wrist from my grasp.
That was for Mary.

I know.

She regarded me for a second, her eyes red from crying. Then she leaned forward and hugged me tightly.

I patted her on the back. “I know,” I said.

She was sniffling when she pulled away from me, and when she saw Irma and Eddy, she sniffled louder and went to hug both of them. Elisa got a hug, too, plus a speech about how everybody died and it was okay to be sad, to which Elisa, who wasn’t really all that upset about the whole thing, agreed somewhat confusedly. Dave got ignored, which was probably for the best.

Sonia led us inside, where soft organ music was playing and people were studiously pretending they hadn’t witnessed our little scene outside. My other sister, Bianca, was leaning against the wall next to a painting of St. Joseph, a bag of ice in her hands. Her version of funeral attire consisted of a Victorian-inspired gothic dress with more ruffles and lace than you could shake a stick at. Her dark eyeshadow wouldn’t have looked out of place as part of a Halloween costume, and her earrings were jewel-studded skulls. Sonia homed in on her like a heat-seeking missile.

“You’re back,” Sonia said. “How’s everything in the hall? Is there enough silverware? The caterer remembered the vegetarian dishes, right?”

“Everything’s fine. I thought you were going to pre-drink so you wouldn’t stress out.”

“I did,” Sonia muttered, “It’s not helping. Oh God.” She looked out the door and groaned. “Is that Corpse-Maker? Is he wearing a cape?”

Through the glass panes in the door, an old man in a billowing black cape was visible ascending the stairs.

“It’s fine,” Bianca said. “It’s black, isn’t it? Look, he’s even got a suit on under it. A suit that looks like it’s been in his closet since the eighteenth century, but still.”

Sonia had closed her eyes and was massaging her temples. “You’re not the one I want to talk to about proper funeral attire, Bianca.”

“Suit yourself.” Bianca held up the bag of ice and grinned at Dave. “Hey, Dudley Do-Right. Think you can stop hovering protectively over my sister for five minutes? Her black eye’s got an appointment in the ladies’ room with an icepack.”

Dave glanced down at me. “The rest of us will find a place to sit.”

Sonia’s eyes snapped open. “No. You have reserved seats. Everyone has reserved seats. I’ve spent the past forty-eight hours trying to figure out a seating arrangement where no one is anywhere near anyone they have a murderous grudge against. It’s been the nightmare of all logic puzzles. Do you have any idea how many people here want to kill you?”

Dave gave her a flat look. “I have a pretty good idea.”

Sonia hooked her arm around his. “You’re all in the front row. Follow me, and for the love of God, don’t make eye contact with anyone.”

She marched my family off, and Bianca and I went to the restroom after pausing to say hello to Corpse-Maker. (He was one of Dad’s oldest friends.) The ladies’ room was a droll shade of pale pink, and there were carnations in a vase atop the sink countertop. The mirror didn’t show any swelling around my eye yet, but I pressed Bianca’s proffered ice bag to it anyway.

Bianca sat on the countertop, her platform boots dangling an inch above the tile floor. “I offered to help with the arrangements, but Sonia went all control freak on me. I think she’s still mad about the band I booked for the reception after Mary’s funeral. But they were Mary’s favorite, and they brought down the house. You should have been there.” She paused. “Of course, if it weren’t for you, she wouldn’t have needed a funeral in the first place…”

I took a deep breath.
Do you want to punch me, too?

No, you don’t get off that easy, not with me.
Brief flashes from her mind leaked through the telepathic connection, hammer-strikes of grief and anger.
When I texted you to say Mary was handling psyc, I didn’t think I was signing her death warrant.

I didn’t plan to kill her. The first thing I did after I got your text was go to Dad and ask him to persuade her to work with me, but he flat-out refused. He wanted the two of us to fight.

Bianca jumped off the countertop.
You should have come to me. Mary and I were close.

I used to think the same thing about her and me. She was different. Dad changed her. When I asked her to help me keep Dave out of prison, she attacked me and locked me in her trunk—

Oh, boo-fucking-hoo.

I know.
I lowered the ice bag so I could look at her with both eyes.
That’s nothing. Sonia probably would’ve done the same thing if I’d asked her. But Sonia wouldn’t have tried to drive me to Dr. Sweet to trade me for more drugs. You remember Dr. Sweet, right? He’s the reason Elisa had night terrors for the entire year she was eleven? The guy who kidnapped me two months ago?

Bianca didn’t answer. I pressed on.

But that’s fine. The family business can get a little rough at times. You and I both know that. But there are lines you don’t cross, and Mary bulldozed that line when she threw my daughter out a six-story window and tried to kill my husband. You have every right to be angry at me, Bianca, but don’t pretend you’d have done anything differently. If Mary had tried to hurt Sara the way she did Dave, you’d have done the same as me. You’d have hated it, but you’d have done it.

Bianca turned abruptly as though she was going to storm out the door but then stopped. After a moment, she turned back to me, breathing heavily. I put the ice bag back on my eye and waited for her to work out her emotions.

You said Dad wanted the two of you to fight
.
Her thoughts felt calmer than I’d expected.

He told me that if I wanted her help, I’d have to come back to his side or some bullshit. And from the way Mary talked, killing me was how she was going to prove she was worthy to be his heir. Three guesses who put that idea in her head.

Bianca absorbed that.
And now he’s dead.

And now he’s dead,
I agreed.

I checked my watch. Seven more minutes until the ceremony started. Bianca had better wrap this up, or Sonia was going to come barging in.

Joey’s been trying to get the DSA’s files on Dad’s murder investigation.

Bianca didn’t let any emotion leak with that statement, and it threw me. I’d thought she’d wanted to talk about Mary.

And he’s been interrogating people, but so far
,
nothing’s turned up.
She looked at me intently, her shadowed eyes searching.
But with how far you two were out on the pier that day and the wind from the ocean…only a really good sniper could have pulled off a shot like that.

Then that should narrow down the list of suspects,
I replied.
Anyway, the sniper wasn’t that good. He—or she—only grazed me.

Bianca was silent for a long moment.
Eddy could pull off a shot like that.

I focused on the cold pain of the ice and the dull throbbing beneath it.
If Eddy was planning on betraying me, I’d know. There’s no way I wouldn’t know.

I’m not insinuating he took the shot without your permission.

Ah.

And what would be my motive?
I asked.

Bianca crossed her arms.
Do you want to take over the organization?

Hell, no. Do you?

No.

I removed the ice bag from my eye and pulled some concealer out of my make-up bag to hide any blossoming bruises.
Then if Sonia wants it, she can kill Joey and have it. Or marry him, I guess. Or marry him and then kill him. Whatever she wants.