Page 230 of Bitter Poetry

“Just making sure,” he says, wiping his bloody hands down his T-shirt. He grins. “Fuck! That felt fucking good.”

“It did,” Cedro agrees. “Leon, Dante, and Christian, I owe you all a debt of gratitude, one I will never repay.”

“What’s done is done,” Leon says. “Time to start over.”

“Your father was a good man,” Cedro says. “And so are you. I believe more capos will pledge to you.”

“Yes,” Leon says. “Your support will certainly add credence to my claim.”

“Good,” Cedro says. “His death is satisfying on one level, but he took too much— from me, from us all. His crimes deserve the obliteration of everybody loyal to him, and nothing less.”

“Nothing less,” Leon says.

“Nothing less,” I agree.

CHAPTER 69

CARMELA

Amonth has gone by, and I still haven’t had that conversation with Dante and Christian. But I did get to catch up with Cherry and tell her how sorry I was.

“It wasn’t your fault, Carmela. I can’t imagine the pressure you were under,”she said. “Please put any guilt you feel aside and trust that I can handle Leon Barone at his worst.”

She used to have a spark in her eyes when she spoke about Leon. Now she sounds like wants to liberate him of vital body parts. I hate that that’s probably down to me. She said she was still working at the clubs and was doing well but kept the conversation to lighter topics afterward.

When I asked Dante about it, he told me to leave it alone.

Christian chuckled without humor and said going there was a bad idea.

I still called Leon and demanded to know what had happened.

He said he loved me, but that he would instruct my ‘men’ to do their worst if I didn’t ‘drop it’.

So I dropped it,for now.

I get to hang out with Jessica and see my father most days. And although I miss my Mama, I am also grateful for what I have.

Only healing takes time, and I have a lot to work through. Sometimes I get this terrible guilt for being happy.

I worry about what the three of us mean, whether this can be forever, and how that is possible when I see so many blockages in the road ahead.

Sometimes I still have nightmares.

And sometimes I feel like I just want to run and run like it might finally quiet the frantic thoughts inside my mind.

DANTE

“Dante?”

I try my best to school my features and mask what lies underneath. It’s been nearly a month since she fled my apartment. It’s been three days since Ettore died.

“I thought we might have dinner out together this weekend,” I say, ignoring the question she just asked.

She’s been requesting to move out of the main home and into the summerhouse with her father and sister. Yesterday, I gave her a straight no. Today, I’m trying a different tactic.

“Dinner? Dante, you’re not listening to me.”

“Yes: you, me, and Christian,” I say, still not listening to her. “A new restaurant opened in the marina complex—they don’t even have salmon on the menu.”