Page 33

33

Stella

“C ami, what the fuck? Where are you?” I say to her voicemail while my neck swivels around, searching for her and my husband. “Everyone’s leaving the cemetery, and I know you’re not with Saint. Andre’s looking for you too. Just let me know if you got a ride or what,” I say before ending the call.

A moment later, Andre walks down the long road to where we parked near the back of the line of vehicles. His steps are…hurried, and he’s scowling like he’s pissed. Guess he’s as frustrated with my sister as I am, since he had to stand out in the cold looking for her.

He gets into the driver seat and puts the car into drive without fastening his seatbelt or instructing me to do the same. In fact, he appears to be gunning it out of here in a hurry.

“We’re just going to leave her?” I ask him.

“Your sister is gone, Stella.”

“Gone where?”

Andre’s jaw ticks, and he refuses to look at me.

“Andre? What do you know that I don’t? My sister won’t answer her messages or pick up when I call her.”

Tightly holding the steering wheel with his left hand, he reaches into his coat pocket to pull out a sheet of paper with his right. “I’m so fucking sorry, baby. I promise we’ll find her.”

“Find her?” I repeat. He makes it sounds like Cami’s lost.

Plucking the paper from his fingers, I unfold the sheet and read the single sentence once. Then twice. After five times, I’m still unable to speak.

You’ll never see your sister again unless you confess.

“Sanna must suspect it was Saint who caused the accident. His name was on the envelope,” Andre tells me.

No.

That’s the only word I can say at the moment.

No.

This has to be some sort of joke. How could Aiden Sanna know Saint was behind the car wreck? “Did he…did he leave behind any evidence?”

“I don’t know how they figured it out. Maybe they’re just guessing. Either way…”

“They have Cami,” I say in a rush.

“I’ll talk to Creed. Get him to call a Council meeting. We will get her back, Stella,” he promises me again.

“They’re…they’re going to kill her, aren’t they?”

“They won’t hurt her.”

“You don’t know that! His daughter and wife are both dead!” I yell, then hate myself for taking my anger out on him. Slumping back into my seat, I rub my forehead and mutter, “I’m sorry. This…it’s all my fault. I’m the reason those women are dead, and now Cami…” My voice catches on a hitch as my lungs tighten, making it impossible for me to take another breath.

“What? No, baby.” Andre swerves the SUV over, pulling into a right turn lane and stopping the car to look at me. All I can do is gasp while staring at the intersection before us. Andre’s hand slides around my neck, making me look at him. “This is not your fault. Stella. Breathe, baby. In through the nose, out through the mouth. It’s going to be okay.”

I shake my head because this is the furthest thing from okay. But I’m able to choke down some air. My throat stings as tears race down my cheeks.

When I can speak again, it’s in hiccups. “I told Saint…about Izaiah’s drug problem…about Sanna supplying him…” That’s all I can get out through my seizing lungs.

“But you didn’t tell him to retaliate, or do it so goddamn fucked up he hurt the wrong people! None of this is on you! Do you hear me? Blame me. Blame Creed. Blame Saint or Aiden Sanna, but don’t you dare blame yourself.”

My fingers slap at the console on the door, hitting the button to lower the window so I can try to suck in more oxygen, which my body is suddenly withholding.

“How…how can I…tell my…mother?” I choke out before I fall completely apart.

Andre’s arms encircle me as I bawl on his shoulder. Horns honk in the distance, probably at us for blocking the turning lane. God, I wish that was the biggest complaint of my day — traffic.

“Shh. It’s okay. It’s going to be okay, baby,” Andre whispers as his palm soothes up and down my back while my shoulders shake from the force of my sobs.

Andre doesn’t let go of me, no matter how many horns honk or curses are shouted. He lets me get it all out.

Even when the worst is over, and I can speak again, I stay in his protective arms.

“I know my mom doesn’t have long, and I hate it,” I tell him. “She can’t survive this…losing Cami. It’s too much.”

“I know, baby. I know.”

“If my dad hadn’t died, if Izaiah hadn’t disappeared, I think she could’ve made it a few more months. But the stress…I never cried a single tear for my father, not when I found out he was dead, or at the funeral. My mom did, though. She was devastated because she loved him. She loved him and trusted him, so she couldn’t believe he’d taken his own life. I don’t believe he did either. The thought of him leaving us, leaving her, broke her heart and mine.”

“He didn’t want to leave you or her.”

My husband’s words are a comfort, but also…God, how can he sound so confident about something he doesn’t know shit about? It’s enraging sometimes how self-assured he is… Unless…there’s another reason for his confidence.

“How do you know?” I ask him while still clutching him to me.

“What?”

“H-how would you know? That Daddy didn’t want to leave us?”

“Nobody would want to leave you, baby.”

My husband’s voice doesn’t sound as certain about that.

Pulling away from his embrace, I look at his face, and his eyes lower. “Andre, how do you know?”

He shakes his head and moves back into the driver seat. “Fine. I don’t. We need to tell Saint and Creed.”

“You’re hiding something.”

“Baby, there is enough shit on our plate today…” he trails off as he flips on his signal and checks the rearview mirror, suddenly in a hurry to get moving, or to get out of this conversation.

“Bowen told me my father and his were behind the raid,” I say quietly, watching as he winces. “Weston was shot out of the blue, and my father decided on a whim to kill himself? No. That’s too much of a coincidence.”

“We don’t know who killed Weston.” Andre’s jaw clenches as if he said too much.

“But you do know who killed my father?” There’s no response from my husband. “He didn’t kill himself, did he? Andre, you promised me on our unborn children Creed didn’t kill him.”

“Creed didn’t kill your father!”

I scoff. “How can you be so certain what your cousin, your boss , does every second of the day?” More silence fills the car. He doesn’t offer me a single explanation or denial. “Oh my God. You feel guilty about my guilt,” I remark. “You said to blame you or Creed, but not myself. What did you do, Andre?”

“The shit that goes down in our world, it’s complicated, okay? Nothing that happens is simple to explain.”

What. The. Fuck.

“Don’t you even dare pull that ‘it’s complicated’ bullshit on me! I’m a big girl. I think I can keep up with whatever mafia shit went down.”

Andre lets go of the steering wheel and shoves his fingers through his hair, giving up on someone letting him merge into the flow of traffic.

Oh no. He is not going to give me the fucking silent treatment.

I’ve more than reached my breaking point for the day. I reach into my purse, pull out my knife, open it, and shove it right between my husband’s legs.

“Jesus!” Andre screams as his fingers band around my wrist to keep me from stabbing him.

“Don’t fucking touch me!” I yell and jab forward through the material of his suit pants, probably his boxer briefs and maybe even nicking his balls.

He hasn’t grabbed me like that since I threw red wine in his face. He promised me he wouldn’t do it again after I told him why it bothered me, yet here we are again…

My words or the point of my knife has Andre releasing my wrist and holding up both his palms. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to —”

“Shut up and tell me the truth, or I’m going to shove this knife into you until it reaches fucking bone!” I warn him. “Did Creed Ferraro kill my father?”

“No. He didn’t kill him.”

“You’re lying!”

“Wait,” he pleads when the blade buries deeper. “Creed didn’t kill your father. He gave him two options. Slitting his wrists is the one your father chose.”

I scoff and shake my head. “What was the other option? Getting disemboweled and being left to bleed out?”

“No.”

“What was his other choice?” I demand.

“Creed would shoot him, take responsibility for his death, and air his dirty laundry to you and your family.”

“I can’t fucking believe you. You’ve known this entire time, haven’t you?”

“Baby, I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to cause you any more pain.”

“More pain! Fuck you!”

“Stella, please, move the knife and let me explain. I’ll tell you everything.”

“No. It’s too late. You had your chance. You had weeks to tell me the truth!”

“You hated me enough as it was,” he reminds me. “And I don’t even know why you hated me!”

“Your fucking family killed my father!” I yell loud enough for the entire block to hear. “Did Creed kill Izaiah too?”

Andre scrubs his palms over his face, trying to buy more time and causing me to explode. “Answer me, Andre! Did Creed Ferraro kill my brother too?”

“That…that was self-defense.”

“Oh my god. Stop lying to me!”

Creed Ferraro killed my brother and forced my father to take his life. I knew it. Deep down, I’ve always known it was true, but I started falling for Andre and believed him when he told me the lies about the Sannas.

“I swear, Stella. Zara was…she had a thing with Izaiah, did him a favor that got Creed’s brother Carmine killed.”

“What the hell does Creed’s wife have to do with anything?” I yell.

“Izaiah was fucking her and blackmailing her. Creed was at her apartment when Izaiah showed up to kill her. Creed stepped in to stop him.”

“Oh my god. I can’t believe a word you say,” I huff. “You’re still making excuses for why he ruined my family! My mom has been fucking devastated!”

“Baby, your mom has been sick for a long time…”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” I warn him.

God, part of me wants to do exactly as I promised, shove my knife to the hilt through his balls.

But looking at him…I hate him, but I can’t hurt him, even after everything he told me.

Well, I can’t hurt him permanently.

Instead of stabbing him, I turn my fist around and punch his balls with the hilt of my knife in my clenched hand. Andre shouts and leans forward, hugging the steering wheel in pain.

While he’s still recovering, forehead on the wheel, I press my knife to the side of his neck. “I want a fucking divorce, and if you try to get a penny back from my brother, I’ll kill you.” I open the passenger door and walk away.