Page 16

E qual parts refreshed and groggy is how I feel when I emerge from sleep. It’s strange—I wasn’t expecting to find myself in the cool mint-green tones of the guest bedroom I’d been occupying at the Andretti residence in New Jersey.

It seems to me so much has happened, and it’s all hazy like a dream. Going back to Portland, seeing my dad at the casino with Evan Monroe, then back at the trailer…a man slitting his throat, the knife coming at me next.

My gasp resounds though I also don’t register it. That shiny blade. Then the guy wobbled, and I remembered what to do with a john who was getting violent—security there taught us this move so we could win a few seconds until they could intervene. A flat-palmed slap to his Adam’s apple. That took him by surprise, and I grabbed the knife… Did I slam it into his neck?

All this had been feeling like a nightmare I was reliving, and when the smell of warm, coppery blood registers in my nose, bile surges up, and I’m scrambling to reach the bathroom where I retch into the toilet bowl.

All of it did happen. I was out of it in a way, but not so out of it that I don’t remember. The man falling down in a slump. Stefano being there, cradling me to his chest. Every time I close my eyes, I remember the feel of his strong, solid arms around me, and a measure of solace enters me, my breath not so erratic anymore.

I killed a man… My head goes down, and I’m retching again.

What did I do? But I had no choice, did I? He would’ve killed me. And he’d have taken great pleasure from it, too. I can still picture the evil gleam in his eyes as he’d lunged—

My stomach upchucks again.

Then Stefano was there. It all felt okay because he took control. It sounds like we were on the phone with Don Giacomo at some point? What did he say? He sounded reassuring, asked me to trust him. The cold of the shower water over my skin. I was shivering, though I’m not sure it was from the temperature or the shock. We were in cars, on planes. And then…

I shudder and gasp, my gaze dropping to my left hand. Right there is a thin gold band on my finger. A wedding ring.

How is it that I don’t remember getting married? And did we…?

When I return to the bedroom, the bed looks unruffled on the side I didn’t sleep in, my body’s imprint clearly visible in the sheets and pillow. He didn’t share my bed. So we didn’t consummate our marriage. There’s not even a hint of bedding on the sofa. He probably didn’t even share the room with me.

What does this mean? What now? Where do we go from here?

Answers. I need answers, and to find them, I need to find Stefano.

My husband.

My bags from Torino are still in the room, so it’s easy to find an outfit then clean up to make myself presentable. This is still a house in mourning, and decorum counts for something.

It’s strange how still it all feels once out on the landing. Silent, too, like no one’s home. So the comings and goings have stopped? All the Andretti siblings, where are they?

My foot is leaving the last stair step when the doorbell rings. It’s attended by Carlito, the butler/chauffeur of the house. Something makes me freeze, and horror fills me when I register the two cops standing outside and flashing their badges.

“Let me get the master of the house,” Carlito is saying.

He pushes the door closed, but one of the cops stops it with his foot and comes in. His dark gaze lands on me, narrowing in a frown.

“Ms. Kaya Norton? May we have a word, ma’am?”

I must’ve blanched. All the blood seems to drain to my knees, and I’m feeling faint. I’ve started swooning, trying to hold on to the banister I’m clinging to, when a strong arm slips around my shoulders and steadies me.

“Officer, I would very much appreciate if you didn’t barge uninvited into my home to harass my guest,” a clipped male voice bites out in a low arresting tone.

I blink, gazing up. “Valentino.”

“It’s okay, Kaya. I’ve got you.”

“What…what is going on?”

He turns to the cops. “I would like to know that, too.”

I don’t see a glare, but the emotion radiating from him is anything but nice and welcoming right now. Even I feel like shrinking away, and I know he’s in my corner.

“Mister…”

“Andretti,” he supplies.

“Mr. Andretti, we’d like a word with Ms. Norton here.”

“Mrs. Beccario.”

“Pardon?”

“She is Mrs. Kaya Beccario.”

I am, aren’t I? How strange to hear it being stated aloud.

“Come,” he says, leading me to a room at the side. I’m lowered into a Chesterfield sofa while he stands next to me like an unforgiving sentinel. “Now what is this about?”

“Mrs. Beccario, I regret to inform you that your father, Mr. Grant Norton, died last night at his residence in Portland.”

So they know. Is it possible for me to blanch even more?

“Stefano,” I mutter.

“He’s gone to the consulate in New York to deal with the paperwork for your visa.”

But I’m here , the soft press of Valentino’s palm on my shoulder affirms, and I take some strength from this.

“How?” I mutter.

“There was an explosion. The theory is a gas leak, for now.”

So that’s how it all got explained away. It must be my husband’s work—the enforcer’s.

“Anything else?”

I swear Valentino barked those words without lifting the volume an iota.

“We understand you met with your father last night, Mrs. Beccario?”

I nod. “Yes.”

“And?”

“And what?” Something in me knows the less I give, the better it will be.

“And he was okay when you left him?”

I gulp. Valentino presses my shoulder again.

“You can clearly see how distressing this is for her. What are you insinuating, Officer?”

“Just what I asked. Was he okay when you left him, Mrs. Beccario?”

Valentino sighs loudly. “I won’t have this in my home, especially not when you just dropped such a bombshell on her. What time did Mr. Norton die?”

“Around one a.m.”

“At one a.m., my cousin, Stefano Beccario, and his fiancée at the time, Kaya Norton, were boarding a special flight I’d had chartered for them to go to Vegas. Showing you the records won’t be a problem seeing how it’s my own airline.” There’s a slight pause. “Now, if that’s all, please leave. Should you have any more questions for my cousin, my attorney will be fielding them. Carlito?”

The quiet man is back to escort the cops out.

The breath whooshes out of me when they leave, and I’m gasping next, air refusing to enter my lungs.

“Christ, Kaya. When did you last eat anything?”

He pushes a cup in my hand, brings it gently to my lips. It’s coffee, extra-dark, extra-sweet. I gulp it down, shaking from the rush of the sugar as much as the caffeine. A beat passes, then I’m finally looking up.

I don’t recognize the man standing a few paces from me. The bespoke three-piece suit sheathes his form unlike the more casual jeans and sweaters and button-down shirts he wore in Torino. It can’t hide the solid strength of him—in fact, it enhances it, subtly yet with a dangerous vibe—and I never realized how tall he actually is. A couple inches taller than Stefano, which I never noticed when they were rolling around town like carefree brothers.

His face is staggeringly striking now, a layer of hard-won maturity carving out his features even more. The navy of his suit brings out the blue of his eyes, his skin tanned against the stark white of his shirt collar. I can’t say he scares me, but intimidating? Yes, he is. In fact, he reminds me of Don Giacomo. This man is definitely Don material. Strange how he hid this side of him so well all this time. And that’s probably one of his strengths, to not show who and what he really is, keeping it all like a hand of trump cards close to his chest.

“The explosion,” I ask, my voice croaking. “It was Stefano’s work?”

He nods.

“And the other man?”

“Taken care of.”

“The police…”

“Shouldn’t suspect a thing.” He pauses. “These two were here because you were next of kin. In my rush to get home, I gave this address for all of us when we touched down on US soil.”

That must be how they knew to find me here.

“Congratulations,” he says softly.

I can’t tell if he’s being sarcastic until I see the small smile on his face. He means it.

“I don’t think it’s really warranted.”

His intense gaze bores into me for a long time. I want to squirm, but I know one should never squirm in front of men like him. He’s a Mafia boss now, and boy does it show in no uncertain terms. It’s like a mantle he’s pulled on, and he wears it frighteningly well.

“You don’t want to be married to Stefano?”

There’s no inflection beyond the question mark in his words. So I can’t gauge if he’s angered or not by this possibility. Stefano is his cousin; I’m nobody to him. Of course he’ll be wanting to protect him.

“It’s not that,” I confess, my voice barely audible.

“You want to be with the Don?”

My head snaps up so fast, I heard my neck crack. “What?!”

He frowns at me, waves of menace pouring off him. “Answer my question.”

And here I’d thought the cops had been scary. Valentino doesn’t need to raise his voice or take a menacing pose to terrify me. In fact, just the opposite. Why is he coming after me this way?

“Of course I don’t want to be with the Don. What sort of idea is that?”

He shrugs. “Weirder things have happened.”

“You must know some weird people, then.”

His chuckle takes me by surprise.

“Stefano loves you.”

I gulp. I wish he’d show it.

“What proof do you need?”

Wait, did I say that aloud? I groan.

“He’s been avoiding me, in case you hadn’t noticed,” I say, trying to cover up my goof.

And that’s true. He didn’t sleep in my room, much less my bed, on what was technically our wedding night. Yes, we must’ve gotten here around nine or ten this morning, but still, it’s the thought that counts.

“He’s worried.”

“About what?”

“Losing you.”

I have been running away from him every chance I got, haven’t I? Time to face some hard truths. Still, not wanting to do that in the moment, I let myself get distracted by the way Valentino spoke those words. I take a closer look at him.

“Sounds like you’re speaking from experience,” I say softly.

His small smile is wan. “I was afraid of losing myself.”

“And now you’re living with a different kind of loss?”

His eyes are sad, and my heart clenches.

“What happened?”

I thought he wouldn’t answer me, the way he went all quiet, as if regressing into himself.

“I had to put an end to it. She was too young.”

So she’s not dead. That’s a relief.

“And now?” I ask.

He shrugs. “But you don’t have to go through that.”

“Nice deflection.”

When he smiles, my own smile grows. I wanted to lighten the mood between us, and it seems I have.

“I don’t have time or space for love, Kaya. I need to get my hands on the people responsible for my father’s murder.”

Right. I hadn’t forgotten about that, though frankly, it had slipped my mind in the last 24 hours amid everything that’s happened to me.

Something in his wording makes me pause. “So you know who did it?”

“Yes.” It’s short and clipped.

They’re Mafia, and he’s on his turf. “So what’s the hold up?”

He sighs, runs a hand through his hair. The way the locks get disheveled, I see a hint of the man I met and knew in Torino. It comforts me to know he’s still in there somewhere.

“It’s getting them both together that’s proving tricky.”

“How?”

I didn’t think he would, but he proceeds to tell me about it. It’s a young man and his girlfriend. Seems he wanted to be inducted into a Mafia Borgata while she had dreams of being a hotshot Mafia wife or girlfriend. A match made in Hell, in other words.

I tap my chin as I think it through.

“What?” he asks.

“I might have an idea how to help you.”

I explain it out, and he’s nodding softly.

“I need to run it past my consigliere , but you might be onto something. Stefano might not like it.”

“Stefano will just need to deal with it. We both owe you so much for harboring us at your place.”

He laughs, deep and rumbly. “You’re family, Kaya. Let’s see if we can make this happen.”

I stand. “So this means I’m Mafia now?”

“We’ll call it your induction,” he returns with a smile and a wink.

That’s it. I’m made.

Now on to the hardest battle of all, aka my husband.