Page 125 of My Dark Ever After

“He was always the obedient soldier, never talking back, always eager to help Aldo and Tonio with whatever they needed. He had killed a dozen people by the time I was made to kill my first. But ... no. Heseemed fine with his lot, my best friend, a key part of the organization. He never once complained or asked for more.”

The steering wheel made a horrible sound as my grip tightened painfully around it.

“He is a second son to my mother, a brother to my sisters, uncle to my nephews. Tell me, how could he turn against us? What the fuck could I have done to make him try to kill me and mine?Cazzo!”

“I don’t think you can rationalize this,” Guinevere said softly, placing her hand on my tensed thigh. “He is clearly a psychopath. My—my sister loved him, and he killed her ... There is no other reason to do something like that but psychopathy.”

“If he has hurt any of them,” I whispered, as if the words might become reality if spoken too loudly. “I will rip the world apart to find him and spend the rest of my life killing him day by day, little by little.”

“Yes,” Guinevere agreed. “You will. But let’s try not to think that way. He has no reason to know that we’ve discovered what he’s done.”

I swallowed thickly, desperately clinging to the feel of her hand on my thigh, the scent of her feminine fragrance in my nose, and her soft presence in the small space with me. Without her anchoring me, I might have crashed the car, fury overloading my system.

“They have to be okay,” she murmured, as if it was a prayer.

I tried to manifest the same thing, but though we should have had surprise on our side, there was a sinking in my gut that told me we were about to meet more of our signature misfortune.

Which was why, when we crested the hill across from the one Villa Romano rested atop, I was not shocked to see smoke billowing from the far side of the house.

“Merda,” I cursed, slamming my foot down on the pedal so we went careening around the first loop in the circular driveway that carved its way up the hill.

“How would he know?” Guinevere demanded.

Either someone at the party had broken through Burette’s watch, or, more likely, something else had given us away.

It did not matter now.

All that I cared about was making sure no one had been hurt.

When we turned the corner toward the olive grove, we hit a wall of flames. The orange-and-gold fire licked at the end of the gravel, consuming the dry olive trees in snapping, voracious bites down the hillside.

“Someone started it up at the side of the house,” Guinevere whispered, peering out the window.

Cazzo.

Behind me, the SUV swerved hard in the gravel and nearly veered off the road, but I deftly maneuvered the Ferrari up the last curve and swung to a stop in the circular drive, leaving the car running as I sprinted into the house.

“Mamma!” I shouted through the smoke curling in from the opened windows and kitchen door. “Carlotta, Stacci!”

“Raffa.” Stacci appeared at the base of the stairs with Nico on her hip and a weeping Mattia holding her hand. “Thank God.”

“What the fuck happened?” I asked as I swung Mattia into my arms and hustled them out the doors.

“The others are at the other side of the house,” she said after coughing roughly. “John was the one to smell the smoke about fifteen minutes ago, but by then the grove was already well lit.”

“Where are thesoldati?” I demanded.

“Fighting the fire,” she explained as we rounded the house to see Emiliano comforting a sobbing Maximo, Carlotta cradling Vitale, John and Elizabeth Stone clutching each other, and Mamma with her arm around Lando, who was sporting a vicious burn on his forearm.

“Did you call the firemen?”

In answer, the distant sound of sirens echoed through the valley over the crackling of splintering, overheated wood.

“Where is Zacheo?” Carlotta asked Stacci, standing up with Vitale in her arms. “He should have been in the house.”

“I checked,” our sister said, going pale. “No one was left inside.”

“Where is Leo?” I asked, a shiver ripping like torn Velcro from my spine.