Page 16 of My Dark Fairy Tale

Because it made me wonder—if she saw my big teeth, would she run away scared or stare into my eyes and ask me to take a bite?

“I just helped her into bed after her shower,” Martina replied as she sharpened her knife on a whetstone with a repetitive hissing rasp. “She finally noticed she was wearing one of your shirts. I gave her a new one that did not smell.”

I raised an eyebrow at her tone and in question.

My friend grinned. “She offered to have it professionally dry-cleaned.”

Laughter bubbled inside my throat, but I swallowed it down.

Still, Martina saw my amusement, however guarded, and smiled wider. “Yes, she’s an interesting girl for an American.”

I inclined my head in agreement, already moving through the living room toward the stairs to check on her.

“You know,” Martina called after me in a bland voice that warned me she did not intend to let this go. “There are other options for thegirl. You could loan her some money and send her on her way. Suggest a hotel, if you feel responsible for her. Maybe call Cesar and get her a fast appointment at the consulate.”

I didn’t respond because I didn’t want to acknowledge her words.

Only three more steps toward the stairs and she said, “Or your mother would take her. If you really care that much about helping her until she’s well. You’re not exactly a natural-born caretaker, and you have better things to do than play nursemaid.”

A snarl lodged in my throat, and I was grateful to be facing away from her so she could not see the sneer contorting my features.

Nursemaid?

Cazzo, that was not who I was playing.

But I could not—would not—tell her that my role was that of the shining knight. A role I’d last wanted to play as a boy fighting with sticks as swords against my best friend, Leo.

A role I had banished from my mind completely since picking up the mantle of my father.

The ruler of the underworld did not get to be the good guy in any scenario, I’d told myself as I laid it to rest.

But then, Guinevere had appeared in front of my headlights, a startled deer so ready for slaughter.

And I felt the tug of that nostalgic longing.

To do somethinggoodfor the first time in a long time.

To feel like a good kind of man again.

“It is not your business,” I said to Martina. “I asked you here because you are the only woman I trust in Firenze.”

“I’m honored,” she annoyed me by saying, walking forward to place a soft hand on my arm. “And I won’t judge, Raffa. I only meant to tease you. She’s a very pretty girl.”

“It is not about that,” I snapped, and truly it wasn’t.

She could have been a troll, and that same part of me would have yearned to help her. It wasn’t evenabouther.

It was about me and the kind of man I was and could no longer be.

Guinevere was giving me the fleeting chance to live out a different side of myself, and I was going to take it. And that was a secret I’d take to my grave.

“You know Angela has become obsessed with setting me up with Stefania, which has convinced Stef she has a chance with me. Being seen around town with another woman will deter both of them from thinking I would ever go through with such an arrangement.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but then over the last four years I had become very adept at skirting the truth. I was annoyed with Mama and Stefania for their mechanisms. I was a grown man capable of finding my own wife when and if the desire struck me. Taking Guinevere out to one of my usual haunts meant the word would spread through Firenze in a matter of hours that I had a new woman on my arm, and hopefully Stefania would take the unsubtle hint after a series of subtle rebuffs.

“Va bene. So you’re just using her as a beard until you can get rid of her,” Martina surmised, but her voice was too dry, and I knew she was challenging me.

“My actions do not require an explanation to you or anyone,” I reminded her. “I have something more important for you to focus on. Bruno sang a very beautiful song before he died at Tenuta Romano. I want you to find out who the fuck San Marco is.”