Page 11 of The Butcher's Wife

Rafa makes a dismissive noise and waves his hand around as if to saywho the fuck knows? He pulls a stack of papers from the desk onto his lap.

I bite my lip. “Do you know what happened? At Turi’s house?”

Anyone else would admonish me for such a brazen question, but Rafa only ignores me for a few moments. He’s not so much older than me and Serafina, but unlike us girls, he’s always been expected to play a more active part in the Family. Since Carlo’s interests lie with drinking and women, Rafa had to step up. All of that responsibility has turned him into a distant stranger. I can’t remember the last time I’ve seen him smile.

“Please, Rafa,” I say.

My brothers, for all their faults, have always tried to do their best for their sisters.

He sighs. His hands still over the papers. “I guess you’ll know soon enough. Aldo’s dead.”

My heart stutters.

Rafa’s dark eyes meet mine. “They’re saying Dad shot him. Turi has Junior in his basement now.”

Aldo’s dead. If Junior’s in Turi’s basement, he’s as good as dead. Something fragile flutters in my chest. I almost can’t breathe.

“And Marisol?” I ask.

Rafa raises an eyebrow. “Turi’s wife? Yeah, she’s fine.”

I exhale a long, shuddering breath.

“Okay,” I say as I turn to leave. “Thanks.”

“Wait. Uh, I know… do you want to talk about what happened?”

I turn. Rafa looks vaguely pained. He’s never been good at this sort of thing.

I paste a smile onto my face. “No, Rafa.”

The answer doesn’t seem to surprise him. “I miss her too.”

My smile melts into something a little more genuine. “I know.”

I leave my brother to his work.

As I pass through the house, a deep undercurrent of emotions swims through my limbs, pushing me forward with each step. Dom kept his word. Aldo and Junior are dead, and Marisol is safe.

How could Dom have been so sure of what would happen?

He’s always been like that—unwavering and invincible. Capable of the impossible.

I find myself just outside Mom and Dad’s door, fighting the rising tide of exhaustion that threatens to tow me under. A whisper curls around the back of my mind.

Why am I doing this? What’s the point?

A rush of guilt and longing for Serafina surges over me. There’s only one person in the world I want to talk to about this, and she’s gone.

I half-turn to walk back to Serafina’s room, but the fear of what’s lurking there stops me. That was Giulia’s voice, on the phone. My late husband’s family were always bound to come after me, but I thought when they took Serafina, that’d be enough.

I inhale deeply. Rafa, Carlo, Mom, Dad—I can’t lose anyone else.

I lean toward the door, listening for noise inside. Mom’s talking in a low voice.

“Mom?” I call through the door, suddenly feeling eight years old again.

“Come in.”