“I fucked up,” I admit. “She’s been back at her father’s for a week.”
Shame weighs down every limb in my body as I stand there admitting the worst mistake of my life to someone I admire.
“You hit her?” Al asks, squinting at me above the rim of his glass.
“No,” I say. “I did worse. She’s… Headstrong. I lost my cool, and I… Forced her to submit.”
I swallow the sick taste in my mouth with a sip of burning liquor. I can’t even look at this man while I tell him what I did. But it affects him, in some way. Our marriage affects everyone in both the Valenti and Pomponio families.
Al nods slowly, sinking back down into his chair and leaning back, swirling the liquor in his glass and watching me. “I see,” he says.
The longest minute of my life follows, the room silent as I stand there waiting for his verdict.
“I’m sorry,” I say at last.
“You’ll get through it,” he says. “There’s no other option, King. You might have to work harder to earn her submission after this, but if you show her you’re worthy… Submission is earned, not taken.”
“What if she doesn’t want that? She doesn’t to be dominated. She wants her own way in everything.”
“It can be taught,” Al says. “You’ll find the way to teach her to submit and do it willingly, to want it. But it’s a balance, never forced. She has to get what she needs most if you want what you need most.”
“Then it seems we’re at an impasse,” I say. “We both need the same thing.”
“You’ll find a way to work things out, though. That’s your job.”
“Yes, sir,” I say, the weight inside me settling heavier. There is no divorce, not even when there was never really a marriage. My lifelong assignment was to bring the families together, and I failed, but he’s not letting me off the hook. The problem is I’mnotworthy of her submission. If I were, she would have given it willingly.
I don’t know what to do to fix it. She’s already gone. So we’ll go on as we did when we were married, except she won’t live with me. It won’t be so different. Really, I should be thankful. There’s no chance of feelings getting involved when we’re not sleeping next to each other, not even texting. I’ll be the solitary soldier I envisioned when I joined the Valentis, before Al told me my fate was to be tied to hers. I won’t care about her, and therefore, no danger will come to her.
I thank Uncle Al for his advice and trust in me, and then I leave. As I drive home, I think of what Little Al did, about how much it must hurt to be betrayed by your own family—and not just far extended family or people who work for you, but your own grandson, whom you’ve groomed to take your place. Uncle Al may not show it, but he’s got to hate that. Which means if I want to show my loyalty to him, I have to kill the guy who betrayed him.
I thought pulling the trigger on a stranger would be the hardest thing I’d ever have to do, but this is so much harder. I don’t hate Little Al. And he’s not a stranger whose face I can pretend I don’t see when I can’t sleep at night. He’s a friend. I don’t know how the hell I’m going to go through with it. I’ll find a way, though. I’ve already failed Eliza, fucked up my first assignment beyond repair. This is probably the last chance I’ll get. My second strike.
It’s time to put what I’ve learned to use. This will make or break me, put me in a grave or maybe in Uncle Al’s inner circle. And more than that, it’ll prove something to myself. I need to know if I can survive this life when it’s not just easy jobs, or if I choke in crunch time. Time to prove that I can do the right thing even when it’s hard. I thought I’d done the right thing with Eliza by letting her go, but now I’m not sure. This time, I’m sure.
There’s no easy way out of this one. The mafia rules are clear. He violated them. He knew the risks, the consequences. Those are clear, too. It may have been my job to worry about my partner’s life when we were working side by side, but he’s not my partner anymore. He’s the fallen heir to this empire. He chose where to put his loyalty, and I choose where to put mine. He made his bed, and it’s my job to make sure he sleeps in it—permanently.
twenty-two
Eliza
A knock on my door interrupts my glum evening.
“Someone’s here to see you,” Sylvia says, sticking her head into my room.
“Who is it?”
“Come see,” she says, a knowing smile on her lips.
I sigh and climb off the bed. I’m sure it’s Bianca, and she’ll probably tell me I look like a slob. To be fair, I am wearing drawstring sweats and a t-shirt with no bra, and my hair is barely contained in a messy bun. The last time she saw me, I was at least wearing jeans, and she still told me it would take me forever to be presentable for the lunch date I cancelled. I haven’t felt up to socializing since, but I know I need to be there for her, since her dad just got taken out and her family is in ruins. I should be smug about that—she would be if the situation were reversed—but I can’t summon the cruelty.
“Aren’t you going to change?” Sylvia asks when I step past her into the hall.
“No,” I say. “She’ll just have to see me in my natural state.”
I’m halfway down the stairs before my visitor steps into view. Not Bianca.
My husband.