He rolls his eyes. “Cowering in some hole, no doubt,” he replies. “He was always deeply uninteresting. But his part in this is done. Now, come—we’re leaving.”
He stands up. I watch him rise like a nightmare made flesh.
“I’m not going anywhere with you.”
Without so much as a second of hesitation, he slaps me across the face with the back of his hand.
It doesn’t hurt nearly as much as it should. Not in light of this new revelation. I slump back into the booth. Through my dazed vision, I see him nod to his men and I hear them come for me. Boots stomping on the dirty, greasy tile.
Still staggering, I spring to my feet and try to dart away from them.
But I’m dizzy and they are everywhere. A forest of arms, reaching out to grab me and lock me in place.
“Don Rokiades,” Lionel says, appearing out of the woodwork. He looks extremely uncomfortable, but also determined. “This is Don Lombardi’s daughter. She should be treated with respect, no?”
I think that’s pretty rich coming from a man who locked me up in a damp room and handed me over to the evil monster who’s trying to force me into an arranged marriage.
But at the moment, I’m grateful. One small spark of brightness in an ocean of shadows.
“Hold it! You are right, Lionel,” Rokiades acknowledges gracefully. “Respect is a rare commodity these days. It’s a quality people still need to be taught.”
His voice is so pleasant. But then his hand moves so fast and so smoothly that I don’t even register what he’s doing until it’s already done. By that time, the knife has sliced down Lionel’s torso, splitting him open from chest to stomach.
I see the blood first.
Then the intestines.
And the pizza I had moments ago burns my throat as it comes up.
But I swallow it back, refusing to show even the slightest hint of weakness in front of these men. Lionel staggers to the floor, spluttering for only a few seconds before the last breath leaves his body. Rokiades tucks the blade quietly back into the sheath on his hip.
I’m stunned. So shook I can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t make my feet cooperate enough to walk me forward.
The men carrying me don’t seem to care one way or the other. They hold me between them like a ragdoll, toes trailing over the ground as we make our way out of the restaurant and into a massive black vehicle that’s parked right outside.
Someone shoves me inside, and a moment later, Rokiades slips into the leather seats opposite me.
He makes a show of pulling out a white piece of cloth and starts cleaning the bloody blade of his knife with it, whistling all the while. The whole time, he keeps his eyes on me.
Lionel was clearly a Lombardi loyalist. He’d only been standing up for me because of my last name.
And he paid for it with his life.
It’s such a senseless murder that I can’t quite wrap my head around it. But then, the world I was born into is pretty fucking senseless.
“As I said, Renata,” Rokiades says, “I will not be disobeyed. Or disrespected.”
“He was loyal to the Lombardis,” I say, refusing to be silenced. “An ally to my brother.”
“That he was.”
“I thought you were working with my brother?”
He smiles. “This alliance needs only one Lombardi. I have you now,” he points out. “Why would I need him? Two Italians is too many, I think. You will do just fine.”
My stomach twists, but I bite down on my tongue until I taste blood again.