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He grunts and begins pacing again. I know what his answer is without him having to say it. None of us would ever hurt a member of our family, not for any reason, and I have to assume the Rossis are the same.
“Get creative with the driver.” Father’s stare is level and cold. “I don’t care if it pisses off our new allies. I will personally speak with Renzo and handle any issues. Make sure the driver isn’t lying.”
“And if he’s not?” I ask, already preparing myself for a brutal, bloody conversation with a man who’s probably innocent. Not that I mind. I feel nothing for the driver.
“We take the guns we currently have and we make sure Santoro never steps out of line again.”
Chapter 23
Stefania
I wake up without Davide and wonder if he’s some kind of fever dream. It’s like he keeps showing up out of nowhere, throwing down a bunch of hot and body-melting sex, then disappearing in the morning.
I’m frustrated. I haven’t heard anything about a job, and I’m starting to get a little stir-crazy sitting around the house with nothing to do. I can’t text my husband because he’s always busy and I don’t want to bother him with something trivial like, you know, my feelings, and so I end up resenting him and feeling annoyed with myself, while also wishing he were here right now to kiss me, fuck me, and call me all sorts of filthy names.
Which is a thing I like now, apparently.
I have a leisurely morning before I get dressed and step outside. I don’t have a plan until I hit the sidewalk, look around, spot a few of the guards that keep the oasis safe, and start walking to the far end where the fake roadwork keeps cars away. It’s a nice day; I stroll along, feeling good, at least until I notice someone hurrying after me.
“Mrs. Bianco, please hold on a second,” he says as he reaches my side, breathing hard.
I glance over at the young man. I’d guess he’s nineteen, maybe twenty, with a weak mustache, baggy jeans, and an oversized sweatshirt probably meant to hide the gun he’s got tucked into a holder at his waistband, except he keeps adjusting himself and flashed the gun at me like three times already.
“My name’s Stefania,” I tell him and keep on walking, not slowing down. “I haven’t seen you around before.”
“I’m Matty,” he says and keeps pace with me. “Please, ma’am, I mean, Mrs., uh, I mean?—”
“Stefania,” I say again. “Are you new? I’m looking for a decent coffee shop. Anyone nearby?”
“You can’t leave the family grounds,” Matty says, sounding genuinely horrified. I should feel bad for him since he’s clearly just some low-level soldier stuck on minor guard duty, but I’m too annoyed with my situation to take pity and turn around.
“Says who?” I ask, doing my best to sound sweet, but picking up the pace.
“Your husband. He made it very clear. I’m not to let you out of the oasis for any reason.”
“How come it’s called the oasis?” I ask, even though I know full well. I just want to keep him talking.
“Well, ma’am, I suppose it’s because it’s the only safe place in the whole city for you and your family, which is exactly why you can’t leave.”
I’m about twenty feet from the roadwork signs, twenty feet from freedom, twenty feet from the city I supposedly live in but haven’t gotten to see much of yet. Sure, I’ve been driven around, I’ve gone to high-end shops with Elena and Freddie, but I haven’t gone for a stinking walk since I married Davide, and I miss it. I always liked walking around Philly.
“Tell you what, Matty. I’m going to go ahead and ignore everything you’re saying, and when my husband finds out about it, I’ll make sure he understands that there was nothing you could do short of grabbing me and hauling me back. Which he would never, ever want you to do, since my husband is a jealous man and he’d hate it if someone touched me.”
I have a feeling that last part is actually true, even though I’m making this up on the fly.
“Stefania,” he says, sounding panicked. “You don’t understand.”
“No, you don’t understand. I’m sick of sitting around inside. Get some more guys and follow me if you have to, but I’m going for a stupid walk, and I’m finding a coffee shop. I don’t care if this is reckless and irresponsible. I’m a damn person and I want to be treated like one.”
I reach the roadwork sign feeling pretty good about my speech. I’m a glorious few steps from freedom. The city practically vibrates with anticipation around me: normal people are walking along the other side of the road, a nice young couple, the bald guy and the girl in a cute dress, and I want to shout at them, hey fucklechucks, look at me, I’m a normal person too, except anyone that has to say they’re normal probably isn’t normal, and definitely normal people don’t yell at strangers. But still, I’m elated, and I take another step forward, then another step.
That’s when the truck comes to a screaming halt in the street. My mouth drops open and my hands fly up to my chest as my heart tries to cartwheel its way into the gutter.
“Your husband’s already on the way,” Matty says, sounding sheepish.
The truck door bangs open and Davide marches out. I take a few steps backwards, back over the invisible line into the oasis, but he keeps on coming until he’s leaning over me with a snarl on his face.
“Why the fuck did my men call to tell me that my wife is causing trouble? Do you have any idea how busy I am today?”
