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Bruno chimes in, “You going to give it to her?”
“Don’t you think I got more self respect?”
Like a gas tank exploding, both the other men shout, “No.” And they all fall into a crescendo of laughter.
Alessio’s voice snaps with authority. “Don’t forget that in European royal marriages, the first fuck was always witnessed. Documented.”
My panties drench at the thought of that. They all explode with laughter again, and I can’t help but clench and tingle.
There’s a chair by the door and I drop back into it. I need a few moments.
The three voices are less distinct from here, but I can still make out what they’re saying. The one I think is Carlo says, “Okay. What about tonight? The don says it’s a big deal for us. Do we take her, or leave her here?”
Bruno says,“Who, the stray? I vote we take her. Take here there, keep her locked in a closet under the stairs. Or a basement room. Then we can sneak out for a quick play with her whenever.”
“You want to get your wick wet in my future bride, Bruno?”
So that deadpan voice must be Carlo. I almost groan out loud. Their banter is disgusting. Awful. And terrifying. And in my darker soul, some part deep down inside me is ignited by it. I’m shocked at the way their words churn me.
It makes me clench and wriggle.
Alessio’s voice of authority again, “Dad says, if she stays here, the Benedettis will know. If she’s out with us, everyone will know. What do you think?”
Bruno’s voice rises, “Who cares what any of them think or what they know, or what they think they know?” A rhythmic sound, like he’s beating his hand against wood, echoes in a shake in his chest. “What the fuck does it matter? We’re the Fortunas. Fuck ’em all. We’re the ‘F’ word around here.”
All three raise their voices like they’re clambering over the tops of one another’s heads.
Carlo cuts through. “She could be a total liability. It’s too unpredictable. This is an important night.”
Bruno says, “There. Carlo’s right.”
Alessio mocks, “You always think Carlo’s right.”
Without missing a beat, Bruno claps back, “And you never realize he is until it’s too fucking late. Try to keep up.” There are grunts, sounds of jostling and some very masculine laughs. “Anyway, I say we keep her here. Under wraps. People see she’s not at the thing, then they look at her family. Then they’ll see them looking at us. Let them all play fucking guessing games. We come out on top whatever.”
“Bruno.” It sounds like there’s a smile in Carlo’s answer, but with these men, it’s hard to tell affection apart from scorn. “For you it’s always the show of force, right?”
A softer tone makes Bruno sound like the peacemaker. “Sure, Carlo, but why not? We don’t all have to be looking four moves ahead like we’re playing chess the whole time. We’re the number two noise in this town. Why would we let anyone forget? They’re down in the number threes, and we’ve got their little pussy in a box. Let’s keep it stashed and stabled here.”
Carlo says, “The don is right about one thing. It’s all about power. Real power.”
There’s an odd note in the way he says, the don. Like there was doubt about the don’s position. First I heard of it, but the way Carlo says it, he makes it sound like a running gag. An inside joke that’s already well-worn.
His voice is coming nearer to the door. “I left my phone in my room. I’m going up to get it, and I’ll see you all at dinner.”
By reflex I back away.
The double doors swing open and I’m face to face with him. It’s him, for sure.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
His head slowly turns to me, but his eyes are still back on Bruno. Only when he’s facing me, his eyes flash into mine. A shock snaps through me, stiff and hard, like a metal rod. A lurch, like the moment when a big plane’s wheels leave the ground. Or the rollercoaster dip when you go over the hump in a bridge.
Bruno’s voice follows him out. “That’s why I say keep her here. We decide. Nobody else.”
But neither of us are listening. His eyes are the palest blue. And luminous. A deep, narrow scar runs from his high forehead, down the chiseled side of his face. When I finally see Carlo in the flesh, the razor spark in his eyes knocks my breath out of me.
I feel like I’ve been poleaxed. Hit by a sledgehammer bolt of lightning. It seems to flash in his eyes, too. Maybe that’s my imagination, but I’m pretty sure I registered a tremor on the Richter scale.
