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It twists inside me, like a knife in my heart. He’s just one step away from plotting against me..
I know what it really is. It’s not a declaration of war, but it’s the closest possible thing to it. It’s a prelude. And an invitation to me to surrender.
Hoping against all my instincts, wishing with all my heart that I’m wrong, I ask him,
“Why, Alessio? Why does your uncle want to see me.”
I can’t bear it. But I have to hear it. And I need to get it from Alessio’s lips. Damn. those lips. there’s a cold sensation at the corner of my eye. I blink it away.
“He says,” he almost flinches as I fix his eye. I know that he’s killed men for less.
“Well, it’s a big thing. You can see that, right? It’s been almost a century and there has been no hint, no sign of recognition from Chicago or the Commission or anybody else on the national scene. Not for the organization in Seattle.” He waits. Do I see a flicker of a question in his eyes? Could there be the tiniest, most distant flicker of a sense that he knows and understands what he has done?
I stiffen myself. There’s no point in clinging to a foolish hope now. Alessio has been blinded. His uncle has made him believe his lies about the Pacific Northwest territories. Beyond that, his uncle Jerry has dangled the keys to the kingdom in front of him. He’s painted a picture where it can all be Alessio’s for the taking.
Now, Alessio can only understand what’s good for Alessio. As far as he’s concerned, that has to be what’s good for everybody. For the whole world, if he thought about it. Nothing more nothing less.
His uncle has told him the thing, the one thing that Alessio has no defense against. Jerry has told Alessio what he wants to hear.
My world is falling and crumbling, literally smashing to pieces, shattering inside of me.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Alessio shifts in his chair. “Nobody knows yet. Only you. Now.”
“So, what makes you think even the Commission knows?”
“Uncle Jerry…”
“Or even anybody else in Chicago?” I feel like I’m rising in the chair. I’m not controlling my voice. “Your uncle could just be floating this whole thing. Spinning you a line.”
“No…”
“Who was with him?” the words slide out through my lips. Slip, like a blade.
“What?”
“When he told you.”
“We were alone.”
“He could just have made up a scheme. Or it could all be a joke. What makes you think this is anything more than him breaking your balls?”
“No, he’s totally serious. I’m certain.”
“Are you? Why? How?”
“He said…” He falters and stops.
Alessio. One of the most feared and ruthless men in Seattle and Washington state. The man who rules for our family over thousands of men. A man who has taken me in ways that make me quiver to recall. Over and over.
What can be making him hesitate. How has he been wrong-footed, this fearless street-fighter?
In one of those mysterious moments of clarity, in a cold flash, maybe there’s a way that I read it on his face, some trace in the combination of micro-movements, a sense of what they add up to.
I know what it is that he’s holding back. What he needs to say, the words he so badly doesn’t want to form in his mouth and utter. And in the same moment, I understand what it means.
Because I still love him so much, my heart wants me to let him off the hook. To say it for him. To show him that, whatever I think about it all, I understand him. That it will be okay. We’ll get through this together.
