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“Walthers?”
“The maker of my guns is Walther.”
“Ah.”
“Where to?” he asks.
I hook my thumb behind me as he fixes my cape over my head. We’re a pair of criminals sneaking through the streets of my town in broad daylight, and Corrado’s long strides make me almost jog next to him.
He notices I’m trying to catch my breath and slows down. “How tall are you?”
“Short.”
He chuckles. “I’ve noticed.”
“So,” I start, trying to get to know him better. “Have you visited here before?”
“You mean this island?”
I nod as we round the corner.
“We came once while my father was alive, but I don’t remember much of it.”
“Did you attend church?”
Corrado smiles a wicked sort of smile. “Mmhm. Devil loves the nuns.”
“Gross.” Blasphemous and gross.
We don’t speak after that because the speed-walking is affecting my lung capacity, meaning I’m panting like a golden retriever who chased a racehorse, and by the time we reach my house, I’m ready to collapse.
I sit down on the front steps.
Corrado tucks a hand under my armpit and helps me up.
He’s pretty much dragging me. I manage the last few steps to the front door. I lean on it for support at the same time that my mother swings it open.
I lose my support, stumble, and know I can’t catch myself in time to stop from hitting the marble in the foyer. I smack it with the side of my body and bounce off once. Since I’m curvy, my cushions are plentiful, and I break no bones. But also, while I’m not hurting from the fall other than a sting on my side that’ll go away shortly (this isn’t the first time I’ve tumbled), my pride is hurt.
I wiggle my feet as I sit up in the foyer and fix my hair. “Hi, Mom.”
Corrado offers me a hand, and I take it to rise and arrange myself before my mother scolds me for bringing a guest uninvited.
“Cristina,” she says, looking between me and Corrado as he stands beside me. “And Corrado Mancini.”
He slams the door closed. “Start talking, Maria.”
My mother drops to her knees and takes Corrado’s hand in both of hers. She touches her forehead to his knuckles. “I had nothing to do with it, Corrado,” she sobs unconvincingly. After spending a single day with the Mancini men, I know they can tell fake from real in a matter of seconds, and I’m terrified of what my mother knows.
He’s not reaching for his Walthers, which I interpret as great news. He lets her beg before spitting on her and moving off toward the office. He knows exactly where my father’s study is.
I should’ve known better. The Order knows everything, and I’ve brought a viper into my family’s nest.
Huddling on the floor, my mother glares up at me, all her fake tears gone. “All you had to do was marry Gio. Was that too much to ask, hm?”
“I was going to marry him. You and Gio seemed to have pissed off the wrong people, don’t you think?”
I peek in the direction of the open office, where Corrado’s searching my father’s desk drawers. Some of those are locked. He’ll need a key.
