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“That’s not a reason men in your world usually accept.”
“I’m aware.”
“And now, you’re setting yourself on fire to clear a woman who left you. Who photographed your crimes and kept the photos, and who is, right now, still furious enough to hand those photos to anyone who asks.”
“Yes. Keep them, by the way. The photos. I’m not asking you to delete them.”
That stops her. “Why would you say that?”
“Because you should have a weapon against me. Hold it as long as you need it.”
“Tell me the real reason.”
“I’d rather be a ruined man whose wife walks free than a rich one who let her drown to save himself. Without my part in the story, you still look guilty, Veda.” I breathe, and it hurts, and I say the rest anyway. “I love you, which I should have said before, but I was too stupid or cowardly or some other bullshit excuse that doesn’t matter. Almost dying makes me a little braver, I guess. Or a little smarter. Both. I dunno.”
She doesn’t answer. Her hand rests on the table beside mine, close, not touching. Neither of us closes the distance, but that’s okay. There’s a dossier detonating in the next breath. A war still to survive. A hip that needs a hospital. A story to fix.
None of it can wait for two people to decide what they are. But she doesn’t leave the stool, and I don’t take the words back.
29
VEDA
The dossier goes out at dawn, and by the time the sun is fully up, the story has already begun to turn.
Nick showed me the release before sending it. Not out of obligation, but because he wanted me to see what his don was surrendering for me. It included account numbers, lab records, and detailed sections clearly stating, in a language no court could ignore, that I was a captive and nothing else. I read my own exoneration embedded in Lupo’s downfall like the worst love letter ever written.
The first version runs on most networks and news outlets.
The second one is mostly ignored, save for social media, where both are running around each other.
Dr. Veda Raines was a hostage, not an accomplice. That crazy doctor was in on it the whole time. Back and forth.
Our version is slower than Allegra’s story. Truth usually is. A lie arrives completed. The truth has to be assembled by people who’d rather not bother. It’s less exciting, so why make all that effort?
I call Mark. The one person who I know would think I’m worth the effort.
He answers on the first ring, which means he was holding the phone, which means he’s already seen everything. There’s no version of this call where I get to ease into it. “Hey—”
“Veda.” His voice is wrecked. “Tell me where you are. Tell me you’re safe. The internet has been saying two different things about you, and I have been on a plane for six hours not knowing which—”
“Mark.”
“—not knowing whether I was landing to bail you out or bury you, and I couldn’t call, I couldn’t do anything, I just sat in seat 2A refreshing your name—”
“Mark. Breathe. I’m alive. I’m safe. Mostly, and safe is a relative term today.” I close my eyes. “Mark, where are you?”
“Over Italy. Landing in twenty-three minutes. I left as soon as Adeline sent me the first article. Just tell me what’s real. One of these says you’re a criminal, one says you’re a victim. Which one is it?”
That’s the question with no easy answer, and anything resembling the truth could get him killed. By Lupo.
But that’s the old fear talking. I don’t believe that anymore. I watched that man nearly bleed out on a road rather than let me be in danger, watched him set fire to his own name to clear mine. Whatever Lupo Sartorre is, he is not going to hurt my brother.
So I tell him. All of it, finally. Telling is its own kind of surgery—something cut open, drain it out, let the thing scar over. Whatever he thinks of me after, I can’t control that.
“… I was kidnapped, Mark. In Boston. The morning after the conference. He needed a doctor for his daughter, and he decided the fastest way to get the best one was to take her, so he took me, and he called it a marriage to make it look like his visit back home was some kind of marital celebration. The truth is that he had some suspicions about his business partner. But Matteo—the partner—would have been suspicious about him returning to Italy, since he rarely visited anymore.”
Silence for a moment. I’m not sure what he’s thinking at this point.
