Chapter 21 21

Chapter 21 21


Giovanni's anger filled the office as though it were a tangible wall. The air felt heavy with it. Dangerous.

"Antonio Greco," he repeated. His voice was dangerously quiet. The silence that presages violence. “One of the five who killed my family. And he’s walking in your gallery. Talked to you. Asked you questions." Isabella's mind reeled. She could hardly believe the words.

"I did not know. He said he was my godfather. That he baptized me as a baby. He used to bring me candy when I was small—”

“He was involved in killing my brother who was only seven years old,” Giovanni interrupted her. He was raising his voice now, going as close to losing control as isabella had ever seen him.

"He was the lookout. He watched the house. Signaled when we were vulnerable. Ensured no one could interrupt as the others killed off my family.” He turned on Chiara suddenly. "And you killed him. In broad daylight. In front of witnesses. Outside Isabella’s gallery where cops are to investigate.”

Chiara straightened her spine. Defiant. "He was a target. I eliminated him. That’s what you hired me to do.”

"I said to keep an eye on him," Giovanni's tone turned to something dangerous. It chilled Isabella to the bone despite not being intended for her. "I told you to follow him. To see who he contacted. What he knew. Where the others may be lurking. I distinctly said to keep him alive.”

“He was running,” Chiara said. Her chin lifted. "He knew we were watching. He would have disappeared. Gone underground. We'd have been out of luck—”

“Bullshit!” Isabella's voice lashed through the chamber. Giovanni and Chiara both looked at her. Isabella was shaking. Her entire body quaked with a combination of rage, grief and fear. But the words came anyway. She could not stop them.

“He wasn’t running,” Isabella said. Her voice trembled, but it became more forceful with each word. “He was nervous, sure, but he came out calmly. He was going to his car. I saw him outside through the window before, before the gunshot.” It cracked on the last word. “You murdered him because you felt like it. Because you are a jealous, cruel person and you wanted to hurt me by doing it in front of my gallery.”

Chiara’s face set itself into something ugly. "Watch your mouth, little girl."

"He came to check on me!" Isabella screamed. All the sorrow and fury that had been piling in her over months erupted. "He was worried about me! He asked if I was okay! If anything strange had happened! And you killed him for it!" Her eyes bled with them, but she did not reach to wash it off. "Just like you ran Audrey off the road. Just like you threatened Fabrizio. You've hurt everyone around me and you dare use loyalty to Giovanni as an excuse!”

"Isabella—" Giovanni started. But she whirled on him. Her anger shifted to encompass him.

"And you! You let her! You married me to make my father miserable and he's dead! He cannot feel this! I am the one suffering! It’s me watching people die! I am going to be left with nothing!” She was sobbing now. The words tumbling out uncontrolled. Years’ worth of pain and fear and isolation burst forth.

“My godfather is dead because of you,” Isabella added. She angrily brushed away her tears with the back of her hand. “And so Audrey thinks I'm a murderer because of you. You killed my father. Every single person I've ever cared about is either dead or in danger or gone!" Her voice turned to steel. Hard and cold. "You want revenge? Fine. You have had it. You have destroyed my life. Congratulations. But I promise you I will avenge them. All of them. Starting with my father. I do not care what he did. What sins he committed. He was my father. And you murdered him."

Giovanni went very still. Like some kind of predator who just saw a carcass. "Careful, Isabella."

"Or what?" She laughed. It came flying out, bitter and broken. "You will lock me up again? Kill more people I love? Do your worst, Giovanni. You already have."

The office hung in deafening silence. Isabella could practically hear her own heart beating. Could hear Chiara's breathing. Could hear nothing else. Chiara looked between them. Her features were something like satisfaction. As if she was glad to see Isabella snap at last. Finally showing her true feelings.

Giovanni stared at Isabella. She could not see his face behind the mask. I couldn’t read whether he was angry or surprised or what. Finally, he spoke.

"Get out. Both of you." His voice was flat. Empty.

Chiara's head snapped toward him. "Giovanni—"

"I said get out!" His voice was thundering. It shook the room. Chiara hesitated. Isabella watched her debate arguing. Then she wheeled and departed. The heels of her shoes clicked on the floor. Sharp and angry. The door didn’t so much slam as close with a bang.

But Isabella did not move. She gazed at Giovanni, a little way from the center of the apartment where she stood; and her tears were flowing yet, though less painfully.

“I’m not finished,” Isabella said. Her voice was still trembling but resolute underneath. “Do you know what Antonio asked me? He wanted to know if anything weird had occurred right before my father’s death. If anyone contacted me. If anybody referred to the old crew or old foes. He was scared, Giovanni. Terrified. And not of you. Of someone else."

Giovanni's attention sharpened. She saw it in the complete intensity of his entire body as he focused on her. "What else did he say?" he demanded.

“He said that my father had old enemies,” Isabella replied. She was attempting to picture everything now. “That if they were going again—” She broke off. Frustrated. "He did not finish. He just stopped himself. But he knew something. Something he found scarier than you, in other words.”

Giovanni moved closer. All of his intensity was now directed at her. As if she was the only thing in the world that mattered. “And you are only just now telling me this?”

“You didn’t ask,” Isabella said in response. "You were too busy letting Chiara kill him to find out what he really said. To find out what he was warning me about.”

For what seemed like a long time they stared at each other. There was something in the air between them. Heavy with everything unsaid. And now Giovanni extended his hand for the phone on the desk.

"I need to make a call. You will stay here." It was not a request.

"Why?" Isabella asked.

"Because somebody did kill Antonio Greco, and it wasn't me," Giovanni said. He was already dialing. “So that means somebody else is moving. Someone is hunting the crew. And if they scared Antonio, then we should also be scared of them.” Turning away, the phone to his ear, Isabella understood. Antonio was visiting her, yes, but not only. He had been warning her. About something worse than Giovanni.

The next day Giovanni called Isabella to the lunch table. This surprised her. They hadn’t really talked since the scene in his office.

“She had mostly holed up in her room. He was hiding in his office, or he had fled the estate altogether. They passed each other like ghosts. The dining room had a guest in it when Isabella walked into the room. An older man, 50 or so, his graying hair meticulously groomed. It was with expensive tailoring that fit perfectly. He stood when she entered. He had a grandfatherly smile. Kind in a manner that set Isabella immediately on edge.

"Ah, Isabella, I am happy to meet you," he declared. He spoke accented but fluent English. “Giovanni has spoken so much about you.” Giovanni sat at the table's head. His posture was stiff. Formal. There was something off in his voice when he spoke but Isabella could not identify it. "Isabella, this is Gabriele Moretti. An old family friend. He knew my parents."

Moretti took her hand. He kissed it – the old fashioned open palm kiss – and every shudder crawled under Jane’s skin, though she could not have said exactly why.

"Your father, Lorenzo, and I dated years ago. I’m sorry to hear that he passed.” Isabella tensed at the mention of her father. Giovanni's eyes flickered to her. A warning. Be careful what you say.

"Thank you," Isabella managed. Her voice came out strained. They sat down to lunch, and Isabella discovered that this was another performance. Another test. She was supposed to be the good little wife while this intruder watched, and judged.