Viola saw the attack coming—had expected it—and could have dropped Paul in his tracks to prevent it, but instead, she accepted the blow when the back of his hand collided with her left cheek. She stumbled and saw actual stars as her vision threatened to go black and she struggled to stay upright. But at least she had not so much as yelped at the pain. She wouldn’t give him that satisfaction.
The next blow came before she was completely upright again. And then the next, until she felt the warmth of the blood trickling from her nose and tasted its coppery tang in her mouth. Her head spun too much for her to remain standing any longer, and she stumbled to her knees. It felt as though the world had narrowed to the pain her brother’s fists had brought to the surface of her body.
Gingerly, Viola touched her mouth where her lip felt split. But she didn’t look up at Paolo and she didn’t say a word. She simply listened to the dull thump . . . thump . . . thump of fists hitting canvas, a sound that matched the beating of her own tired and scarred heart.
Paul pulled her to her feet, and Viola’s head swirled as she tried to focus on him. His face was close to hers when she heard her mother’s voice saying “basta.”
“I’ll decide what’s enough, Mamma,” Paul said, tightening his grip on Viola’s arm where their mother couldn’t see.
Viola could smell his expensive cologne, could feel the heat from his body as he crowded her with his size. He was trying to intimidate her, as he had when they were children. But she wasn’t a child anymore. She hadn’t been for a very long time.
“She needs to know her place,” Paul said.
“You’ve shown her,” their mother said, her tone indicating that nothing more was to be said about this. “Whatever she’s done, she’s still family.”
Paul glared at Viola, who met his eyes without flinching. He held her a moment longer, though, his viselike grip on her arm painful, before he finally released her. Then he walked over and, placing his hands gently on his mother’s shoulders, leaned down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t worry about it, Mamma. I know how to take care of family. I take care of you, don’t I?”
Viola didn’t have to look to know that her mother’s eyes had softened and her stern mouth had tugged up at the corners. She could hear the fondness in her mother’s voice. “You’re a good boy, Paolo.”
It took everything Viola had not to snort at that.
Paul called for one of his boys, and when two arrived, scurrying from the back room like rats, he told them to take his mother home.
Before she left, her mother came over and took Viola’s chin with a sure grip. With an almost warm expression, her mother examined Viola’s bloodied face. “Listen to your brother, mia figghia. Later we visit Father Lorenzo, and you can confess.”
“Yes, Mamma,” Viola murmured, lowering her eyes as the bitterness of the words mixed with the blood pooling in her mouth. She ignored the weariness that felt like a weight, the hurt that couldn’t be brushed away any more than the tattoo inked between the blades of her shoulders.
After their mother left, Paul came over and looked at her face, disgust—and also jealousy—shining in his eyes. “I know why you’re back.” His wide mouth curled into a sneer. “Mamma, she thinks you came to your senses, but that’s not it, is it?” He gave her still-sore cheek a less-than-friendly pat. “No . . . It’s because the damn cripple isn’t around to protect you now, isn’t it?”
She wanted to spit in his face. She wanted to curse his name and tell him that Dolph Saunders had been more of a man than Paul would ever be. But Viola kept her mouth shut and tried to keep the hate from her eyes.
“What? Nothing to say for yourself?”
“What does it matter why I’m here?” she said, her words thick on her swollen lips. “I came back. I’m yours to use again, aren’t I?”
His wide mouth turned down. “You’re no good to me if I can’t trust you.”
“Who else would I be loyal to?” Viola asked. “You’re right. Dolph Saunders is dead, and I’m not interested in dying or getting caught by some Order patrol. You think I haven’t seen your boys working with them? You think I don’t know you have friends in high places?” She shook her head. “I’m not an idiota, Paolo. I don’t have nowhere else to go. I’ll do what you need so long as you keep the Order away from me.”
Paul didn’t speak at first.
“I know what you want. . . . You want to control the Bowery,” she persisted. “Everybody knows what I can do. Everybody. You don’t think it will be a boon if they know I’m for you now?”
He considered her, his face so much like her late father’s and yet so different. It was harder, less forgiving. Much, much more determined than her father’s had ever been.
Paul stepped toward her, and before she realized what he’d planned, he had her by the throat, his large, meaty hands squeezing her neck so tightly she couldn’t draw breath. Tight enough that she would wear the mark of them. “You were smart to go to Mamma, little sister. I’ll take you on, for her sake. But if you go against me again, it will be the last time.”
With every ounce of strength she had left, Viola pulled her affinity around her and pushed it toward her brother until his eyes went wide and he gasped, releasing her throat and bringing his hands up to his own. The man who had been punching the bag stopped his assault and started to approach them.
“Call him off,” Viola told her brother.
Paul’s eyes were filled with rage, but his face was turning purplish already from his inability to breathe. Finally, he lifted his hand, and the man halted.
“I didn’t come back to hurt you, though the good lord knows I have every reason to, after what you’ve done. But you touch me again—if you let any of your men touch me—I will end you.”
She released her hold on him, and he gasped, stumbling forward. “I’ll kill you myself,” he rasped.
Viola simply stared at him, unimpressed. “The bullet better be quick, Paolo.”
He glared at her. “It will be.”
“And how will you explain that to Mamma?” Her lips felt tight as she forced her mouth into the semblance of a cold smile. “Don’t think I haven’t made arrangements to expose you if anything happens to me. Mamma will know all about your other activities, the whores and the criminals you depend on for your money.” It was a lie, of course. If she’d had anyone else to turn to, she wouldn’t be standing there, humiliating herself. “I need your protection, and in exchange I’ll be your blade, but you and your scagnozzi can keep your damn hands off me.”
The siblings studied each other in tense silence until, finally, Paul huffed out a hollow breath that sounded like he was vaguely amused.
Va bene. She needed him to respect her power, even if he didn’t respect her.
“Go get yourself cleaned up.” He gestured to the blood staining her shirt. “Can’t have my blade tarnished, can I? You want my protection? You’ll work for it.”
“I wouldn’t expect anything less.” Viola was too tired, too jaded by the violence of her life to feel anything close to relief. But she did feel a certain satisfaction. Paul would have killed her already if he didn’t mean to keep her. Until she figured out what she needed to do next, she’d be safe. Or as safe as any Mageus could be in this city.