“Busy day, or is that normal?” Greco asks me calmly.
I grin. “Slow, actually.”
“Where’s the Russian?”
“Who?”
He shakes his head, and I smile. It’s a good day. “I’ll see you in prison,” he says close to my ear. “I have good friends there.”
“I look forward to it. I’m sure we’ll have a lot to discuss. Starting with those cash deposits into your wife’s account,” I whisper the last part.
That wipes anything resembling satisfaction off his face, and he gestures to the cops to take me away.
31
BASTIAN
“You’re a mess, Dandelion. Remind me not to fuck with you.”
Vittoria sits in the tub looking straight ahead as I scrub blood and dirt off her. I take each of her fingers and clean the gunk of Lucien’s eyes and skin out from under her broken nails. I drain the tub once, twice, three times and refill it and all the while she sits there staring straight at nothing, almost catatonic.
Someone brings a steaming mug of tea. I thank them and set it aside to cool a little while I wash her hair then put conditioner in it to comb it through, taking my time. I like doing it. She finally closes her eyes and lets her head drop back. I watch her face, soft and relaxed, and I think about all the shit she’s been through. The things that have been done to her. And I make a vow at that moment. I will not allow anyone to harm her again. I will never let anything happen to our Dandelion ever again.
I rinse the conditioner out of her hair, then crouch down beside the tub. “Vittoria, drink this.” She doesn’t stir. I bring the cup of tea to her lips. “Dandelion.”
She turns to me, finally looks at me with soft, yielding eyes. They’re so expressive, those eyes.
“You’re beautiful, you know that?” She blinks, giving me the smallest smile. I brush a strand of wet hair back from her face. “Drink this.”
I hold it to her mouth, and she takes a sip, then another, then brings handfuls of water to her face and rubs her eyes. I watch her, wondering if she’s crying again. I don’t even think it’s conscious, that crying. Just years’ worth of locked up emotion.
“Come on. You’re going to get cold,” I say, unplugging the drain and getting an oversized towel to wrap her in. She stands, water falling off her too-thin body. The stress of it all, I imagine. She lets me wrap her in the towel, and when I lift her out of the tub, she puts her arms around my neck and watches me in that way she has as I carry her into the bedroom. It’s a little unsettling, I admit, but this is her. This is Dandelion. A little weird. Damaged. But ours.
Ours.
At that, my mind wanders to Amadeo. I don’t know where they’ve taken him.
Vittoria touches my face, calling me back to her. I muster a smile and set her down, then begin to dry her. She lets me, and I like it. I like taking care of her. It’s strange. I’ve never felt this way for any other woman before.
“Emma?” she asks once she’s dry.
“She’s safe. She was hiding behind all those stuffed animals.”
“Good.”
“She called for help, Vittoria. That’s how I found her.”
Her forehead furrows. “She spoke?”
I nod. “In whispers but yes, she’s talking. I think she’s trying to get used to the sound of her own voice.”
Vittoria’s mouth stretches into a smile, but it’s only momentary as that line between her eyebrows deepens, and she begins to cry quiet tears.
“It was him,” she says. “It was all him. All the damage he did. All the people he hurt…”
I hug her to me, taking her weight when she leans into me, holding her tight as her body is wracked by her tears.
“He’s gone now, Vittoria. It’s over. He’s dead.”
“Emma is his.”
I take her face in my hands, push her hair back, and make her look at me.
“Emma is your mother’s. Period.”
“She’s not like him. She’s nothing like him,” she says, still crying. “She’s—
“She’s not, Dandelion. I know that. She’s like you,” I say, and this seems to calm her. “She’s a sweet kid. Smart too. We do need to get her some new shoes, though. Hers are ratty and, if I’m being honest, a little smelly.” I make a face that has the desired effect of making her almost smile.
“Mom gave them to her for her birthday last year. She’s worn them every day since the accident.” She pauses at the word accident because it wasn’t that. It was murder. “Where is she?”
“In Sicily with our mother.”
“I didn’t even ask. Your mom is okay?”
I nod.
“I’m glad. But where’s Hyacinth?”
I take a beat too long, and she knows the answer before I even have to speak. Her eyes fill with fresh tears. I pull her to me, and she lets me hold her for a long time before drawing back.
“Have you heard from Amadeo?” she asks.
“He’ll be here soon.” I’m not actually sure about that, but Bruno found Sonny’s file on Greco and plenty of other dirty cops, politicians, and judges and has been contacting the appropriate people. He doesn’t know where they took my brother, either. But I’m not telling Vittoria that.
“But he’s not hurt?”
“He’s strong, Dandelion. Like you,” I answer, not really answering.
Her eyes lose focus momentarily. “My dad told me that, you know. When he found me there with their bodies.” She shakes her head as if to dislodge the image. “He told me what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger. He left out the part about how when you break like that, you’re never quite fixed. Fixable.”
“He was right. And you don’t need to be fixed. That damage is a part of you. A part of what makes you a survivor,” I say, needing time to get my thoughts about Geno Russo straight, and also in some way understanding I’m saying this as much about myself as her. “They’re long dead. And you’re still standing.” She looks down, not convinced. I tilt her head up. “Like a fucking dandelion. Dandelions survive when everything else dies. They’ll sprout up out of a fucking crack in the pavement. It kind of fits, you have to say.”
“Is that an attempt at a compliment?” she asks, a little of her humor coming back.
I shrug a shoulder. “Just trying to keep you out of your head. What’s happened, what you learned and remembered… it’s a lot. You’re going to need time to process. But you can’t disappear into your head alone. I don’t think that’s good for you.”
She shivers and hugs the towel to herself.
“Let’s get you dressed.”
“Do you know where he is, though? Amadeo?”
I shake my head. If I did, I’d be there. And I’m worried. Because he’s alone and they can hurt us when we’re divided. I know that well enough.
“I want to wait for him.”
I nod, then walk her into the closet to get her dressed in a pair of leggings and a comfortable, oversized sweater. She leads the way downstairs and curls up on the sofa, facing the front door. I bring the whiskey and pour some for each of us, but neither of us drinks as we keep vigil.