“That’s not what I meant. Why did you bring me to live with them? What happened to my mom and dad?” Those two simple words almost ripped me in two, but I held myself together.
“Killed,” he said.
“In a car accident?” That was what Pops and Jocelyn had told me.
He set the old shoes down reverently, and then stood, facing me. “The Scarpone family murdered them.”
“The…” I couldn’t even say the word. Mafia.
“They demanded your blood, too.”
“I see.” I sat, all of my weight plopping down. I couldn’t stand, though I reached for the bag to hold it close. It was the only thing Jocelyn said had come with me when I arrived at her door. The bag held two coloring books. One filled with butterfly pictures and the other princesses. A box of colors. The butterfly hair clip.
“Barely,” he said.
At the one-word response, my eyes turned up to find his. He was looking at me, always looking at me, with an intensity that kept me rooted but made me feel like I could fly.
“You knew I liked butterflies. Coloring.”
Mariposa. Butterfly.
“You told me,” he said. “You asked me to color with you. Blue was your favorite color.”
“Still is,” I said, thinking of the color of his eyes.
I was going to be sick. I closed my eyes, taking deep breaths in and out.
“You…” I had to take another breath. “You’ve been keeping tabs on me.”
“No,” he said. “After I left you with Jocelyn and old man Gianelli, I cut all ties. It was safer that way. I had planned on having someone close to me check every so often, to make sure the money was still there and that you were taken care of, but then something happened, and life got in the way. When you showed up at Macchiavello’s the first time, I thought you seemed familiar. When you showed up at The Club, I knew. The ice pack you left behind confirmed it. I ran the DNA from your blood on it.”
“You saved me. Saved me from those people.” Your people? The question burned the tip of my tongue. I wanted answers, but we were talking about the Scarpone family—they seemed to be entering my circle a lot lately. Anyone who knew anything about anything knew who the Scarpones were. They were not the Faustis, not by any means, but they were known to be ruthless to the core.
Five families ruled New York, and the Scarpone family was one of them. They were the top dogs. Because of people like them, I had learned early on to keep my head down and my eyes averted. It was one of the reasons I didn’t rat on Quillon Zamboni, the man who touched me while I was in foster care. To be curious went against all that I knew, how to keep myself safe, but I was marrying this man. I had to know this, at least.
“You’re one of them.”
He watched me for a moment, his face expressionless. “I was one of the pack.”
“But now?”
“I’m a lone wolf.”
“Why? Why’d you save me?”
“You were the most beautiful thing I’d ever seen. So innocent that it broke my heart. You had the butterfly clip in your hair, and all you wanted to do was color. I had never experienced that before, something powerful enough to change the course of my actions. You made me see something different. I saw you, Mariposa. I wanted your innocence to live.”
He said these powerful words, but without an ounce of emotion. He could’ve been talking about what to wear to go outside—if it was cold enough to need a jacket.
“At what cost?” His or mine, I wasn’t sure which I asked for.
“A vein,” he said. “Another day.”
“That’s all you’re willing to give me?” I said.
“Today.”
I knew this was a deal breaker. He wouldn’t tell me. And did I really want to know specifics? Would it change the outcome of this arrangement? Once I was in, I was in. No getting out. He had already given me the warning. There was no doubt he was going to act on it. There was something about him that dared you to cross him, but stopped you just before you did. Think twice.
I was pretty confident, though, that even though he was one of them, he must’ve been considered a disposable man, a man who had survived the family’s long-reaching arms. Not someone exceptionally close to the family’s inner workings, or he wouldn’t be here.
Money was at stake, living, but for me, it felt like so much more. What, I had no clue, but it felt dangerous. Not something to take lightly. All of my years I craved to live, and here the chance sat before me, beating like a heart, but it came with consequences. Unhealthy veins.
“What’s it going to be on the paperwork?” Capo said, not giving me more time to think. “Your name.”
“Will I be in danger?” It was the first time I thought to ask. I was so busy being dazzled by the chance to live that I forgot about the dim veil of death.
“Yes,” he said, no hesitation. “You’ve always been in danger. I did the best I could with what I was given at the time. You being on the streets, not attracting attention to yourself, kept them off your scent, so to speak. There are other factors as well. The Faustis, for one. No one touches what belongs to them unless they have a death wish. As you can tell, I consider them family. I trust them as much as I can. However, that doesn’t change the truth. I can’t promise something that isn’t mine to give, which is complete protection against life. But I will vow to keep you safe at the cost of my own.”
“You already did, didn’t you?”
He became silent for a minute. Then he repeated, “What will it be on the paperwork?”
“Mariposa,” I said, no hesitation. “Mariposa.”
He nodded once, about to go to the door to get Rocco. I could tell he was ready to move forward.
“Capo.”
He stopped but didn’t turn.
“What…what’ll be my last name?”
“Macchiavello.” He took a breath. “Mariposa Macchiavello.” He sounded satisfied. “It’s not the name that pleases me. It’s that no matter where it came from, it came from me, and you’ll be wearing it like a fucking ring around your finger.”
He left me alone then, shutting the door behind with a soft click.
I wilted in the seat when I was alone. All of a sudden, I realized that he was the only man I would ever owe. And he knew it. He knew it at all along.
He wanted loyalty. He had secured it at all costs.
But never again would anyone, including the man who intended to be my husband, Capo Macchiavello, kill me with kindness. Because kindness didn’t kill you quickly. It ate at you slowly, like acid, until you wished you were dead.
10
Mariposa
Two weeks later, Capo drove us to Staten Island in one of his many fast cars. The man had a car fetish. My original assumption about his cars matching his ties was off base, but close to the truth. He seemed to have a car for every occasion.
The one he drove seemed a little overkill for where we were headed: the party Harrison was throwing for Keely’s big Broadway break. When I asked Capo what kind of car it was, he said, “Bugatti Veyron.” I was clueless when it came to cars, so I just tucked it away as being a matte black beast that could probably be used on a racetrack.