Though I’d been too stupid to realize it until now, Gianni was capable of anything. He might kill Lucia out of spite, or just so I would no longer have her. That was the type of behavior I’d exhibited in the past myself, ruining something so no one else could have it. I’d even threatened my bride’s life right to her face on more than one occasion.
What kind of demented soulless being was I?
I felt toxic, as if even on a cellular level, everything that existed inside of me had been tainted with poison. As if evil had grown and mutated throughout my system like a fast-acting cancer, and now, anything that might’ve been good had been destroyed. One thing I knew for certain… If Lucia died, any glimmer of decency within me would be lost forever.
And the thought of that made me feel ill.
I tried to get up again, needing to do something to reach her—to save her—but I fell even more quickly than I had when facing down my father. I was worthless. Less than nothing. My anger evaporated into guilt. I didn’t deserve to have Lucia. And if she died…
Pain worse than anything I’d ever experienced filled me then. But it wasn’t like the physical pain of being backhanded, beaten or even shot. It was the sort of pain that went on and on for infinity, and I could see no end to the grief or the suffering. Not ever. And for the first time in my life, I wanted everything over. I wanted to die and let whatever horrendous afterlife I’d earned grab me up in its clutches.
My arm slumped onto the polished wood of the parquet floor as I gave in to the inevitable, but then I felt a warm presence encompass me. It was beautiful and familiar, like an embrace, even though logically, I knew no one else was there. I’d been left alone in this small enclosed space, and no one had so much as walked by since. Yet I felt it, nonetheless. I felt her. The first woman who’d ever cared about me not as an heir, not as a Cavetti, but as her son.
Even though feeling her here now was impossible.
Yet feeling her presence did something to me. The darkness that flowed through my veins retreated as the knowledge that somehow my mother was watching over me filled me up instead. As if someone had sent an electrical jolt through my system, my eyelids lurched open. I sat up and pulled myself over to lean against the wall the crucifix hung on, feeling the odd sense that as long as I stayed right there, I’d have whatever I needed for extra support.
I didn’t know how long I sat there. It might’ve been minutes or hours, but eventually, there were footsteps. And then an apparition dressed all in black materialized at the threshold of the room. She appeared fuzzy in my view, but I recognized the narrow oval of her face.
“Mama?” I said, reaching out to her. But when I blinked, the eyes, nose, and mouth of my mother evolved into someone else. Someone in a nun’s habit.
“I am no one’s biological mother, my child,” came a soft soprano voice. “But I have worked many times as a nurse. May I take a look at you?”
Realizing she meant my injuries, I nodded. She helped me turn on my side and examined my father’s work. “Cauterization is often effective, but in this case, you will need some additional assistance. I’ll return in a moment.”
The nun disappeared, and feeling my awareness wavering again, I attempted to sit up, but this only had the effect of making the prayer closet spin and swirl around me. I thought I heard my mother’s angelic voice, then my beloved farfalla’s, but whose voice I actually heard and where I might be going, I didn’t know. In fact, as the voices grew more distant, my vision shrank to the size of a pinhole. I felt my consciousness being dragged away.
Then, all at once, I was pulled all the way under.
21
Lucia
Just when I thought all was lost, the majority of Gianni’s weight vanished from on top of me. I coughed and gasped, inhaling lungfuls of air as fast as I could. As blessed oxygen raced through my body, I sat up, clasping my sore throat and looking around.
The door to the limo stood wide open and revealed the beefy broad frame of Romeo’s brother Marcello. My eyes caught on the white calla lily in his boutonniere, reminding me that he’d been included in the wedding party as Romeo’s best man. I went motionless for several heartbeats, staring at him almost blankly.
“Lucia? Are you all right?” Marcello asked me.
Yet I didn’t answer him. Instead, I peered over at Gianni. He laid beside me face up, his legs crisscrossing over mine. I saw that the foam remained on the corners of his mouth. I detected powder coating the inside of his nostrils, too, but neither of these oddities could keep my attention from the side of his skull. Or rather, the lack thereof. A sizable portion of it was missing, leaving a bloody opening behind. Gianni’s eyes were open, his pupils fixed.
The man couldn’t possibly be mistaken for anything but dead.
Marcello moved like a shadow, yanking Gianni all the way off me. I squinted at his short hair and wide shoulders, slowly absorbing that he’d asked me a question.
“All right? I…” I trailed off because I didn’t honestly know.
He dragged Gianni’s body out of the car, creating a path for me to follow. I gingerly made my way toward the open door of the limousine, blinking in the diffused winter sunlight. As I took in my surroundings, I recognized that I was on the DuSable Michigan Avenue Bridge. A frigid wind blew over the waters of the Chicago River, making me shiver in the thin satin and lace of my wedding gown.
I smelled gasoline and smoke, and when I turned, I saw that the limousine had crashed into the rust-colored outer railing of the bridge. There was a bloody bullet hole and spider web pattern of cracks on the windshield. I remembered how Gianni and I had fought for his gun before one of us had bumped the trigger. This told me all I needed to know about the driver.
Honks blared from behind me—perhaps they’d been doing that previous to now and I’d just tuned in to it—and the shrill echo of sirens warbled in the distance, getting ever nearer. Travel had slowed across the three lanes of traffic, and only then did I spot the black Cadillac Escalade that had parked behind the totaled limousine. Marcello had Gianni across his shoulders, hefting his older brother’s remains into the back of his SUV.
Shuffling toward Marcello’s Escalade, I hobbled into the passenger side, buckled on my seatbelt, and stared unfocused into oblivion. Something about the vehicle was shaking, and only once Marcello hopped behind the steering wheel did I realize it was me.
Without a word, he stomped on the accelerator, removing us from the scene before law enforcement and emergency personnel could flood the bridge. He flicked a switch which had the vents gusting heated air over my chilled skin, but after everything that had happened, I didn’t know if I’d ever feel anything but frozen ever again.
“Does anything hurt?” he asked, as he threaded through the heavy traffic congestion on a direct path to St. Clements, and I blinked at him, uncomprehending.
“I’m sorry, what?”
“There’s blood all over you. Are you injured, Lucia?”
“I don’t know.” I really didn’t. Everything was sore, battered, and possibly bruised. I glanced down at myself to see the blood spatters all over what had been my pristinely white wedding gown. I rested my hand over my navel. “I just hope none of this harmed the baby.”