Page 18 of Coerced Kiss
“Luigi,” I say. “I didn’t except to see you here at this hour.”
“I called him.” Giorgio walks to the wet bar and yanks the decanter with the fifty-year-old brandy off the tray. “He needed to know about the turn of events.”
Luigi spins around, his face a mask of scorn in the dim light that leaves deep shadows under his eyes and cheekbones. “The woman who saw you, is she dead?”
Giorgio pours three glasses. He offers one to this father, who takes it without the courtesy of a thank you.
I keep my expression neutral. I also learned to never let Luigi see inside me. As much as I can predict his thoughts, his opinions, and his intentions, as little do I show him what’s going on in my head.
“There’s been a complication,” I say, accepting the glass Giorgio hands me without breaking eye contact with Luigi. “Thank you, Giorgio.”
“What complication?” Luigi asks, his nostrils quivering.
“A group of people leaving a bar interrupted us. One of them recognized the woman.”
Luigi purses his lips.
“Fuck.” Giorgio slams a hand on the bar. “How many?”
My tone is level. “Eleven.”
“Fuck,” Giorgio says again, grabbing his glass in a white-knuckled grip. “Couldn’t you bomb them? We could’ve made it look like an attack from a fanatical political group.”
My smile is patronizing. Giorgio can be a dumb fuck.
Luigi hobbles over, swinging his cripple leg behind him, and slaps Giorgio upside the head. Parroting my thought, he says, “Idiot,” through thin lips.
Giorgio turns red. Hatred simmers in his muck-brown eyes as he glares at his father.
“How was he going to blow them up?” Luigi asks. “With a magical fart from his asshole?” He taps his temple. “Think, Giorgio.” He utters a crude laugh. “Bombing them. Did you hear that, Sav? Jesus, Giorgio. If I didn’t see the DNA test with my own eyes, I would never have believed you’re my son. Knifing down a man is one thing, but blowing up a street is another.”
Giorgio works his jaw. “What then? We just let eleven witnesses go?”
“They haven’t witnessed anything other than seeing us together,” I say. “As long as she doesn’t talk, that won’t be a problem, and she won’t talk.”
“How can you be so sure?” Luigi asks.
“She knows what’s at stake.”
Giorgio runs a hand over his mouth. “What’s preventing her from going to the cops?”
“The people she cares about.” I take a sip of my drink. “She doesn’t want them to get hurt.”
Luigi considers that for a beat. Rubbing a hand over his chin, he says with a thoughtful air, “We need to make her disappear.”
My heart is like a ticking time bomb in my chest. The threat is in no way aimed at me, but for some reason, I take it personally.
The words spill from my mouth before I can stop them, my tone more forceful than I intended. “No one will touch her.”
Luigi looks at me quickly. Nobody who values his life will contradict him, let alone disobey a direct order.
I smooth over the mistake with a logical explanation. “She’s my alibi. The police already questioned us.”
“When?” Giorgio asks.
My tone is dry because it’s obvious. “When they did the routine questioning in her apartment building.”
If Luigi was a reasonable and more or less sane man, I would’ve told him Anya is expecting a baby, but he won’t hesitate to gun down a pregnant woman. He’ll kill children if he must. In his book, all is fair in the name of the business.