Page 29 of The Don
Oh. Apparently, that chuckle was a crack in the wall because those three words make me laugh until there are actual tears in my eyes.
The metal bed cries as she scrambles to the edge of it.
The laughter dies on my lips, and my grip tightens on the gun. I aim it directly at her chest.
She stops moving and lifts her hands in surrender. “I can help you is what I meant to say.”
“How?”
“If you’re here, that means—” She swallows slowly. “That means my contingency plan worked.”
“Oh?”
“When I…” She stalls, hating to admit the depth of her complicity. Even now.
Her father would be so disappointed.
So, I help her. “When you contracted with your lover and the dregs of your family to try and kill me.” I roll my hand to speed this confession along.
She balls her hands together in a tight fist. “Yes. When I…did that, I knew there was a chance that I might fail.”
“And you did.” It’s petty and maybe even counterproductive. I don’t care.
“So, I-I sent a letter to a friend and told her that if I ever fell out of contact that she should put it in the post.”
“What was in the letter?”
“Release me, and I will—”
I shift the gun to the left and shoot the stone wall. A dust cloud fills the air. Flavia flinches as debris rains down on her.
“I accused you of planning to make a move on Aldo Milanese’s territory.”
My jaw is tight with rage. “Who did you send it to?” I shift the gun back to her chest so she doesn’t try to deal again. I was humoring her before. I’m not in the mood for that anymore.
“My father’s aunt in Puglia,” she admits, tears filling her eyes and falling down her face. So, she’s not too dehydrated to weep. Shame.
“And to whom did you tell her to send the letter?” I ask, my brain already pulling the weaves of this new plot and its implications together.
She moves her hands out in front of her, palms pressed together as if in prayer. “Please. Please.”
“Who?” I can guess, but I have so many enemies. There’s no time to waste. Not with Shae here. Not when she is pregnant with my child.
“Aldo M-milanese.” She stutters. “Please.”
I lower the gun and let my eyes leave her sweaty, wet face. I need to think through the possibilities and dangers. There are too many to count. It is so easy to ignore her begging and wailing to focus on the matter at hand. I try to imagine myself in Aldo’s shoes. If I heard someone was trying to encroach on my territory, I know what I would do. But clearly, he and I are different men because I am still alive.
“Please, please, please,” Flavia wails.
“Padrino?” Lorenzo calls down.
“What?”
“Are you well?”
“Pleasepleaseplease!”
“I’m fine.”