Page 7 of Princess's Revenge

He looks at me with a squint.

“If you have it?”

“Sure.”

I turn back to the old man, “Who are you? How do you know this?”

“My name is Vincenzo Bertinelli.”

Anthony interjects, “Don…Vincenzo Bertinelli.”

The Don puts his hand up to silence Anthony and continues, “You may call me Vincent or Don. In time, perhaps you’ll call me something else. To answer your question—I was your father’s best friend. This is how I know.”

“That doesn’t explain much,” I say, accepting the glass of bourbon and taking a big sip. It cuts like razors. They all wait for me and after ten seconds, my shaking seems to stop. “Why now?”

He puts his cigar down, leans forward and tents his fingers, “I found out you were alive only six months ago. I wanted to be sure I wouldn’t be taking you from a good life into a worse one.”

“And who are you to judge what a good life is?” I’m not sure if it’s the bourbon or my heightened emotions, but my face is getting hot.

“Nobody,” he shakes his head, “only someone who loves you, that is why I let you decide for yourself. If you leave the wedding—my boys bring you to me. You stay…we leave you alone. Those were my instructions.”

“Why should I believe you?”This is bullshit, he’s lying.

He picks up the cigar and leans back, “It was your fifth birthday. You father took you, your mother and your two brothers to celebrate—pizza and ice-cream.”

Is this the dream that I keep having?

“On the way home, our enemies drove your father’s car off the road and riddled it with bullets. It was an unforgivable act of cowardice and violence. They broke a very important rule.” He leans forward again, “No families. Ever.”

This is my nightmare. He knows.I take another sip, “Why am I alive?”

“The first responders, a policeman and an emergency medical technician, they found that you were unharmed, but you had been lying in the blood of your family for ten minutes before they arrived. You were crying…inconsolable. You clung to your older brother and wouldn’t leave him. The policeman knew that if the people who did this discovered that you were alive, they’d come for you.”

That’s my nightmare.I’ve had it since I was a little girl. It never made sense before. Over time, people convinced me it was only a dream…that it wasn’t real.“And?”

“And he gave you to the paramedic, lied on his statement, set the car ablaze and told his friend to put you into foster care.”

“Why would he do that?”

“Your father was respected in the community. He had done this man a favor many years prior. The policeman was returning that favor. He did what he thought your father would want.”

Jesus.

“By the time it was done, no one counted the bones. The policeman made sure of it. It was luck…or a blessing from God thathewas there and no one else. We have enemies all over.”

“Can I talk to him? The policeman?”

The Don grimaces, “He’s dead.”

“Then how do you know all this?”Is he lying? But how could he know about my nightmare?

“The paramedic’s daughter got sick. Cancer. He approached me. He traded the information for money. A daughter for a daughter.”

“I’m not your daughter,” I try to sound angry but it doesn’t work. All I feel is empty inside. I swallow the rest of the bourbon and shove the glass at Francis, “More.”

“Your father started this family. We have an oath inour thing. A blood oath.” The Don says the words so cryptically.

“What’sour thing?”I almost spit the words, “The Cosa Nostra?” I’m only taking a guess but the Don slams his hand on the table, startling me.