Page 64 of The Broker
He comes inside and takes a seat on the couch. “Would you like something to drink?” I ask him politely.
He stops jiggling his leg long enough to answer. “No, thank you.” He gets to his feet and holds out his hand to me, his gaze snagging on the sweater. “I didn’t introduce myself properly. My name is Bruno Trevisani.”
“Good to meet you. I’m Valentina—”
“I know who you are,” he interrupts, the smile on his face very close to a leer. “You’re the girl from the hospital, the one Colonna killed his brother for.” He smirks. “Judging by your sweater, it looks like it all worked out for him.”
I jerk as if shocked by a live wire.You’re the one Colonna killed his brother for.Killed his brother.“What did you say?”
“You’re the brother’s girlfriend, aren’t you? I kept the details out of my report as a favor to Dante, but what a mess that was. You know, he swore it was an accident, but now that I see you. . .” He laughs expansively. “Can’t say I blame the man.”
Bile fills my mouth. The room sways around me, and I grip the couch for support. “I’m going to have to ask you to leave,” I say through nerveless lips. “I’ll tell Dante you came by.”
“What the—”
“Leave now. Please.”
For ten years, I’ve believed that Antonio Moretti killed Roberto.
But if this cop is telling the truth, it wasn’t the padrino.
It was Dante.
29
DANTE
When I get home, Valentina is huddled on the couch in the living room, hugging a pillow to her chest. “The bakery was closed,” I tell her. “I’m afraid you’re going to have to make do with grocery store bread. Sorry.”
She doesn’t look up. Doesn’t reply. Her gaze is focused on the blank screen of the television. A whisper of fear goes through me. “Valentina?” I prompt. “What’s wrong?”
For a long moment, she doesn’t reply. “I have a question for you,” she says finally, still not looking at me. “And I want you to tell me the truth. Did you kill Roberto?”
My heart stops. She knows. I don’t know how, and I don’t know who told her,but she knows.
“Yes.”
Valentina lifts her head. There’s so much torment in her eyes that I reel back, stricken. I take a step toward her, instinctively wanting to ease her pain, but she flinches.
She’s never once flinched from me. She does now.
I should have told her myself, but I didn’t, and now it’s too late to make amends. She looksbetrayed,and it’s my fault. “Valentina, I’m s—”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
I thrust my fingers through my hair. “I don’t know,” I say, aware of how inadequate it sounds. “The shooting was an accident, and I didn’t think you’d—”
“You didn’t think I’d understand?” she cuts in. “You thought I would assume you killed your brother in cold blood? Or did you think I would be angry that the man who abused me for a year and a half was dead?” She takes a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ve been sitting here in your living room, waiting for you to come back home, and I realized something. I trusted you, but you didn’t trust me.”
“That’s not true. I trust you with my life.”
“But you didn’t trust me with the truth.” Her mouth twists bitterly. “You had ten years to tell me, but you never did.” She tightens her grip on the pillow, her knuckles white. “The night we slept together for the first time, you had a nightmare. I sat on your bed and bared my heart to you. I confessed that Roberto haunted my dreams for a year after Angelica was born, but he couldn’t hurt me because Antonio killed him.” Her voice is so low it’s a whisper. “You listened to me, but you didn’t correct me. You had every chance to tell me, and you didn’t.”
“I’m sorry.” Her expression tells me my apology is too little, too late. “I should have told you.”
“I told you the only reason I went to work for Antonio Moretti was that I owed him. You could have told me then. Antonio knew all along. Lucia probably knows by now.” She shakes her head despondently. “I feel like such a fool.”
Each word out of her mouth is an accusation that stabs me in the heart. Because she’s right. I’ve had so many opportunities to tell her, and I’ve taken the coward’s way out every single time.