Poison Heart (Toxic Hearts), page 10
She had to hide because underneath her facade was a monster, unhindered by morals, conscience, or light.
We were one and the same. Two twin devils lurking in the shadows.
Anita was The Gardener.
Bile lurched into the back of my mouth, slathering my tongue in the bitter, cold truth. A pain as sharp as a heated blade twisted in my lower stomach, the hilt turning until water pricked my eye ducts. How could I have been so foolish? She’d told me a million times who she was, and I’d missed it every time.
The revelation must have shown on my face because Paolo’s eyes widened, and he took a step back.
“You thought we’d suit each other because we’re both dangerous. Right? That’s why The Gardener wouldn’t work with me…” I cut off my thoughts with a hysterical laugh.
The Gardener wasn’t displeased because he wanted my wife for himself.
My views had blinded me to the true power my clever wife had wielded all along.
“I won’t—” Paolo started, but I waved his protestations off, tucking my gun in my waistband. Everything in the room glimmered in a new light, sharp and blinding. I rubbed my eyes, stars clouding my vision.
“You’re her right-hand man.” I hummed. The intensity of the emotion inside of me was bubbling down to a simmer. Her cousin, who was more of a brother. He slipped around this world with ease because he had the one thing Anita did not. A cock and balls hanging between his legs.
No one would believe me if I told them. Hell, I hadn’t even believed it.
It had been right in my face, and I’d missed it. Blinded by the persistent belief my wife was what I imagined all women to be. Innocent, naïve, and in need of my protection. I’d watched my dad provide everything for my mom, shielding her from the outside world. He’d been meticulous about even letting her leave the house unaccompanied. I wasn’t that pedantic, but I’d still thought her the same. Someone who needed my strength.
What a fool she must think I am.
She wasn’t wrong.
My blood scorched like lava through my veins, and I blew out a sharp exhale.
“Who else knows?” My mind was a riot of thoughts, all the things I had missed. The first time I’d sat next to her, I deliberately pressed my thigh into her space. For a moment, her dark gaze had halted me, and I believe it was my subconscious in her thrall. My gut had known what she was, but then her cheeks pinked, and I ignored every other aberration that came afterward.
There was a sense of titillation that my wife had played me so easily. She’d plucked at my strings like a puppet, and it was only when she lost her temper that she’d let her true identity peek out. The brief show haunted my dreams. I ached to peel back the iron shield and have her come at me again. Coax her to match her devious claws against my power and see who the victor was.
But we hadn’t been playing a fair competition. Now we were.
I knew who she was, and I was going to unravel all my deadly wife’s secrets. My heart thundered against its cage, hungry to reveal my knowledge. To see her icy mask melt into blistering rage. But I knew this was best done cold, as she had been to me.
The remaining man in the room was a problem, and I stalked forward, wrapping my fingers around his throat. Paolo’s eyes bulged as I tightened my hold, strangling the unconscious, feeble cries of the man. His pulse faltered, faint against my hard grip.
Paolo shook his head, still refusing to answer. I dipped my head at him in approval. My wife had a loyal man on her side. Now she had two. Her fury would be delicious to behold when I revealed I knew who she was.
The door slammed open, and a lower-level guard burst in, blanching at the gory sight in front of him. Whip thin with the shade of youth clinging to his soft jawline. He tripped on the hem of his brown, wide-legged trousers as his face turned green. He backed out into the hall, retching.
“I asked not to be disturbed,” I said as I followed him, rolling my eyes as he leaned over and coughed.
Paolo slapped him on the back, and we shared a wry look.
If the kid couldn’t handle seeing blood, he would not last long.
“I-I-I was sent to tell you the news,” He wheezed, eyes wild and watering when he looked up. “He’s dead. Mr. Orazio needs to see you immediately.”
My back stiffened.
“Who? Who are you talking about?” I barked, shoving past him, and taking the stairs two at a time. His voice carried with a warble.
“Lanton Vani. He’s dead.”
13
Age 16
“What have you done to him?” My mom choked as she fell to her knees in front of Richard. I perused my arrogant date, insensible on the floor. Foam gathered at the corner of his mouth. He was infinitely more palatable when he was unconscious.
“I haven’t done anything.” I smiled behind my teacup, not the sweet one my mom preferred. But the real one, unhinged. Too many teeth. Richard had recoiled from it, and I nursed the tender memory like a jewel. My mom ran to the hall, the phone clattering from its cradle. It hung from the cord and then slapped against the wall. I followed and snatched it from her hand. Her eyes bugged, and for a moment, I thought she might attack me.
“I need to call an ambulance. He’s half dead, Anita.” Her panicked voice rose, fever-pitched, and it grated against me like sandpaper. I grimaced.
“You’re exaggerating. He’s just having a little nap. Although you might want to get him home before he wakes up.”
“Why?” Her eyes bulged as she watched the phone in my hand. I placed it in its holder and crossed my arms over my chest. I wanted to see if she would defy me.
“He’ll probably throw up all over your good rug. We wouldn’t want that, would we?”
My mom swallowed a sob, and it sounded like a strangled chicken. I sucked in a deep breath, pleased with myself. Richard had touched me, threatened and insulted me. I didn’t care if his heart was thumping like a fledgling bird’s untried wings. My mom’s hand hovered in the air, the nails glossy maroon.
“Anita…”
I tilted my head and wondered if she was frightened of me yet. She’d laid out the dress I wore this morning, insisting I wear it. She’d circled me, clicking her tongue before Richard arrived, ensuring not a hair was out of place.
“Let me help him.” My mom whispered, “I’ll—I’ll stop the dates if you let me call for help.”
My upper lip sprang back in a silent snarl, and she shrank away from me. Good. She should be afraid.
“You left me in a room with him. Did you hope something untoward would happen? That you could capitalize on it and leverage me into marriage? I’m sixteen years old.”
She shook her head, muttering excuses under her breath. But there was a slight shudder, a wince that made me think I wasn’t entirely wrong. She wanted me gone, and my age, my consent, didn’t matter in the end. I shoved the phone in her direction, laughing as she scrambled to take it from me.
“I’ll never do what you want again. No dates, nothing.” I wanted to go back to Richard and stomp on his spleen to mark my point. She cared more about his well being than her own daughter’s.
“I understand. You win, Anita.” Her voice shook, and I held the victory aloft like a thorn crown. Yes, I’d gotten what I wanted.
But at what cost?
I didn’t like being told to do things. When I was younger, I would dig my heels in, literally, make trenches in the carpet, dirt, wherever I was being dragged to. My mom learned the art of bribery early with me. She offered me something I wanted first and negotiated to get me to agree with her plan.
I have a bag of sweets for you if you put on this lacy monstrosity of a dress.
There were few things that could bribe me now, but I had discovered one. It horrified me. Nothing could induce me to host a dinner with my husband, his best friend, and my cousin. Except the prospect of disappointing Maria. She was bustling around the kitchen with a giddy smile brightening her face. I gave her so little of what she expected as a housekeeper. No parties for her to organize, no babies for her to fawn over. I was a failure of a wife, and she accepted me. But now she was in her element, instructions from Romeo floating off her tongue like harried prayers, driving her to distraction.
“Repeat what you said?” I cleared my throat, hoping I heard her wrong. Her eyes crinkled as she stacked the kitchen counter with fresh ingredients. Enough to feed an army. Not three mob men and one disgruntled woman.
“Romeo said Bruno and Paolo are staying for dinner and that he expects you at the table by six-thirty.”
I looked at the clock on the wall.
“It’s six twenty-five. Was no one going to tell me about this sooner?”
Maria fumbled with the fresh mozzarella and let out a nervous chuckle. I usually enjoyed tormenting others, but no pleasure came from seeing her hesitate. I wanted her brightness.
“Well, you asked not to be disturbed if you’re in your greenhouse, and I didn’t want to disobey. But if you change quickly, I’m sure Romeo won’t mind.”
I looked down at my attire. Sand-colored overalls and a white and orange striped t-shirt. I’d tied a kerchief over my hair, to protect it. My fingernails on one hand were lined with ingrained dirt. My glove had torn at the fingertips, but I’d kept working. I had the scent of a sweaty garden gnome, and I looked like I belonged in the forest. I’d kicked off my heavy boots and was wearing only long white socks. Would Romeo mind if I came to dinner looking like this? He might. I turned on my socked heel and headed toward the dining room.
“Don’t you want to wash up?” Maria’s voice followed me down the hall. I didn’t reply. Romeo wanted me at dinner? He’d learn it was better for us both if he gave up these attempts at winning me over. We weren’t suited, and I refused to pretend anymore. I rapped my knuckles on the door and strode in before Romeo could get out of his seat. Paolo choked on a gulp of red wine as I neared him with a greeting. His jawline flushed, and I wondered if he felt uncomfortable around my husband, nervous that I might teach him another lesson.
“Anita,” he gasped, holding me at arm’s length when I kissed both his cheeks. “Anita, I must speak with you.”
I ignored his fervent whisper in favor of greeting my husband. I only meant to brush his cheeks with my lips, but when I bent down, he circled my elbows in a biting grip. His icy eyes funneled holes through mine.
“Hello, my wife.”
He pulled me down and pressed a kiss on my flattened, furious lips. He tasted like red wine, blood, and audacity. If we’d been alone, I would have used the only weapon he seemed to respond to: my teeth. But we had company.
I pulled out of Romeo’s grasp, unsure why his nostrils flared.
“Bruno, I hope you’ll stay for a full meal this time.” I reached out my clean hand, intending to shake his, when Romeo shoved a wine glass in it. He waved a hand at the empty chair beside him. I ignored it as Bruno reached out to grip my dirty hand instead. He didn’t seem to notice the filthy nails, but Romeo did, his gaze locking in on them. I expected to see anger, but his teeth dug into his lower lip instead, like he enjoyed the sight.
“Oh, I intend to. Haven’t you heard the news? Tonight is a celebration.” He tossed his wineglass in the air, and some of the liquid sloshed out onto the white tablecloth. Paolo gripped Bruno and dragged him down into the chair. Bruno was rough-hewn stone, solid. Golden highlights laced his dark curls, and it was an incongruous softness to his overtly masculine features. His palm had well-earned callouses, the end of his nose was pink from peeling sunburn. There was an honesty in the way he moved, no showmanship, bravado or pretense in the way he filled his seat. A direct contrast to Romeo, who I knew had to do all those things. It wasn’t a slight, Romeo was looked at differently, judged at a different standard. He couldn’t be like Bruno, but I found their friendship an interesting study on Romeo as a person. What would he be like without the last name Orazio? I took a sip of the wine, let it wash away the lingering tingle of Romeo’s touch.
“No, I didn’t even know I was invited to dinner until five minutes ago, if it wasn’t obvious.” I curled my toes, determined to embarrass Romeo in front of his friend. Whatever the celebration, it had brought together an eclectic mix of people.
“Lanton Vani is dead.”
I processed the information with a stony expression. It wasn’t a surprise, obviously. I’d caused his death, and good riddance. But the men in front of me didn’t know that, although Paolo had probably made the connection between me wanting to know more about him. Bruno’s smile wobbled with barely contained glee, as if remembering too late to be careful. He didn’t know whether this news would be a terrible shock to me. I wanted to set him at ease, to tell him the hand I’d had in it. How I’d eavesdropped on his conversation and did something about his vendetta. Instead, I deflated into the chair beside Romeo. Giving a passable performance of a wilting flower, shocked into silence.
Romeo reached out and rubbed my thigh, a touch too hard to be comforting. He locked me in the crystal of his gaze, searching my expression. For what? I couldn’t tell, and Bruno’s drunken apologies distracted us.
“I’m sorry, Anita, that was inconsiderate. I shouldn’t have been so blunt.” He took a fortifying gulp of his wine, fingers drumming on the tablecloth.
“Anita isn’t shocked by death, are you wife?” Romeo interjected on my behalf. Paolo’s eyes widened over the table, and he jerked his head minutely. I bristled at the action, the dismissal. This was my house, and I wouldn’t be ordered by anyone. My bones were fatigued from pandering to men. I slouched in the chair, ignoring Paolo’s pursed lips. I fluttered a hand over my forehead, dabbing at it with the pads of my fingertips.
“Of course, it’s so unexpected.” I injected a warble into my voice. “H-how did it happen?”
“Food poisoning. Too bad it didn’t kill his wife as well.” Bruno snorted, wincing when he realized he was speaking too liberally again.
Food poisoning was plausible enough, and I’d drummed the idea into Merissa’s head before I left. My poisons worked so well because they mimicked sickness that already existed. It was easy to wipe away the foaming mouth and say it came from something someone ate. The truth was, in dealing with a body, nobody cared as long as there was an obvious answer. It was the path of least resistance. The authorities wouldn’t waste time investigating if it didn’t look suspicious. If anything, they were likely celebrating as well. Romeo stood up and emptied the bottle of Shiraz into our glasses, shaking the last few drops into mine.
“What did the Doc say?”
It was standard practice for any deaths to be dealt with quietly by “the Doc,” whatever medical professional the Orazios had on their payroll. The police didn’t need to get wind of anything that occurred in our world. Although a good chunk of them were corrupt. I’d instructed Merissa to call an ambulance, not Doc, in case they decided she was a loose end that needed tying up as well.
The trouble I was going to for the girl was unlike me. I hoped Romeo would appreciate it. Bruno snaked a hand forward and seized a peanut from the bowl in the middle. Like he needed to do something with his hands.
“Well, here’s the interesting thing.” Romeo drawled, shifting his chair closer to mine. His fingers sought my thigh, and tingles ran down my spine as he squeezed it softly. “Merissa didn’t call the Doc. She rang an ambulance. Lanton was already dead, so it didn’t make a difference, but it’s created a real mess for my dad. Instead of dealing with this quietly, so much red tape has been thrown up now.”
I placed my hand over Romeo’s, squeezing as I tried to remove it. He only clamped down tighter, and I shot him a dark look. The way he stared at me was strange. Roiling tension, burning curiosity. Like he was cataloguing me closer than he normally did. My stomach clenched in warning, and I stopped struggling. His gaze was like a laser, searching for chinks in my mask.
“Your father must be furious.” I widened my eyes in mock worry.
“Oh, he is. I spent the latter half of my day holed up in his office, making phone calls while he ranted into a bottle. He and Lanton were close. He’s not taking it well. Ask me how I spent the earlier part of my day?”
“Not to speak ill of the dead, but I’m sure this isn’t a tragedy for you, Bruno.” Paolo spoke for the first time, rushing to cut Romeo off. Bruno put his glass down, his gaze unfocused on the burgundy liquid.
“Tanto va la gatta al lardo che ci lascia lo zampino,” he blew out a sigh. “You can’t get away with something forever. So no, it’s no tragedy for me. I know what people say about me behind my back. But I know Lanton was involved in my sister’s death. The world is a better place without him in it, and I hope my sister is finally at peace, as she deserves.”
“I never met your sister, but my mom always used her as an example of elegance. For Diane.” I held my glass up, “Salute.”
Bruno’s eyes misted over as our glasses chinked.
“Cheers,” Romeo added. It occurred to me how he avoided speaking Italian, or ever referencing his time spent in Italy. It was a complete contrast to most of the men I knew who spoke about Italy like it was a magical homeland.
“I’m going to make myself scarce soon. Take that trip overseas that I’ve been putting off while I dealt with…” Bruno coughed, not wanting to elaborate in front of me. He waggled his eyebrows and added. “If I go to Italy, visit me, Romeo.”
My husband screwed his nose up and let out a quiet snort.
“I’ll pass.”
“Why?” I prodded at him, turning in my seat. His pupils widened at my direct gaze, and my skin tingled under the questing intensity of his expression.
“I’m an Orazio. You know our family broke off from the main branch of the mob there. My father sent me there when I was younger to learn the traditions of our family, our legacy. It taught me one thing. That I want something better for my future, and I refuse to be treated lesser because I wasn’t born on Italian soil. They beat me, tried to break me to punish my father for his success without them. The old families are furious. Our ties are looser with them, and we’ve created our own world here. I refuse to be held hostage for the sake of tradition.”
