I hadn’t counted on any kink in my plan of getting Belladonna back. This mission was just supposed to be a fun break from running France. With both of our families dead through the war between Corsican’s top two gangs, we’d had no time to rest.
But this past year, we’d showed our strength and continued to rise. And our enemies had pulled back and hid. So, we went off to find my violin. Rafael figured it would cheer me up as if he knew what the concept of cheering up meant.
Chatter and laughter rose around us. Our men flanked us on both sides. Moving forward with the exiting crowd, I flipped the evening’s program looking for the name of the violinist that played Belladonna.
Her name’s Eden. It makes sense. She looks like paradise.
Rafael nudged me. “Come on, Jean-Pierre. What are the odds that Belladonna would end up in the only American city named the same thing?”
I searched for her name in other places. “There are no odds in this life.”
“You’re chipper as always.”
“You just love the rainbows and unicorns dancing in my eyes.”
Rafael smirked. “And did you see how happy Belladonna looked on the stage?”
“Belladonna has no emotions.” I clenched my jaw and handed the program to Giorgio.
We walked off with everyone else. Many people whispered as we passed them. A few gave us a wide berth.
“Belladonna had emotions this evening.” Rafael kept my pace.
“What are you saying?” I asked. “You think I should forget about the violin?”
“In this case. I like the violinist. She’s cute.”
“She’s more than cute, but that’s not my concern.”
“I was talking to Giorgio’s grandma and—”
I groaned, tired of hearing words of wisdom from Giorgio’s ninety-nine-year-old grandmother. Since she’d lived so long, everyone went to her for advice. I didn’t go, because I never enjoyed what she had to say.
“You have horrible taste in women.” Mémé pointed her wrinkled finger at me. “Stay away from them.”
Rafael pulled me out of the memory. “Mémé told me that you had objectophilia. She called it something else, but it’s objectophilia nonetheless.”
“Love of an object?”
“Exactly.”
I signaled for Louis. He came to my right. I tilted my head his way. “Follow the violinist home. Don’t let her out of your sight. Send me the address, when you get there.”
Louis left in the opposite direction.
Love of an object? She needs to stop psychoanalyzing me.
Silence filled the rest of the conversation. I had no time to discuss things any further. I’d had one plan for the past weeks, and the violinist had ruined it. I could take Belladonna from her. The problem was, I didn’t want to separate them.
I’ll have to get over it. This Eden can play something else.
Rafael and I walked out the theater.
Cool night air brushed against my skin. Stars shined in the sky, but there was only a sliver of moon.
Rafael pulled out a cigarette and lit it. “People can get so obsessed and in love with an object that they lose themselves.”
“Are you saying that because you’re worried about my obsession with Belladonna, or because you just want to leave America?”
“Fine,” Rafael grumbled. “We’ve been in this god forsaken country for a week. The bread sucks. The whores are subpar, and the wine is a disgrace. I’m ready to go, and we have seen Belladonna. Either get the violin or kill the violinist and get the violin.”
“That’s the plan.”
Rafael snorted.
“What?”
“I’ve known you since diapers. You have that look.”
“What look?” I asked.
“The one that gets us all in trouble.” Rafael dropped the cigarette on the ground and stomped it out. “I’m tired of killing your women.”
“I don’t remember giving you that job title.”
“Yes, but somehow I was born into the job of saving your ass.”
The limo arrived. Giorgio opened the door. I climbed in. Rafael followed. Giorgio jumped in and sat across from us.
Rafael glared at me. “You had this look with. . .her.”
I turned away. “And now she is dead.”
“Because I killed her.”
“In some ways, we both did.”
“But the problem is. . .you don’t even know which her I’m talking about anymore.” Rafael scowled. “Will this violinist be a problem?”
Mémé’s words flashed in my head.
“You have horrible taste in women. Stay away from them.”
“No.” I shook my head. “The violinist won’t be a problem.”
Rafael looked at Giorgio. “Do you believe him?”
Giorgio wasn’t much for words and he hated being the deciding vote. His voice came out rough in the limo. “What’s your plan, Jean-Pierre?”
“I’ll go to her house by myself tonight. Once she is asleep, I’ll take Belladonna.”
Rafael held a skeptical expression. “She’ll wake up without the violin.”
“And file a claim that it’s stolen.”
Giorgio spoke up, “Will this lead the police and everyone else to our trail of bodies?”
“The trail will become visible regardless, but it doesn’t point directly to us,” I said.
Giorgio nodded. “This needs to remain careful.”