“Why do you care?” I ask, swallowing more vodka.
“I’m curious, that’s all. It’s in my nature.”
“You said you’d hurt me if I don’t find Alessandro,” I say, wanting to change the subject.
“I said I don’t want to hurt you.”
“But that doesn’t mean you won’t.”
He leans his head back, his eyes slanting as they devour me. The longer we sit like this, the more anxious I feel. I pour my fourth vodka.
“Slow down on that.”
I shrug a shoulder.
“When was the last time you saw him?”
“A month after my father was murdered.” My voice breaks. I hope he thinks it’s because of the painful memory of the attack on my father.
“You were close with him? Your father?”
I nod.
“And it’s just the two of you, you and Alessandro now?”
“Yes.” I imagine he’s done his homework and knows my mother died in childbirth.
“Were you daddy’s princess?”
I hope he can read the hate in my glare. I think he can. “My father was a good man. He was a fair man. An honest one.”
At that, he laughs outright. “He was a cartel boss. I’m pretty sure he was none of those things, however much you like to deceive yourself.”
“You don’t know anything about him. Don’t judge him by how you are.”
“I’m not denying who I am. I don’t hide from what I do. I mean, you’re the one who lives in the lap of luxury and pretends you do it off the money you earn managing events at a hotel. The one who went so far as to change her name to get away from her past, yet isn’t too good to use the blood money earned from the exact thing she’s running from. At least I don’t run from who I am.”
“You don’t know anything about me. I paid for everything. I paid for every fucking thing.”
“With the skin of your back, you mean?”
I feel hot tears sting my eyes. He’s not going to stop until he finds out. He won’t stop until he knows.
“Did I hit the nail on the head? Huh? Is that it, Em?”
Rage burns inside me, starting at my core, spreading through my veins, pumping adrenaline through my body. I’m on my feet before I know it, and that smirk, that fucking smirk, is back on his face. I hate him. I hate him and his intrusion into my life. It’s taken me so fucking long to get here. So long to be this okay, and he’s just going to stroll in and blow it all to hell. And what’s worse is I’m letting him. I’m so fucking weak. So fucking damaged that I can’t do anything but fucking cry.
I fist my hands at my sides. He must see something inside my eyes because he rises too.
“You think you can hurt me? Damage me, somehow? You think you can break me as you sit there and judge me and push me and push me until I tell you what you think you want to know?”
“Sit down.” He’s not smiling anymore as he takes a step toward me.
“And for what? What fucking business is it of yours? What you have with my brother, whatever that is, it has nothing to do with me. He owes you something? Take it out of his fucking skin. Not mine.”
“Be careful.”
I look at him, then around the room. I don’t know what I’m looking for. Something to throw? Something to hurt him with? I know how that ended last time. But I do have one weapon because I’ve done my homework too.
I step toward him, poke my finger into his chest. “You think you can sit back and judge me, judge my father, from your high horse, when all you are is a liar. A betrayer.” I feel how strange my smile must look. How unnatural. “I can find things out too, you know. Things about you. Why isn’t there a single family photo in your house, Giovanni? Why not one single fucking picture?”
“I’m warning you.”
But I go on because I can’t stop. I don’t even want to. It’s like I want to push him.
“I know why. You want me to tell you? You want me to tell you how much I know about you?”
He takes my wrist, twists it. It hurts, but I can’t let that stop me.
“Please do.”
“I know you put your father in a wheelchair. I know you pay to have him looked after. Have been for years. I guess you’re not a good shot if you didn’t kill him, huh? I know why, too,” I say as he walks me backward until I feel something hard at my back—the dining-room table. I know from the look on his face that I should stop. That I should shut up now. But I don’t. I don’t want to. “He fucked your girlfriend, didn’t he?”