The Secret She Keeps
Auteur·e
Cassie Miles
Lectures
16,6K
Chapitres
15
Chapter One
Dressed in a black skirt, white blouse, black sweater and the black and white headdress of a novice nun, the woman who had once been known as Candace Verone hurried along the sidewalk outside St. Catherine’s parochial school. Head down, the folds of the wimple obscured her features. She rushed as though late for an important appointment. In the carefully tended soil near the school’s entrance, she noticed the green blades of new dahlias, a harbinger of springtime, a promise of new life. Yet, her mind was consumed by thoughts of death.
She still couldn’t accept her brother’s murder. Eddy was too young to die.
Quickly, she mounted the steps at the arched stone entryway of St. Catherine’s, a school she had once attended a long time ago in another life. Her name was Eden Miller now. She was thirty-one years old, a single mother, currently living in Denver, making an honest living from smart investments and part-time work for a caterer. The key word there was “honest,” a description not often associated with her past in this quiet Chicago suburb.
Inside the school, Eden flattened her back into an alcove beside a plaster statue. Her plan was to sneak through the bowels of the school into the church next door where her brother’s funeral would take place in a few hours.
She had risked everything by coming here. If recognized, twelve years of carefully constructed anonymity would be erased.
Cautiously, she peeked out from behind the Blessed Virgin statue. Had the hallways always been so narrow? Years ago, the school had seemed much more impressive, filled with whispers and laughter. In a rush, she remembered spelling bees and notes passed in class and best friends and boyfriends. But now was not the appropriate moment for nostalgia. She needed to slip through the school undetected. It shouldn’t be too hard. Classes were in session, and no one should be in the halls. The tricky part would be to avoid the nuns and secretaries who worked in the main office.
Before she could make her move, Eden was caught. A large hand clasped her shoulder and spun her around. She faced Sister Maxine who was uncharacteristically dressed in her full regalia—a flowing black habit with a carved rosewood crucifix the size of a baseball bat hanging from wooden beads around her ample waist.
Silently, Eden cursed. She should have remembered that Sister Max had always been able to creep silently and appear out of nowhere. The joke was that, like the Lord, Sister Max “moved in mysterious ways.”
The old nun peered through her rimless eyeglasses. “I don’t believe we’ve met. May I help you?”
Eden hoped Sister couldn’t see her too clearly. From a distance, Eden could pass for a novice nun. Up close, her white blouse was definitely silk, and the sweater showed a stylish cut. “I’m new here,” she said. “A math teacher. I transferred from, um, another parish.”
At the sound of her voice, a smile softened Sister’s stern visage. Gently, she chided, “You were never a good liar, Candace.”
Her arms spread wide like the wings of a wise black bird, and she pulled Eden into a hug. The soft warmth of Sister Max felt like a wonderfully safe haven, and Eden hugged back with all her might.
Sister Max had been a comforting presence in the background of her life. When her mother died from natural causes while Eden was in fourth grade, Sister Max had pulled her from class and had given her the news. The same with her murdered father in seventh grade, but Eden hadn’t wept on that occasion. The Verone family tragedies had become too regular, almost expected. Still, she appreciated the solace offered instinctively by Sister Max, and Eden wished she could have stayed in touch. “I’m sorry, Sister. I left without saying goodbye.”
“I understand. Your family… Let’s just say, I understand why you had to depart so abruptly, Candace.”
“Call me Eden. Eden Miller. That’s my name now.”
Sister Max stepped back. With a clean white hanky that had appeared from nowhere, she daubed at the corners of her eyes behind her glasses. “Eden it is. I’ve been expecting you.”
“You have?” Tension shot through her. Was it so obvious that she’d return for her brother’s funeral? “Why?”
“Come with me.”
Eden balked, fearful of a trap. If Gus Verone sank his talons into her, she’d never escape. “Sister, I can’t see my grandfather.”
“Of course not. I might be a nun, but I’m not an idiot.” Bitterness tinged her voice. Though Sister Max believed judgment was the province of the Lord, she thoroughly disapproved of Verone family activities. “There’s someone else who wants to see you. And I promise you’ll come to no harm.”
“Who is this mysterious person?”
“You’ll see.”
Her grandmother? Eden’s heart leapt. She missed her grandmother, Sophia Verone, so very much. As soon as Eden heard of Eddy’s death, she’d called her grandmother. On the phone, Sophia sounded desolate and weak. She’d outlived both of her own sons, and now she’d lost her only grandson, Eddy. Granddaughter Eden felt guilty to be living so far away; she was as good as gone. She’d left her grandmother alone in a nest of vipers.
Sister Max led her down the stairs, past the cafeteria and into a tunnel that connected with the church. It was the route used by students attending Mass during snowy weather. “I’m sorry for your loss, Candace. I mean, Eden. Your brother chose a dangerous path.”
His life in crime, supposedly serving the family, had killed him. Just as it killed her father and her uncle. And her one true love. His name whispered through her conscience like a forbidden breeze. Peter Maggio. Over the years, Eden had tried not to think of him, to force his presence from her mind. But her senses would never forget his gentle caresses. Her ears always listened for the rich deep timbre of his voice, speaking to her of love, promising he would never leave her. Her eyes were reminded of Peter every single day. Their son, Josh, who was nearly twelve years old, looked more and more like his father as he matured. Sometimes, Josh would cock his head at a certain angle when asking a question, and she would see the reincarnation of Peter in the dark eyes of a son who had never met his family. And never would, Eden swore. Her primary goal in life was to keep Josh safe from the Verones.
In the basement of St. Catherine’s church, Sister Max pushed through one closed door and then another. She paused outside a third door. “This may be difficult for you, Eden. But I believe this meeting is necessary. For what it’s worth, I’ve always known in my heart that he was a good man.”
He? What good man was she talking about? “I don’t understand, Sister.”
“My prayers are with you. Be strong.” Sister Max guided Eden inside and closed the door behind her.
In the smallish room where racks of choir robes and vestments were stored in plastic dry cleaners’ bags, the light came from a single forty-watt bulb. It wasn’t dark, but Eden squinted, unable to comprehend what she was seeing.
She focused on a rugged man in a worn brown leather bomber jacket. Every detail came into stark clarity. She noticed the shine on his oxblood loafers, the stitching on his jeans, the buttons on his white shirt, the slight bulge of his jacket concealing a shoulder holster. His jaw set hard as granite. His dark eyes shone with unspoken gravity. Lightly etched crow’s feet touched those eyes.
“Peter,” she whispered.
He looked older. His high cheekbones and jawline were more sharply chiseled. A touch of gray streaked his thick black hair.
She must be dreaming. He couldn’t be here. Peter Maggio was dead. He’d been dead for twelve years, the entire life span of their son.
“Candace,” he said.
“Eden,” she corrected automatically. Her heart beat fast, speeded by the pressure of a thousand emotions. It felt like her rib cage would explode. “Candace is dead. Like you. You’re dead.”
“I didn’t want to meet like this. I would have given you time to—”
“Stop!” The music of his voice was overwhelmed by a roaring in her ears. She’d lost her mind. Gone insane. “You’re dead.”
“Touch me.”
When his hand reached toward her, she shied away in horror. This handsome spectre might pull her into the grave beside him where they would rest together for all eternity. Too often she’d dreamed of such peace, being in Peter’s arms one more time. Forever. But she couldn’t leave her son to fend for himself. She had to protect Josh. For his sake, she had to stay alive.
The ghost stepped toward her, leaving the shadows.
“Keep away from me,” she gasped.
“Eden, it’s all right. I won’t hurt you.”
The glow of the forty-watt bulb glistened in his hair. She stared, incapable of absorbing the miracle that stood before her. He was here. Alive! Peter Maggio had returned from the grave. A miracle or a curse, she didn’t know which.
Eden closed her eyes. Her head whirled. Her knees went limp and she felt herself falling, falling into a bottomless abyss.
KNEELING BESIDE HER, Payne cradled her head against his arm. Though he hadn’t intended to shock her into a dead faint, he should have expected her reaction at coming face-to-face with a living, breathing ghost.
He should have asked Sister Max to prepare Candace, but there wasn’t time to gently ease her into acceptance. Too soon, his enemies would arrive for the funeral. Payne was investigating on his own, looking for proof to charge the corrupt agents who had killed Eddy and sabotaged Payne’s career. At the same time, he was on the run. His identity had been revealed to the Verones—the criminals he had secretly prosecuted so long ago. They wanted his blood.
Every minute Payne stayed in this church increased the odds against his survival, but he had desperately needed this time alone with the woman who had haunted his heart for twelve years. Candace Verone was the ghost, the vanished lover, the only woman he had ever truly cared for.
He stared into her face—a perfect oval, framed by the white headpiece of a novice nun. Her black eyebrows arched delicately over thick, sooty lashes. A stubborn jaw and a straight Roman nose lent character to her features. In her teens, she’d been adorable. Now, in the prime of her life, she was a breathtaking beauty.
Her lashes fluttered, her eyelids opened and she gazed dreamily, not yet fully conscious. Her full lips parted as if she were about to smile. He wanted to kiss those lips, to embrace her and pretend the last twelve years had never happened.
Her expression transformed. All gentleness left her face as she snapped, “You’re supposed to be dead.”
“Sorry,” he said.
“Twelve years ago, you died.”
“I was shot and in the hospital for a week, but—”
“Basta!” Her hazel eyes flashed. Her beautiful lips compressed in a tight, angry line. “I should kill you myself. With these hands.”
“Candace, I tried—”
“Don’t call me that.” She shoved away from him with a wild flailing of arms and legs. “I’m Eden Miller now.”
“Fair enough.” He had a confession of his own. “And I’m not Peter Maggio. I never was. My real name is Payne Magnuson.”
“Pain?” she said, her voice rising on the single syllable. “Pain! How appropriate!”
She bolted to her feet. For a moment, she wobbled. Her hand rubbed against her forehead and she yanked off the wimple. Her fingers raked through her shoulder-length chestnut hair, streaked with blond highlights. Very sophisticated, Payne thought.
She glared at him. “Why are you smiling?”
“A nun?” That sure as hell wasn’t the way he remembered her.
“A schoolgirl disguise didn’t cut it. The plaid uniform skirt I wore when I was fourteen didn’t fit.”
“You’re the first nun I’ve seen wearing a silk blouse and cashmere sweater.”
She stiffened. “The outfit worked well enough to get me inside the school without being noticed.”
“You look good, Eden.”
“So do you,” she said grudgingly. She hated the way he looked. His body was hard and strong. His face had grown even more attractive with age. Damn him! In a righteous world, he would’ve been physically punished for deserting her while she was pregnant, even though he hadn’t known about her condition. He should’ve guessed. He should’ve gotten word to her. Instead, he abandoned her! Even worse, he lied about his name…and what else? What other lies? Peter, or Payne, should be forced to wear his deceptions and cruelty on his face. He should be hideous.
After all she’d been through, she would never forgive him. She’d given birth alone, a frightened nineteen-year-old in a strange city. And she’d raised their son. Alone.
Rage sluiced hotly through her veins as she paced back and forth in the small vestment room, slapping at the plastic garment bags, seething. “You let me think you were dead! You deserted me!”
“I couldn’t find you.” He stood and casually brushed the dust from his Levi’s. He looked classy, even in jeans and a beat-up bomber jacket. “I searched every damn computer file, every record. I followed slim leads all around the country. I even went to Sicily.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“Give me a break, Eden. Nobody could find you. Not even your grandfather. You pulled off the disappearing act of the century.”
She’d done too good a job. When Candace fled, she withdrew all the money from her accounts. With insurance pay-outs for both her mother and father and college funds, it had been a considerable amount. Not knowing where to go, she turned to her grandmother who referred her to friends in Denver. However, after the initial contact, Candace buried herself more deeply. She changed her name, her vital records, her identity. No one could find her. She was completely alone. “I had to do it. I had to break away from them.”
“I understand,” he said.
She stalked away from him and stood, staring at the corner of the room where the walls met the ceiling in mathematical ninety degree angles. She yearned for logic. Seeing Payne had turned her world upside-down. Nothing made sense.
She didn’t dare to turn and confront him directly, not while she could still feel his intense magnetism. If she gazed full into his eyes, she’d be helplessly drawn to him, unable to resist.
Eden tossed her head. “If you really wanted to find me, you could have. All you had to do was talk to Grandmother Sophia. I had a post office box where she could contact me.”
“You’re right. I should have paid more attention to Sophia.” Twelve years ago, he’d concentrated his search on associates of Gus Verone, but he hadn’t ignored Grandmother Sophia. Undercover, in disguise, he kept her under surveillance as she puttered in the marketplace or sat in the front pew at Mass. He wire-tapped her private telephone. He’d intercepted much of her correspondence to no avail. “Unfortunately, I couldn’t approach Sophia with a direct inquiry from Peter Maggio who was, as you pointed out, supposed to be dead.”
“You’re a coward,” Eden muttered, “too afraid to return from the dead and face the Verone family.”
He shrugged. Undercover work was no place for heroes. The job required stealth, not macho bravery. It was time for another confession. “I was undercover, Eden. I’m a senior agent for the FBI.”
As she whirled to face him, her hazel eyes narrowed. “Another lie. You were never honest with me.”
He might have defended himself, might have told her that every syllable he’d uttered in praise of her beauty, intelligence and wit had been truth. The language of his emotions had been pure.
But she had a right to her anger.
And she unleashed her rage, full-force. Eden rattled through a barrage of Italian invective before facing him directly, fists on hips. “So you’re a fed. It was your work to bring down my family.”
He wouldn’t blame her if she hated him. She’d been raised to put family above all else, and Payne had betrayed the Verones.
Instead, she gave a curt nod. “Good. At least you had the right idea, saving the family from crime.”
“But it didn’t work,” he said.
“Not for Eddy.” Her jaw tightened as she struggled to maintain her tough attitude. “Eddy used bad judgment. And he paid for it.”
The sorrow in her eyes belied her harsh judgment. No matter what she said, he knew that Eden considered her brother’s death to be a tragedy. Palpable grief surrounded her. Payne had known that she couldn’t stay away from her family at this terrible time. He’d counted on her need to be with them. Hoping to console her, he reached out and touched her arm.
She yanked away from him. “Don’t.”
Somehow, in the back of his mind, he’d always imagined that when he saw her again, she would melt into his arms and allow herself to be carried away on clouds of bliss. Apparently, he’d been wrong. In the vernacular, he could forgeddabouddit.
“Okay, Eden, here’s the story.” Payne opted for facts. This time, there would be no lies between them. “I’m undercover, again. This time, it’s more complicated than before. I was framed by another agent. Inside the Bureau, I’m considered a renegade. They’re looking for me, want to take me into custody. Plus, your family knows I’m alive.”
“So, you’re wanted by the Verones and the feds?”
“Essentially.”
“Nice work,” she said sarcastically.
“I didn’t see the double-cross until it was too late.”
“What double-cross? I want more explanation,” she demanded. “And don’t even think about lying to me.”
“The setup happened at a restaurant in Brooklyn. I saw your brother shot.”
She gasped. Her hands flew to cover her mouth. She whispered, “Who killed him?”
“An agent. His name is Danny Oliphant. That snub-nosed, redheaded bastard shot Eddy in cold blood.” He wanted her to hear this information from his lips. “No matter what anyone tells you, I didn’t kill your brother.”
“Why would people say such a thing, if it wasn’t true?”
“Part of the setup. Danny-O delivered me to the meet in Brooklyn. I suspected something was wrong, but I didn’t understand until I saw Eddy walk through the door. Danny-O drew and fired.” Payne had since learned that Danny-O had used an exact duplicate of his own weapon, right down to the serial numbers. “His gun was identical to mine.”
“So it would be assumed you were the shooter,” Eden said. “And what were you doing while this Danny-O person killed my brother?”
“There was another agent in the restaurant. Luke Borman. He was aiming at me. My guess is that his gun was a match for Eddy’s. When the ballistics people analyzed the crime scene, they’d assume that I shot Eddy and he shot me.”
“But there were witnesses,” she said.
“Parents and kids having dinner. When the bullets started flying, they dove for cover. They were scared, hysterical. I doubt any of them could say exactly what happened.” Especially not when Danny-O was directing the investigation. “Here’s how it’s going down. I’m accused of killing your brother and shooting Agent Borman.”
“Did you?” she asked. “Did you shoot the other agent?”
“Yes.”
“Is he dead?” she asked.
“Alive and recovering,” Payne said. “He’s a hero.”
“And you’re the goat.”
She leaned her back against the wall and regarded him steadily as if she were weighing his words against her standard of truth. He trusted her instincts. Though raised in an atmosphere of base treachery, Eden had a finely tuned moral compass.
“If you had met my brother on the street,” she said, “and he recognized you, would you have killed him?”
“If it came down to him or me,” Payne said, “I’d shoot.”
She frowned, considering. Then she glanced at her wristwatch. They were both aware of the ticking clock. Soon, the Verone family would gather for the funeral in the upstairs sanctuary. “Why did you come here, Payne?”
“I wanted to see you.”
She brushed away his comment. “I’ve never heard of a fed who was so sentimental. There must be another reason.”
“Surveillance.” By observing those who attended the funeral, he might be able to connect the dots and figure out the connections that led to Danny-O. “Your brother was killed for a reason. I want to know why.”
“Why does this make a difference to you?”
“Until I have proof to implicate Danny-O and Luke Borman, I’m out in the cold.”
“Because the feds think you’re the corrupt agent who’s working with the Verones.”
“Eden, we don’t have time to talk about this. Not right now. I want you to meet me after the funeral. I’ll be at this motel.” He handed her a card. “I’ll wait until four o’clock.”
“Before four o’clock,” she repeated. “At this motel.”
Eden glanced at the card, aware that he was literally trusting her with his life. If she betrayed him by giving his location to her grandfather, Payne would be trapped in a motel room with no escape. The Verone family would take their revenge without mercy.
It was what he deserved for deserting her. A slow and horrible death. But she knew, in her heart, that she would never cause him to suffer. Besides which, he might have another motive in revealing his location. What if Payne expected her to pass on the name of his motel? He might be arranging a sting to catch the Verone assassins. Or, if she came alone, he might be plotting to kidnap her, using her for leverage against her family.
With sudden alarm, she realized that Payne’s apparent trust might have something to do with Josh. Did he even know about their son? His son? Though he hadn’t mentioned Josh, this might be part of a plot to steal her child. So many devious possibilities lay beneath the surface. As a daughter of the Verone family, she had learned to navigate the Byzantine twists and turns of the criminal mind. She must always beware of murky deceptions.
And yet, as she had stated, Candace Verone was dead. She was Eden Miller, a law-abiding citizen who expected honesty.
She looked up at Payne again. Frankly, she demanded, “Why should I come to this motel? Why should I believe a single word you’ve told me?”
An infinitesimal twitch at the corner of his left eye was the only warning before Payne closed the space between them with a few quick strides. His arms surrounded her. His mouth slanted across hers.
Furiously, she fought his kiss. She twisted her body, but his strength was too great. He held her even more tightly. Her breasts crushed against his chest.
Eden wrenched back her head and prepared to scream.
“Trust me,” he whispered.
His dark eyes shone with mesmerizing light. He was the man she had dreamed about, night after lonely night, the only man who had ever touched her soul. God help her, she wanted his kiss. With every fiber of her being, she yearned for him.
He held her nape gently. His lips pressed against hers.
Her resistance ebbed, swift as the retreating surf across smooth, shimmering sands. Her eyelids closed in a swoon. Lifted beyond reality into a netherworld, she welcomed the flow of passion through her veins, awakening dormant sensation. Her arms clung to him. She kissed back, releasing years of longing.
He was alive and in her arms. She treasured this precious moment.
He ended their kiss and stepped away from her. Silent as a shadow, he went through the door and closed it behind him.
Eden was left wondering if this meeting had really happened. Her fingertips touched her moist lips where the taste of Payne still lingered. She had to see him again. Slipping the card with the name of the motel into her bra, she went to the door and prepared herself to face her brother’s funeral.
Outside, at the end of the first hallway, Sister Max stood waiting, fidgeting with her rosary. “Are you all right?” she asked.
Eden nodded. “How did you come to be friendly with Payne Magnuson?”
“Like you, I first knew him as Peter Maggio. When you two started seeing each other, he came to me for advice.”
“Why?” What sort of man sought dating advice from a nun?
“Well, he couldn’t very well talk to your grandfather. Gus Verone had let it be known that you were off-limits.”
Eden was well aware of her grandfather’s decree. Most men ran in terror when they learned her name was Verone. But not Payne. He hadn’t pursued her, but he certainly hadn’t pushed her away. “He told you about our relationship?”
“Remember, my dear child, that you were very young. Only nineteen. Only a year out of high school. And he was a grown man of twenty-four. He didn’t want to take advantage.”
“What did you tell him?”
“The truth,” said Sister Max. “You had to grow up more quickly than most girls. In your nineteen years, you’d experienced more than your share of sorrow and responsibility. I assured him that you were capable of making your own decisions and taking care of yourself.”
“You were correct.”
Sometimes, Eden thought she’d been born an adult. She’d met Peter, now known as Payne, with her eyes wide open and would never regret their earth-shaking nights of passion. She wasn’t sorry for moments that felt so right, lovemaking that brought her a son, Josh, the light of her life.
“Now, you have another decision,” Sister Max said. Her tone was brisk, almost businesslike. For a woman of the Church, she seemed far too comfortable with all this undercover subterfuge. “Your grandmother is here. She’s alone in an anteroom off the sanctuary with the coffin. Do you want to go there?”
“Yes.” She answered without hesitation. Eden owed her escape to Grandmother Sophia.
Once again, Sister Max showed her to a closed door and stationed herself outside. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
Eden stepped inside. The air was redolent with the mysterious scents of the church and a blanket of white flowers that covered the lower half of an ebony coffin fitted with gold trim. Beside the casket sat a tiny gray-haired woman wearing a neat black pillbox hat. Her head drooped. Her eyes closed. With a small withered hand, she caressed the gleaming coffin.
“Grandmother,” Eden said.
Sophia rose slowly to her feet. Though she looked not a day older than when Eden had last seen her twelve years ago, sorrow kept the smile from her grandmother’s face. Despite her diminutive size, she held herself erect. A proud woman, much stronger than anyone expected, Sophia had learned to cope with tragedy. “Come.”
Eden stepped forward. There would be no embrace. No show of emotion. The women of the Verone family accepted their fate without weeping.
Sophia took both of Eden’s hands and squeezed hard before nodding toward the coffin. “Say goodbye to your brother.”
Drawing from her grandmother’s dignified example, Eden straightened her shoulders. Woodenly, she moved to the open top of the coffin. Eddy’s eyes were closed. His cheeks, sunken. His skin was colored by an unnatural pallor. Eden barely recognized the grown man. Instead, she saw a dark-haired boy, her older brother, who had defended her on the asphalt playground outside St. Catherine’s after their mother passed away. The other kids had taunted that her mother deserved to die, that all Verones were poison, especially her. Poison Candace. Poison Candy. With his fists and hot temper, Eddy made it clear that anybody who messed with his sister would face his wrath.
Not that Eddy had always acted as her protector. She remembered his sly, teasing grin when he yanked her ponytail or chased her with a bleeding hunk of liver when she proclaimed herself to be a vegetarian for two months. A typical big brother, Eddy loved to torment her. But when she needed him, he was there for her…except at the very end of their time together when she left the family to have her baby. Eddy would never have understood why she needed to escape the clutches of the Verones. Family was everything to him. Above all, he was loyal, and that loyalty had killed him.
Eden fought the hot tears that threatened to spill from her eyes and moisten Eddy’s crisp white shirt. Her skin felt hot, flushed with the effort of self-control. Oh, Eddy, you could have been so much more.
She placed a final kiss on his cold cheek and stepped away from the coffin to face her grandmother.
“He had no children,” Sophia said. “His wife was barren.”
Eden nodded. In infrequent letters from Sophia delivered to the anonymous post office box, her grandmother had made clear her disappointment with Eddy’s wife, a beautiful but annoying twit who was not worthy of the family name. Secretly, Eden suspected that Eddy’s wife was infertile by choice and not ready to give up the flashy night-life for the role of motherhood.
She reached into the pocket of her skirt and pulled out two snapshots, her latest pictures of Josh. “These are for you.”
As she gazed at the photographs, Sophia’s lips almost smiled. “Such a handsome boy.”
“And he’s doing well in school. All A’s and B’s on his report card.”
“What about sports?”
“He plays soccer and baseball. He’s a shortstop.” She glanced back at the coffin. “Like Eddy.”
“You’ve done a good job,” her grandmother said. “You were right to leave Chicago, to protect your child. But now, things have changed.”
“What do you mean?”
“Eddy is dead,” she said simply. “Your son, Josh, is the only male heir.”
“Heir to what?” A shiver chased down Eden’s spine. Apprehensively, she watched the hint of a smile fall from her grandmother’s face. “What are you telling me?”
Sophia said, “I’m sorry.”
A small rear door swung open. Gus Verone strode into the anteroom. Though in his early seventies, his fierce strength remained undiminished. With broad shoulders thrown back, he looked like he could wrestle a lion. His thick white mane bristled with energy. He stood before her, blocking any chance of escape.
He didn’t bother to say hello or welcome back. His mouth barely moved as he issued his implacable proclamation.
“I want the boy.”
