“He’s smart. He knows what an incredible person you are,” I tell her. I even mean it, which surprises me. “Anyway, I can see how much he loves you, and how much you love him. God can see that, too. He’d understand why you stay.” And about the pill-popping, but I don’t bring that up.
“Maybe,” she says softly. “But no matter how much Frank and I love each other, we’ll never be a real family, not in the eyes of all the other Wives with their thirteen kids.”
A strange anger flares up in me. I just know that one of those horrible Wives said just that to Celia, or more likely, said it loudly behind her back so she heard it but could never respond.
“You don’t need kids to be a family,” I say firmly. “And fuck anyone who tells you different. Besides, I’m your family, and you’re mine. We are outlaws, aren’t we?”
“Outlaws?” She gives a puzzled smile.
“You’re Luca’s sister-in-law, and I’m Frank’s brother-in-law, so that makes us outlaws to each other, doesn’t it?”
She lets out a little laugh. “I don’t know that it works that way, but…I like the sound of that. Still, I don’t think your Boston family would see it the same way. I don’t think your sister likes me very much.”
“That’s because my sister is a mega-bitch.” When Celia looks shocked, I laugh. “Well, it’s true. And she doesn’t like me much, either. Margaret Fincher Donovan is stone cold when she wants to be, just like Luca.”
“Remind me never to get on your bad side, outlaw brother.”
“Never. As long as you promise me not to listen to what those Fuscone women say to you.”
She gives a shy smile. “How did you know it was them?”
I roll my eyes. “Who else? You’d make an amazing mom, Cee, but you’re a straight up amazing woman already. Never forget that.”
It’s time to change the subject. Celia’s eyes are beginning to swim. I take a big swig of my coffee, and then ask, “Another round? I need a lot of caffeine after the night I’ve had.”
“Look at me, moaning about myself, when you’re the one who spent all night out on the town just to teach his husband a lesson,” Celia says with a wink, getting up from her seat. “You sit right there, honey, and I’ll get you another cup, and then you can tell me all about how terrible your husband is until he gets here.”
I’m about to say that that sounds like a plan, when there’s a knock at the door.
“Ugh, already?” Celia sighs. “Better let them in.”
She hustles out of the room, while I help myself to another cup of coffee. She makes it strong and dirty, just the way I like it. Just as I hear Celia’s exclamation of surprise, I realize it can’t be Luca and Frank, because Frank lives here. He wouldn’t knock.
And then Celia screams, and I drop the coffee pot, shattering hot liquid all over the kitchen floor.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
FINCH
For the second time in less than a year, I come back to consciousness only to find I have a bag over my head, a bleeding lip, and a sore gut from where, I presume, someone has been punching me.
It’s enough to give a guy a complex.
But then I remember Celia’s scream, and things don’t seem quite so funny anymore.
“Hello?” I ask.
There are definitely people in the room. I can hear them breathing.
My cheekbone explodes in pain and I rock where I’m sitting. Ropes are biting into my wrists and arms, but at least they help keep me upright. Jesus, whoever’s hitting me has a mean right hook. It’s kind of familiar, actually.
In fact, I’d bet dollars to donuts that it’s Joey Fuscone beating on me right now.
And then my hood comes off, and I find myself staring into Joey’s ugly, grinning face, until I have to blink away the dust and sweat in my eyes. Any sense of satisfaction at guessing right is fleeting, though, because as I look around the room, I can’t see Celia. I see a group of men staring back at me with murder in their eyes, but no Celia.
“Is Celia—” I start, but I’m cut off by Joey’s fist, smacking into that cheekbone again. I see black, and I have to take a second to catch my breath.
“Yeah, you don’t ask the questions here,” he laughs. “In fact, you don’t talk at all, except to scream. Deal?”
“Deal,” I say, and for that I get another fist to the stomach. I bend double, the ropes cutting into me, as I fight to get my breath back.
“You don’t talk at all, dumbass,” Joey crows. “Didn’t you hear me?”
I just keep quiet this time. At least it saves me another punch. I look around, trying to take in where I am. It’s not unlike the warehouse where Luca took me after that first kidnapping, but smaller. I think? I was pretty high that day, but right now there’s nothing standing in between my synapses and Joey Fuscone’s fists to cushion the blows.
I do know I’m tied to a chair, and my hands are tingling like the blood is struggling to get through to the ends of my fingers.
“I’m tired of this shit,” one of the other men says, and pulls out a gun. “Let’s just do him now and get over to support Sam. I wanna blast Morelli myself.”
“Put your goddamn dick away,” Joey barks. “We’re here on my uncle’s orders, and he won’t be happy if you kill this fucker before time. Besides, you know we have a guest on the way to see it.”
My vision’s stopped swimming, and I take another, more careful look around the room. Still no Celia do I see, but no
