She limps toward the exit, leaning heavily against the wall.
As she mounts the steps, Donatello asks, “Do you think you can even make it off the boat before they spot you?”
She offers him a weak grin, and yet it stands out as the most authentic I’ve seen all day. “I’m sure my knight in shining armor is already here.” Real pain leeches into her voice. Gritting her teeth, she mounts the stairs to the upper deck as Donatello, and I follow.
Before anyone can question exactly where her knight in shining armor is, she hurries to the side of the boat and climbs over the railing, landing in the water with a splash.
Her golden hair flashes for just a second before she disappears beneath the murky waves entirely.
“Shit!” Donatello tugs open his jacket as if preparing to jump in after her, but she surfaces a few yards away, facing our direction. I swear she winks before diving once again.
Frozen mid-lunge, he readjusts his jacket. “Who the fuck was that?”
I don’t respond. If that woman was Briar, why would she be on a Saleri ship?
“Let’s get the fuck out of here before we get any more ‘invitations,’” Donatello suggests.
I follow him back to the car, where the chaos that rocked the city is even more apparent. The flames swell, seemingly higher than they’d been just minutes ago. Blaring alarms form a deafening clamor that persists even when we’re in the car.
“Give me a minute,” Donatello says, once again withdrawing his cell phone. This time, he manages to get through.
“Fabio, what the fuck happened?” Whatever the man says makes him growl. “Improperly stored chemicals at a warehouse? That’s what they’re assuming so far, anyway. Fuck.”
I can hear Fabio’s voice resonating with authority. “Stay put,” he warns. “I can’t believe you even went to the Saleris without me. If you won’t drive around the blockade, find somewhere to park, and you wait for me there. I mean it, Donatello. Promise me.”
After a long moment, Donatello sighs. “Fine.”
He hangs up, raking a hand through his hair. “All traffic heading west through the city has been halted. Rumor on the street is that chemicals improperly stored at a warehouse caused the explosion, but I don’t buy that shit.”
And the blond woman alluded to as much. Ask yourself why someone might want the city severed in two, even for a few hours…
“I could go around the blocks and get back to the house, but it will take hours… Something isn’t right.” He glowers at the horizon. “What do you think we should do?”
I stiffen. He’s doing it again, purposefully trying to unnerve me. But then I make the mistake of looking up and find him staring back.
In context, everything we’ve done so far could be deemed grossly irresponsible. Reckless. Stupid, even. Fabio is right; we should return to the house and relay the information garnered from the boat.
I don’t think I move or indicate my thought process, but Donatello sighs, gripping the steering wheel. His lips twitch, but it’s in the opposite direction of a frown. He’s grinning, his tone conspiratorial. “To the Norfolk hotel, it is, then.”
19
Willow
To his credit, Gino—my biological father—never shied from the darker reality of his employment with the famiglia. In his mind, being a mobster trumped working as a mechanic any day. He gloated about it.
“I won’t ever have to do that shit again,” I heard him tell my mother once.
Unconvinced, she responded with a line similar to, “So what? Killing is easier for you than changing a damn tire?”
To which he replied, “You bet your ass it is. Forget your fucking morals. A little blood and a hell of a lot of money look better than calluses and blisters any day.”
That line always stuck with me—an example of who I never wanted to become. Someone so bitter and jaded that any mode of success appealed to them, no matter the cost.
I came close to changing my mind, though. In those early days after being sold to Nicolai, I dreamt of killing Donatello Vanici with my bare hands. Over and over, day in and day out. Imagining his death knell was my nightly lullaby. Who could blame me?
The vibrant red of his blood would have been a welcome sight compared to the horror my life had become.
In retrospect, I might be compelled to thank him in a sick, twisted sense of the concept. That time taught me a lesson I will never forget—the world is cruel. The fleeting kindness a man might bestow on you one minute can be cruelly ripped away the next. Life is no beautiful fairy tale, but a grim horror in which women file in and out of rooms like cattle.
Where men stroll about with weapons drawn and trade money with frivolity children play card games with.
Life in that enclave was a brutal existence, unlike anything I’d ever witnessed of the famiglia under Donatello. I have to wonder, was he truly any different?
Or was he just better at hiding the horrific side of his business?
Seven years later, I feel no closer to the truth. The man remains as much of an enigma to me now as he was then—barring one major difference.
I’ve never seen his mind in action quite like this. The manic cadence of his thought process reminds me of a symphony in disarray, every instrument playing out of tune. Chaotic. Beautiful. Madness.
He is a creature of impulse and action. From a marina, to a club, to a yacht, to an exclusive hotel, the world from the viewpoint of Donatello Vanici is an endless rabbit hole.
I can only go along for the ride and hope that we reach the end with my soul intact.
Luckily, the Norfolk Hotel is just
