Page 124 of Valentino

He steps back.

The bulb hums overhead. Somewhere nearby, water drips against stone.

I look at Enzo Basile. At the soft eyes of the man whose son touched me after he drugged me. The man who put a price on Valentino's head. The man who had my car run off the road and brought me here bleeding.

I am terrified.

My fingers tremble against the rope. Dryness coats my mouth, and the ringing in my ears hasn't faded since the crash. At my temple, blood has begun to crust, pulling tight whenever I move.

But I've been scared before. I know how to hide it.

So I lift my chin.

"Okay," I say to the translator. "Everything?"

"Exactly."

I look back at Enzo Basile. "Then translate this."

The translator waits.

I smile.

"Fuck you all."

Silence.

The translator's jaw tightens. For one beautiful second, I think he might refuse.

Then he leans toward Enzo and translates it.

I don't need to speak Italian to know he said exactly what I told him to.

Enzo does not move.

Then he laughs.

Low. Rough. Real.

The sound crawls over my skin.

He says something to the translator, still amused, and the translator turns back to me without the polite face this time.

"The Don says," he tells me, "he understands now why Valentino Conti killed his son over you.”

Valentino

The phone rings twice before Fabio answers.

"Luca," I say.

"Hospital in Ostia. Skull fracture. Broken ribs. Punctured lung. They cut him out of the car." Fabio takes one breath. "He's alive."

"For how long?"

"I don't know."

I close my eyes.