“Well, you should learn how to duck, but you shouldn’t have had to. It had nothing to do with you.”
“It had everything to do with me,” Gabriel replied simply. “It’s family.”
There was that same core-tenet, the concept that ruled the Varasso’s world. One that drove Alessandro and me apart after high school, again right before I found out I was pregnant, and again right before I got kidnapped. It was all about family. Blood ran thick with the Varassos. They believed that each individual burden was meant to be worn by the collective. I just hadn’t been raised that way. When my father willingly protected the Varassos over staying with his own family, I took on an every-man-for-himself mentality that I never quite shook off. Even though I eventually forgave my dad and knew that he did what he did because he wanted what was best for us, I still couldn’t bring myself to be that devoted to anything—until I had Alexis and married Alessandro.
“I’m sorry for causing problems, then,” I muttered. “I know you guys must hate me.”
Gabriel shook his head with an indignant laugh. “For someone who opened up a fresh can of whoop-ass on Molly, you sure lack confidence.” I gasped, but he continued. “Why would we hate you? Because you’re smart enough to have wanted to stay out of this shit? Because you defended your husband? Willow, your devotion to what you believe in is what our family is built on. We feel bad that you got sucked in. Even Luca and Molly, even if they’re huge assholes right now.”
I didn’t have a response to that, so I just stayed silent until my phone rang. “Mira’s here.”
“Go. Have fun. Don’t think about this for a while.”
“Yeah. Sorry again.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Gabriel replied with a wink.
I didn’t hang around. I smiled at him before heading down the path, past the ring of cars, and down the long driveway to the front gate, where Mira was waiting. She drove us to a bar not far from the estate, and it was oddly comforting walking into the cigarette smoke and alcohol-drenched dive. It was the real world, the one outside the Varasso’s manufactured one. I didn’t realize how much I’d missed it until I was in it again. Mira ordered a whole tray of drinks and brought it over to the table we’d picked.
“You’re not driving, so drink up, girl. You need it,” Mira said. She didn’t have to tell me twice. I knocked back one of the shots, chased it with a second, and then grabbed one of the martinis to work on. “Oh. Okay. Cool. I didn’t realize you’d listen immediately.”
“You’re right, I did need this.”
Mira rested her head on her hands. “I didn’t realize things had gotten so bad. I’m sorry.”
“It’s not your fault. I tried being too strong.”
“What!” Mira said loudly and dramatically. “You? Willow Varasso, trying to be too strong? Well, I just don’t think that I’ve ever heard of that before.”
“Your sarcasm is noted and unappreciated,” I replied.
Mira took another one of the martinis from the tray and started to nurse it. “You do this a lot. You try and take the whole world on yourself, even though you’re surrounded by all these people who want to help you bear the burden.”
“You are not the first person, even this hour, who has said something similar to me.” I sighed. “I guess I’m just so used to taking care of things on my own that I struggle to let people help me. I’ll try and get better.”
“So, this Denise woman?” Mira asked. “Have you done any sort of public records search or anything?”
“Not yet.”
“Well.” Mira pulled out her phone. “Let’s see what we can find.”
Mira and I delved into even more research into Denise. Most of our searches came up empty again, and nothing in the way of Denise Binachi or Denise Carducci came up in our search for public records in Phil
ly or in Chicago. Fortunately for me, Mira was a researcher by trade. For every tactic that I had tried, Mira had two more, and finally, something broke free.
“Who’s Illiana Costa?” Mira asked.
I was onto my second martini already, but my brain was still clear enough to know that I’d never heard that name before. “No idea.”
Mira typed the name into Google, and we learned that she was another mob boss in Chicago. It was hard to tell if she was an ally or rival of Anthony Carducci’s, as some of the articles we read had them in cahoots while others had them going head to head.
“Oh!” Mira yelped. “Here! Look! Illiana Costa’s legacy is upheld by her five children, Carmine, Sid, Cherri, Denise, and Bennet!”
I nearly dropped my glass. “Wait. What?” Denise wasn’t a Binachi or a Carducci? “Google Denise Costa.”
Mira did, and I actually did drop my glass. Her face appeared on the screen, the same woman who was mixed up with my family, but in every single one of the pictures, she had different eye colors and different hair colors.
“She’s a con woman,” I said slowly.