nodded, understanding. “Did Red … kill my sister, too?”
“He said he didn’t. I believed him.”
“Then who?”
“I’m afraid I still think it’s your brother-in-law, Frankie.”
“No.”
“I thought at first he did it for the insurance. I still think he did it for that, partly; but now I also believe your sister’s
cheating on him gave him a second motive. Those two reasons were enough for him.”
“It couldn’t have been Frankie. I know Frankie.”
“You didn’t know that he’s—what he is.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I know him as family. Maria was family to him; I am, too. To family he’s always been nothing but
good. I swear it’s true.”
“Gina, I don’t like to do this to you, but when it comes to your family, I don’t think you see any of this clearly. Frankie
sent a crew of gunmen after me; your brother, Albert, did the same thing. His men were planning to weight me down and toss
me in the river. He had the woman who informed on Red killed—had her throat slit, and her tongue cut out. And last night I
was there when Albert had Red Agitino tortured—in front of Agitino’s wife.”
Her head dropped, and her words were barely a murmur. “I’m not surprised about Albert. He was always like that. Cruel. A sadist.”
She began to shake, and he held out his hand. She grabbed it and held on tightly. “Frankie couldn’t have had Maria killed,
that I know. But—maybe—Albert.”
She was in his arms now, sobbing. “Do you have any reason to believe Albert did it?” he asked her.
“No. No reason. But maybe when he found out she was unfaithful to Frankie—to Albert that would be like being a—a—” the word
was hard for her to say—"a—prostitute.”
“I don’t think he knew. It was because he followed me that he found out about Agitino.”
“Maybe … maybe there were other men besides Red. Maybe Albert found out about them.”
It was a possibility. There was no point in talking anymore about it. She obviously knew nothing, and it was wrong for him
to keep pulling her down into this muck. She didn’t deserve it. He looked at her, her whole body shaking, arms tight around
him, and he tried to keep it from happening, but couldn’t. He found himself being aroused by her.
Her sobs had slackened, and he handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes, and looked up at him, completely open, completely
vulnerable. Her lips were parted, moist, and red, and he found himself drawn to them. Unable to look away, his head irresistibly
moved toward them. Trying to fight it off, but not succeeding, he then saw that she was waiting for him, no more able than
he to pull away.
Their lips met, and hers were soft, warm, and as fresh as dew, the lips of the unkissed. And gently his lips explored hers,
as he felt her hand slide up his body and rest at the back of his neck, stroking it softly, delicately.
Their lips parted, and she rested her head against his chest, and sighed; then touched his neck some more, and once again
looked up at him with yearning in her eyes.
They kissed again, and this time her lips already seemed wiser, with an urgency that replaced the innocence. Lightly, his
tongue explored the soft underside of her lips, and she tightened against him, and her breathing became deeper and more rapid.
Her hand dropped to his back, where she stroked and explored it, and as her breathing deepened, she pulled at it. His hand
in turn began to move over her body, along her neck, down her back, then tightening on her and pulling her closer to him.
Once more their mouths broke away and she looked at him, bewilderment in her eyes. “I never knew—” she began.
He held her away from him, and she looked startled, uncertain. “We’d better stop,” he said. “It’s not fair to you.”
“No.” It was an entreaty. “Please don’t. Don’t stop.”
“You’re young and innocent. I shouldn’t have taken you here.”
She shook her
“He said he didn’t. I believed him.”
“Then who?”
“I’m afraid I still think it’s your brother-in-law, Frankie.”
“No.”
“I thought at first he did it for the insurance. I still think he did it for that, partly; but now I also believe your sister’s
cheating on him gave him a second motive. Those two reasons were enough for him.”
“It couldn’t have been Frankie. I know Frankie.”
“You didn’t know that he’s—what he is.”
“No,” she admitted. “But I know him as family. Maria was family to him; I am, too. To family he’s always been nothing but
good. I swear it’s true.”
“Gina, I don’t like to do this to you, but when it comes to your family, I don’t think you see any of this clearly. Frankie
sent a crew of gunmen after me; your brother, Albert, did the same thing. His men were planning to weight me down and toss
me in the river. He had the woman who informed on Red killed—had her throat slit, and her tongue cut out. And last night I
was there when Albert had Red Agitino tortured—in front of Agitino’s wife.”
Her head dropped, and her words were barely a murmur. “I’m not surprised about Albert. He was always like that. Cruel. A sadist.”
She began to shake, and he held out his hand. She grabbed it and held on tightly. “Frankie couldn’t have had Maria killed,
that I know. But—maybe—Albert.”
She was in his arms now, sobbing. “Do you have any reason to believe Albert did it?” he asked her.
“No. No reason. But maybe when he found out she was unfaithful to Frankie—to Albert that would be like being a—a—” the word
was hard for her to say—"a—prostitute.”
“I don’t think he knew. It was because he followed me that he found out about Agitino.”
“Maybe … maybe there were other men besides Red. Maybe Albert found out about them.”
It was a possibility. There was no point in talking anymore about it. She obviously knew nothing, and it was wrong for him
to keep pulling her down into this muck. She didn’t deserve it. He looked at her, her whole body shaking, arms tight around
him, and he tried to keep it from happening, but couldn’t. He found himself being aroused by her.
Her sobs had slackened, and he handed her his handkerchief. She wiped her eyes, and looked up at him, completely open, completely
vulnerable. Her lips were parted, moist, and red, and he found himself drawn to them. Unable to look away, his head irresistibly
moved toward them. Trying to fight it off, but not succeeding, he then saw that she was waiting for him, no more able than
he to pull away.
Their lips met, and hers were soft, warm, and as fresh as dew, the lips of the unkissed. And gently his lips explored hers,
as he felt her hand slide up his body and rest at the back of his neck, stroking it softly, delicately.
Their lips parted, and she rested her head against his chest, and sighed; then touched his neck some more, and once again
looked up at him with yearning in her eyes.
They kissed again, and this time her lips already seemed wiser, with an urgency that replaced the innocence. Lightly, his
tongue explored the soft underside of her lips, and she tightened against him, and her breathing became deeper and more rapid.
Her hand dropped to his back, where she stroked and explored it, and as her breathing deepened, she pulled at it. His hand
in turn began to move over her body, along her neck, down her back, then tightening on her and pulling her closer to him.
Once more their mouths broke away and she looked at him, bewilderment in her eyes. “I never knew—” she began.
He held her away from him, and she looked startled, uncertain. “We’d better stop,” he said. “It’s not fair to you.”
“No.” It was an entreaty. “Please don’t. Don’t stop.”
“You’re young and innocent. I shouldn’t have taken you here.”
She shook her
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