He knew. He was like that with her. He knew when she was melancholy, like now. She shouldn’t be thinking of Luigi; she needed to concentrate on the plan to take Aldo without harming anyone else. Without getting caught. Without anyone suspecting his death was anything else but an accident.
“Talk to me, Lissa.”
It was back to Lissa and Tomasso. But now, she wasn’t even Lissa. She was Patrice with her glossy dark hair and stick figure. He wasn’t Tomasso, he was Steve Johnson from Philadelphia, just in for a few days of sightseeing. Steve looked much older, but distinguished with his graying hair and cool shades.
“I was thinking about seeing Luigi with his family,” she admitted.
Although he was driving, he instantly reached for her hand, connecting them physically, pulling her palm to his thigh and holding it there. “Malyshka.”
Her heart stuttered. She loved when he called her “baby,” or more precisely, “little girl,” in his own language. He had different inflections, depending on why he was using the endearment. This was sheer love. She heard it in his voice. Stark. Raw. Honest. Soft and so very sweet when she needed it most. He always seemed to know. He could read her that well.
“I watched him for a long time.”
She didn’t have to tell him that, he’d been there with her. They’d set up surveillance just across the street from his backyard. The house was a mansion. Angeline wanted status and Luigi gave it to her. Soldiers were in and out, moving through the grounds with dogs to ensure safety. Luigi wasn’t taking any chance on any of the families in power hitting his family.
He was head of the Abbracciabene family, but his territory was small. Through his marriage to Angeline, he was allied with the Porcelli family. That territory was much bigger, and Aldo wielded a tremendous power in the underworld, so he was protected. That protection clearly wasn’t enough for Luigi. He led a double life and had to be paranoid. Still, he spent a lot of time on the large patio, hiding from his wife.
“I know you did,” Casimir replied softly, his hand squeezing hers. He rubbed the back of her hand and once more tightened his fingers, pressing her palm deep into the heat of his chest, right over his heart. “Talk to me,” he repeated.
She moistened her lips, trying to think how to word what was preying on her mind. She didn’t want Casimir to get upset. Like her, he was a fire element. He could burn hot with passion or be just as destructive as a roaring fire could be. He was intensely loyal. He hadn’t known his blood brothers growing up, hadn’t been around them as a man, yet he’d remained loyal to them, so much so that he was willing to die for them. He had planned to sacrifice himself for the sake of his brothers’ happiness. He wouldn’t understand someone like Luigi. He’d never tolerate such a betrayal as Luigi had committed, conspiring to kill his own brother and family in order to gain power. Raising a child as a weapon to continue his thirst for power.
“Malyshka.”
That “baby” was a clear warning. He expected her to tell him why she was upset.
She sighed. Pushed at the fall of black hair surrounding her face. “Luigi really is grieving for Arturo. I studied his face through the binoculars. He stared off into space forever. I guess I wanted to think he was wholly a monster, incapable of loving anyone.”
Casimir glanced at her sharply. “He certainly doesn’t love his wife. That was clear. It was a little shocking that she doesn’t see it.”
“I think she sees it, she just doesn’t care. She has what she wants. She lives a certain way and has filled her life with friends and events. They appear to almost live apart. The three boys…” She trailed off. “Much more difficult to judge.” She detested the wistful note in her voice. “I’m sorry, it’s just that…” She left it. How could she possibly explain why she was so conflicted about Luigi?
“Don’t you think I understand?” Casimir asked. “That man was your only family growing up. He wasn’t just your uncle. He was your mother and father. He put a roof over your head, food in your mouth and clothes on your back. He taught you everything he knew about his business and he made certain you were good at it, good enough that you weren’t going to get killed. It might have been harsh training, but in the end, you recognized that he was ensuring you stayed alive. That had to feel like caring.”
“I remember when he first brought me home. He was stiff. He’d always been around when I was growing up, but he wasn’t particularly affectionate. Over time, he became that way. Arturo started it, giving me hugs and wiping away tears when Luigi was upset with me, but then eventually, Luigi began to thaw. He laughed more. He took me more places himself. He ate dinner with me. I thought we were close. I thought he loved me.” She finished the last in a small voice, staring unseeing down at the blueprints.