He’s so furious, he’s not acting like himself. “This isn’t you,” I say.
“Do you know who I am?” He moves his face closer to mine, searching my eyes for something.
“I don’t understand.”
He lets go of me and heaves a dry laugh. “Ah. So you know even less about me that I do about you.”
I swallow. My eye catches on a tattoo peeking from under the sleeve of his T-shirt. The two times I’ve seen Damiano without his shirt on it was too dark for me to notice it.
He sees what I’m looking at. “This isn’t something I advertise, but since you seem to be confused about what’s happening here, I’ll make an exception.” He turns his arm to me and lifts up his shirtsleeve.
It’s some kind of an insignia. Two branches of leaves around a castle with two towers. Above the castle is an intricate crown. I’ve never seen it before.
“This is the crest of Casal di Principe, the town in Campana where I was born,” he says.
Casal di Principe. Something nudges against my memory. Where have I heard that name before?
“It’s a town of twenty-one thousand people. Three thousand of them are under near constant police surveillance. Do you know why?”
I have some guesses. The hairs on the back of my neck stand straight. Why did Lazaro take Martina? What did he say-
“It’s because that little town is the stronghold of the Casalese clan. One of the most powerful clans in the Camorra. I have a feeling you know what the Camorra is.”
The Neapolitan mafia. I tug on my restraints, not because I think they might suddenly break this time, but because something far more primal and afraid awakens within me.
“The police think there’s been around one thousand murders carried out by the clan in the past thirty years. They’re wrong. I know because my father used to run the Casalese, and he kept an accurate count.”
He takes me by the chin and forces me to look him in the eyes. “The real number is ten thousand people,” he whispers. “And if you don’t tell me who you are, your name on the ledger will bring it to ten thousand and one.”
My chest rises and falls with breaths that are too fast. I can’t believe this. He’s not a businessman. He’s just another part of the cruel world I thought I’d managed to escape.
I missed all the signs.
Now, my brain rushes to put it all together. His father used to run the clan-he used past tense, so I assume that means he’s dead. Is Damiano the current don? Is that why everyone always seems so afraid of him?
This changes everything. If I tell him who I am, I’ll become a bartering chip once again.
“Ah. You understand now,” he says as his fingers dig into my chin. “Who are you?”
I squeeze my eyes shut. The song outside changes to another bossa nova tune. What are the chances someone will come help me if I scream? Probably zero. I have no reason to doubt what he’s just told me, which means he knows how to hide a person he doesn’t want to be found.
I jerk my chin out of his grip and turn my face away from him. “Let me go.”
There’s a moment of silence, and then he barks out a bitter laugh. “Why would I do that?”
“I helped your sister get away. Please, just let me go.”
“I don’t think so.” He runs his tongue over his top teeth and studies me. “But maybe I’ll consider it if you answer my questions. Why did you follow Martina to Ibiza?”
“I didn’t follow her. I had no idea she’d end up here. We were on the same flight to Barcelona, but then I came here on my own.”
“You expect me to believe it’s a coincidence you’re here?”
“What else would it be?”
“An assignment.”
My heart hammers against my chest. He thinks I’m working for my father? “I’m not working for anyone except you. I’ve already told you the truth. I’m here because I wanted to get away from my family.”
“You didn’t know I was Martina’s brother?”
“No! I didn’t even know her name until you introduced us in your office.”
“Why did your husband take her?”
I can’t help but notice the inflection in his tone on the word husband. I could tell Damiano what Lazaro said to me about Martina, but it might be the only piece of leverage I have. Until I have a better sense of what he plans to do with me, I can’t reveal it to him. “I don’t know.”
“You’re lying.”
I glance away from him. “My husband never told me anything.”
“Martina told me you shot him.”
“I have no idea if he’s dead or alive.”
He cups my face with his palms and moves my head until I’m looking at him again. “You don’t seem to be torn up over it.”
“It was an arranged marriage, not a love match.”
A tendril of softness creeps into Damiano’s gaze. Am I getting through to him? Maybe I can convince him to let me go after all.
“Why did you help Martina?” he asks.
“Because I wanted to. I didn’t want her to get hurt.”
He drags his thumb over my cheek. “What’s your name?”
“Ale Romero.”
That softness is gone in a flash.
“You know as well as I do that Ale Romero doesn’t exist,” he bites out, dropping his hands from me. “What’s your name?”
“Why does it matter? I’m not here to cause trouble. I never thought I’d see Martina again. Why won’t you let me go?”
“Because I won’t rest until everyone responsible for what happened to my sister and her friend is turned into fertilizer. Tell me your name and tell me who your husband worked for.”
He wants to get revenge against Papà. He’s already halfway there by unknowingly having the don’s oldest daughter in his hands. If he knows who I am, he’ll kill me, or he’ll trade me away for something more valuable.