Slowly, Alberto started to talk. He laid it all out. He talked and Annie sat there, listening but not believing what she was hearing. When he had finished speaking, she asked him to say it all over again. He did.
‘This is rubbish,’ said Annie.
‘Annie-’
‘You’re… what the hell are you saying? You’re telling me Constantine’s not dead,’ she said at last, feeling like she was going to scream or cry – probably both.
‘That’s what I’m saying,’ Alberto nodded.
Annie put both hands over her mouth. Her eyes were wide with shock.
‘Hey…’ said Alberto, springing to his feet, coming over to her, hugging her tight.
Annie flinched away from his embrace, shaking her head. She gulped, blinked, and dropped her hands into her lap. On one of those hands – her right – there was a small white scar on the palm. She stared at it, numb, not believing any of this.
He was alive?
She tried to speak, and couldn’t. Tried again.
‘You’re telling me,’ she managed at last, ‘that for all these years, you’ve known this?’
‘Yeah.’ Alberto sat back; a storm was about to break over his head, and he knew it.
‘You’ve known, and you didn’t say something?’
‘Omerta.’ He shrugged.
‘What?’
‘Our code of silence. The Don spoke, and I had to follow his orders. Those are the rules of Cosa Nostra, Annie. Nobody breaks the code, ever. Dammit, you of all people, you know that.’
Annie was shaking her head now, over and over, thinking, This is crazy, this can’t be true.
‘No. He’s dead.’ She swiped at her face – there were actual tears running down her cheeks; she wiped them away and glared at Alberto, the stepson she adored, who’d been an ally and a friend to her for almost twenty-five years. At this moment, she was staring at him as she would stare at a hostile stranger. ‘I saw him die.’
Alberto leaned forward, sighing, clasping his hands between his knees. His face turned toward her and he stared at her with those laser-blue eyes – his father’s eyes. Constantine’s eyes.
‘The man you saw die wasn’t Constantine Barolli,’ he said.
‘No, that’s not possible, I spoke to him when we were getting dressed, I was with him all day…’ she was protesting.
‘Papa was with you all day, but the man who walked out on to the deck and died there was not him. That was the actor we’d hired to take his place. We groomed him, trained him, dyed his hair silver, he even got the voice just right. Poor bastard, all he knew was that it was a family joke he was being paid to carry out on the wedding day. Some joke, uh? When that man died, the Don was already gone, out of the house and away.’
Annie was still staring fixedly at his face.
‘You’ve had a shock,’ said Alberto.
‘A shock?’ A bitter laugh escaped Annie. She clutched at herself as if feeling cold. So many years, he’d been gone. They’d spirited him away and an innocent man had died in his place, and they’d kept Constantine’s wife, who had lost his baby, who he was supposed to have loved, in total ignorance.
‘I wanted to tell you,’ said Alberto.
‘Sure you fucking did.’
‘I did. I swear. But you know Papa – he could detach, real easy. The Feds were closing in on him. He made the decision to go, and he carried it out. He was like that, you know he was. He could be cold, ruthless.’
Annie nodded. ‘You’re pretty ruthless yourself. You saw me back then. I was in pain, mourning him. And you just let it pass.’
‘I had to. I told you.’
Annie jerked to her feet and started pacing around the room, still hugging herself, her movements agitated. Suddenly she stopped and stood in front of Alberto.
‘You fucking bastard,’ she said flatly.
‘Hey…’He stood up, reached for her.
Annie twitched away. ‘Don’t even think about it! You kept this from me! You knew it and you didn’t say a word.’
‘I couldn’t. Believe me.’
Annie paced some more. She stopped again, right in front of him.
‘Why now?’ she snapped out. ‘Come on, I’d like to know. Why not keep the stupid bitch in her cage forever?’
‘He never saw you like that. Never,’ said Alberto.
‘Fuck it, who gives a shit, wasn’t that his attitude? He was safe and well, so who cares?’
‘He did care.’
‘Bullshit,’ she said.
‘And now…’
Annie stopped moving. She stared at his face. ‘And now what?’ she prompted.
‘Now he wants – he needs – to see you.’
71
London, June 1994
At about nine o’clock Annie went down to the kitchen, looked in the fridge, which was empty, and the freezer, which was empty too. She closed the freezer door, switched off the light and left the kitchen and went back into the drawing room with its big sandstone hearth and tapestry-covered Knole sofas.
Yawning, exhausted and achingly lonely, she yanked the curtains closed against the remaining daylight. Later, she would sleep in the master suite at the top of the stairs, in what had once been Constantine’s bed.
She wished Max was here, but he wasn’t, and if he was he would probably rip her head off and beat her with it, and she might as well get used to that idea. She thought again of the cold hatred in his eyes when they’d confronted each other at his mum’s old place.
I’ll finish him, and then I’ll finish you.
He wouldn’t forgive her, and he would never forget.
At ten, Annie went upstairs to the master suite and eased her aching body into bed. The thought of what Alberto had told her about Constantine still haunted her. For a long while after Alberto broke that news, she had been convinced that she was going insane.
But no.
She wasn’t imagining the whole thing. It had happened. And the worst part? She could share that knowledge with nobody. Not even Max. Particularly not Max, because, if he knew, then he would search out Constantine, find him, kill him. And she couldn’t break the code.
Now, Max knew.
So Constantine was under threat. And so was she.
What would Max’s next move be? He said he’d been to Sicily, so he’d spoken to someone in the inner circle of the family there, and they had broken the code, told him more than they should. Who, though? She didn’t think that Daniella, Lucco’s bride, had ever been privy to that sort of information. Daniella was a lightweight, not to be entrusted with such a burden.
Annie stared at the ceiling and thought: Gina.