was dancing with the devil. Yet, she felt comforted by his acceptance. A strange warmth spread through her. This was where she belonged. This was her heritage, preordained by centuries of tragic Verones.
He whispered, “When I heard Eddy was killed, I thought I would die myself.”
“I know.” She’d felt the same way. Despite her loathing for her grandfather and all he represented, her natural grief rose up and joined with his. Tears swelled at the corners of her eyes, and she longed to give vent to her intense sorrow, to weep hysterically, to tear her clothes and beat her breasts in a primitive ritual of mourning.
She fought for control, needing to keep her wits about her. More important than her sadness was her son’s future. In order to insure he had a future, she had to escape the clutches of Gus Verone.
He held her at arm’s length, searching her face for signs of acquiescence. “Things are different now with the Verones.”
She didn’t believe him. If “things” were different, there would have been no reason for Eddy’s murder.
“You’ll see,” Gus said. “We have legitimate businesses. An accountant. I’ve opened a wine shop.”
“A liquor store,” Sophia corrected sharply.
He shot her a hard glance. “I provide all the wine for the church. Free of charge.”
“As if a few bottles of wine will buy God’s forgiveness,” Sophia said.
He turned back to Eden. “Your grandmother is a hard woman. But you’ll understand. You’ll see. Your son will be safe with us.”
Like Eddy? Through gritted teeth, she lied, “It’s good to be home.”
“That’s my girl!” He clapped her shoulders and beamed. His attitude reminded her of a beast toying with his prey before he tore limb from limb and devoured his hapless victim. “Come with me.”
“Of course.” There was no other option. All doors would be guarded by her grandfather’s foot soldiers. She must time her escape carefully.
Wrapping an arm around her waist, he guided her toward the exit from the anteroom. With every appearance of innocence, Gus said, “I have more unfortunate news.”
She braced herself. “Yes?”
“You once were fond of Pete Maggio. You remember?”
Had Payne been caught in the basement? Was he dead? Though she felt a burst of alarm, Eden showed no sign of apprehension. “I remember him.”
“We thought he’d been killed, but it wasn’t true. It was Pete Maggio who murdered your brother.”
Payne had warned her that this would be the accepted story, and she was more inclined to believe him than her grandfather. “I can’t believe it,” she said. “Why would Peter Maggio shoot Eddy?”
“I don’t yet know.”
Liar! Surely, her grandfather knew that Peter Maggio was really Payne Magnuson, a federal agent.
He continued, “But I’ll find out why. And I will have my revenge. Pete Maggio will pay with his life.”
Eden could hold back no longer. “Two minutes ago, you said things were different. Now you’re talking about another murder. Which is it, Gus? Are you a legitimate wine merchant or a crime boss?”
“I take care of my family.”
That was always the reason, the excuse for inexcusable crime. Locked in her grandfather’s iron grasp, she went through the door into a corridor, leaving Grandmother Sophia alone with the coffin to mourn. Nothing had changed. Nothing ever would.
As she and Gus walked slowly along the side aisle through St. Catherine’s magnificent sanctuary, Eden searched for a way out. Beneath the vaulted ceilings and stained glass windows, men in dark suits stood guard beside the marble statues of saints with hollow, sightless eyes. Awaiting her grandfather’s orders, his men sat stoically in polished oak pews. Their presence—obscene in this cathedral—emphasized the futility of any attempted flight. As Eden passed a shrine of votives, she offered a silent prayer. Help me. Keep my son safe.
Her grandfather escorted her down a flight of stairs to a room near the front of the church where a bride might make final preparations for her ultimate walk down the aisle. It was also where the immediate family waited before a funeral. Several people had gathered. Their nervous chatter ceased when Gus Verone entered. Furtive silence ensued. Every gaze slid toward Eden and her grandfather.
Gus spoke without raising his voice. “Into every dark sorrow comes a ray of light. My granddaughter, Candace Verone, returns to the family.”
He nodded for her to speak to this gathering of strangers who were all too familiar. Distant cousins, aunts and uncles—all ages and sizes—ranged before her like a family portrait come to life. She couldn’t hate them, but she would never willingly take her place among the Verones.
What should she say? Only the truth. “I loved my brother, Eddy, and I regret the years we’ve been apart. He should not have died so young. On this day, I share my grief with all of you.”
A stoop-shouldered woman with silver hair piled high beneath a black lace mantilla took Eden’s hands and kissed both cheeks. “Welcome,” she said.
Then came another and another in a bizarre ritual, bringing her back to the fold. The prodigal granddaughter had returned; it was time to slaughter the fatted calf and celebrate. Each greeting piled on another heavy layer of remorse, suffocating her lungs, killing her gently with their forgiveness.
Fifteen minutes before the funeral was scheduled to begin, she found herself talking to her cousin, Robert Ciari, who had been only a year ahead of her at St. Catherine’s. A former football player, Robert’s muscle had gone to fat. His hair thinned, he looked much older than thirty-two.
Eden would’ve expected Robert to be next in line after her grandfather, but he wasn’t being treated with the deference reserved for a boss.
“What have you been up to?” Eden asked.
“This and that,” he said. “Went to college. Busted up my knee real bad so I couldn’t play football anymore. Got married.”
“Kids?”
“Three daughters.” He shrugged. “I guess I got lucky because they take after their mother. They’re real smart. My oldest wants to be a lawyer.”
They were joined by a statuesque, raven-haired woman in a snug black jersey dress. She had a figure to die for. Angela Benedict, another cousin, was probably ten years older than Eden. “Little Candace,” she said in a husky voice. “I used to baby-sit for you and Eddy. Remember?”
“How could I forget?” Angela had been the coolest teenager in the neighborhood. A cheerleader. The star of the high school play. “I idolized you, Angela. I wanted to be you when I grew up.”
“Things change.” An edge of bitterness marred her precise beauty. Eden remembered that Angela’s husband had spent six years in prison after the shoot-out when she thought Peter, now Payne, had died.
“Where
