wondered, would it? She felt she had descended straight to hell to wreak her revenge on Rocco. Maybe the price had been too dear. Maybe not. Only time would tell. Now all she wanted, all she was here for, was to be absolutely sure that what she needed Fredo to do, was done.
‘There’s Rocco,’ said Fredo.
They watched silently as Rocco came out of the diner and walked quickly away down the block.
Minutes passed. Fredo casually laid a hand on Cara’s thigh. She let it stay there, but only by an extreme act of will. God, he disgusted her.
‘There he is,’ said Fredo, and left the car.
Frances Ducane was walking back to his car, thinking happily about the coming weekend. Under the pretext of a golfing break with the boys, Rocco and he were going to take off alone to a cabin in the Rockies. Frances loved Rocco and he wanted more time with him, but he understood that Rocco’s witch of a wife came with the money, and the money was what they enjoyed, so she had to be tolerated.
Cow , thought Frances in disgust. Swanky Upper East Side Princess with her nose in the air, busy spending Daddy’s money. And he knew from Rocco there was plenty of it. Why else had Rocco married her? For love? Frances didn’t think so.
‘Hey – faggot,’ said a voice behind him.
Frances felt a shudder of fear jolt up his spine to the top of his head. He half turned and then felt the first stinging lash of the blade as it struck the edge of his mouth. Blood splattered out and gushed down over his clothes. Frances screamed with pain. He staggered back, half running, desperate to get away, and Fredo came after him, shoving him back against a building wall, slashing in with the knife that glinted in his hand.
‘ No! ’ Frances wailed, hardly able to speak now, raising his hands to protect himself.
Fredo waded in, slicing fingers and palms indiscriminately. Two digits spun off into the gutter, blood spurting, and when Frances lowered his hands to stare at them in horror, Fredo came in close again and slashed the other side of Frances’s mouth wide open.
Frances fell to his knees, groaning. The crimson slashes on either side of his mouth looked like a clown’s painted-on smile: grotesque.
Fredo knelt down too, grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Frances’s head back.
‘That’s a present from Rocco and Cara Mancini, you little shit. Now back off ,’ he hissed. Then he wiped the knife on the front of Frances’s once-pristine shirt and left the man there, blubbering and bleeding.
Fredo slipped the knife back in his pocket and made his way back to the car. He got in.
‘Well?’ said Cara. ‘Did you . . .?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘Show me the knife.’
‘Jesus,’ said Fredo. He’d already wiped it clean, what the hell, didn’t she trust him?
But there were traces of blood still on the blade. Cara sat back, satisfied. ‘And it went okay?’ she asked.
Fredo slipped the knife into his pocket and grinned at her. ‘It went fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home and fuck.’
Chapter 16
When Annie left the massive master suite with its sprawling ocean view, she walked straight into Cara.
Annie groaned inwardly. Her relationship with her step-daughter had never got off the ground. She had tried hard to befriend Cara, but she found her snobbish, vain and unlovable. She spoke to Annie hardly at all, and Annie thought that was just fine , if that was the way Cara wanted it.
But today, something about Cara seemed different. She looked . . . well, Annie wasn’t exactly sure how Cara looked. Usually, Constantine’s daughter exuded an icy poise that left no room for even an attempt at civility. But today, Cara looked shattered. She looked as though someone had just given her a scare that had rocked her world. She looked sick.
‘Cara?’ Annie caught her arm as Cara was about to pass right by her without a word. ‘Are you all right?’
Cara’s eyes met hers and in that instant before her guard went up, Annie saw something
‘There’s Rocco,’ said Fredo.
They watched silently as Rocco came out of the diner and walked quickly away down the block.
Minutes passed. Fredo casually laid a hand on Cara’s thigh. She let it stay there, but only by an extreme act of will. God, he disgusted her.
‘There he is,’ said Fredo, and left the car.
Frances Ducane was walking back to his car, thinking happily about the coming weekend. Under the pretext of a golfing break with the boys, Rocco and he were going to take off alone to a cabin in the Rockies. Frances loved Rocco and he wanted more time with him, but he understood that Rocco’s witch of a wife came with the money, and the money was what they enjoyed, so she had to be tolerated.
Cow , thought Frances in disgust. Swanky Upper East Side Princess with her nose in the air, busy spending Daddy’s money. And he knew from Rocco there was plenty of it. Why else had Rocco married her? For love? Frances didn’t think so.
‘Hey – faggot,’ said a voice behind him.
Frances felt a shudder of fear jolt up his spine to the top of his head. He half turned and then felt the first stinging lash of the blade as it struck the edge of his mouth. Blood splattered out and gushed down over his clothes. Frances screamed with pain. He staggered back, half running, desperate to get away, and Fredo came after him, shoving him back against a building wall, slashing in with the knife that glinted in his hand.
‘ No! ’ Frances wailed, hardly able to speak now, raising his hands to protect himself.
Fredo waded in, slicing fingers and palms indiscriminately. Two digits spun off into the gutter, blood spurting, and when Frances lowered his hands to stare at them in horror, Fredo came in close again and slashed the other side of Frances’s mouth wide open.
Frances fell to his knees, groaning. The crimson slashes on either side of his mouth looked like a clown’s painted-on smile: grotesque.
Fredo knelt down too, grabbed a handful of hair and yanked Frances’s head back.
‘That’s a present from Rocco and Cara Mancini, you little shit. Now back off ,’ he hissed. Then he wiped the knife on the front of Frances’s once-pristine shirt and left the man there, blubbering and bleeding.
Fredo slipped the knife back in his pocket and made his way back to the car. He got in.
‘Well?’ said Cara. ‘Did you . . .?’
‘Yeah, I did.’
‘Show me the knife.’
‘Jesus,’ said Fredo. He’d already wiped it clean, what the hell, didn’t she trust him?
But there were traces of blood still on the blade. Cara sat back, satisfied. ‘And it went okay?’ she asked.
Fredo slipped the knife into his pocket and grinned at her. ‘It went fine,’ he said. ‘Let’s go home and fuck.’
Chapter 16
When Annie left the massive master suite with its sprawling ocean view, she walked straight into Cara.
Annie groaned inwardly. Her relationship with her step-daughter had never got off the ground. She had tried hard to befriend Cara, but she found her snobbish, vain and unlovable. She spoke to Annie hardly at all, and Annie thought that was just fine , if that was the way Cara wanted it.
But today, something about Cara seemed different. She looked . . . well, Annie wasn’t exactly sure how Cara looked. Usually, Constantine’s daughter exuded an icy poise that left no room for even an attempt at civility. But today, Cara looked shattered. She looked as though someone had just given her a scare that had rocked her world. She looked sick.
‘Cara?’ Annie caught her arm as Cara was about to pass right by her without a word. ‘Are you all right?’
Cara’s eyes met hers and in that instant before her guard went up, Annie saw something
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