TWELVE

been left right outside the entrance to the diner, door open. Like he was daring somebody to steal it. Sofia was still gripping my wrist. She tried to pull me towards Arturo's car, but I leaned my weight back so that I didn't move.

"What about my car?" I said testily.

From behind me, Arturo's low growl made a shiver rip down my spine. "Leave it."

Sofia pulled me towards the back end of the Lamborghini but Arturo was blocking the door in a flash. "Sofia sits in the front."

She shot me an apologetic glance and climbed into the front of the car while I slid into the back. Arturo pushed a button and all of the doors locked. His eyes fell closed and his head forward - the only sign he was still alive was the heavy breathing that made his chest pant. Nobody moved or spoke for minutes.

"Tell me you didn't do what I think you did."

"Arturo-"

"Tell me you didn't kill his fucking child!"

"Listen to me-" I begged helplessly but Arturo was having none of it.

"This doesn't concern you, Florence."

"Of course it concerns her," Sofia snapped. "She was the only person willing to help me. She's more like family to me than you, or Padre, or anyone else."

"You killed a fucking baby, Sofia!" Arturo seethed. "His baby!"

She pulled out a pack of cigarettes but he quickly snatched it away and crushed it in his hand.

"I know what I did."

"Do you? Really? Do you have any idea what Salvo would do if he found out-"

"Yes!" Sofia exploded. "Do you not think I've already thought about this? Weighed it up a thousand times?"

Arturo paid no heed to what she said, but continued on his own rant. "He would fucking hold you down and rape you, force himself inside of you until his disgusting seed stayed there, and then you know what he would do? He would tie you down and make you carry to full term! Then, when he'd got his precious little heir, he'd slaughter you for fun."

I could see the tear tracks running down Sofia's tanned skin. I could see the quiver of her red lips, and the sharp pain of Arturo's words that forced her to squeeze her eyes closed, just for a second. I was helpless in the back of the car; anything I said would be ignored, anything I did would be disregarded.

Sofia turned to her brother with her eyes blazing. She looked him straight on, and then she whispered emotionlessly, "your concern about me being raped has come twelve years too late."

A silence as cold as ice descended inside the car. I held my breath. Arturo had mentioned before that Sofia's arranged marriage to Salvo had happened when she was young. "If you gave a single damn, you would have done something when I was eighteen years old, on my wedding day. When he held me down, covered my mouth to quiet my screams and fucking claimed me. That day, and every day since. Where have you been Arturo? Huh?"

Even from the back of the car, with my view skewered by a head rest, I saw his jaw clench. "You know it is not that simple."

She snorted. "So you're still scared of Padre."

"I'm not scared of him, I'm loyal."

"So it's your duty to turn a blind eye? You have no idea about loyalty, not a clue about duty. I've done my goddamn duty, Arturo. For years, I've been nothing more than a man's possession so that Padre can run his fucking empire. He has taken everything from me. My privacy, my happiness, my freedom, my dignity. But there is a line, Arturo. This is the line, and I won't cross it."

Arturo's response was measured. He started up the car. "None of this is forever, Sofia. You have my word. But you will cross the line, because none of us have a choice."

When we arrived home, Sofia went straight upstairs. After a painfully silent car journey and Arturo's callousness, I wanted to follow her and offer some comfort, but I knew that he and I had some issues we needed to fix for ourselves.

I went straight to the wine cabinet and picked out the cheapest bottle I could find.

Arturo stood on the other side of the kitchen and watched me. "You're drinking?"

"What does it look like," I said flatly. There was no hint of a question in my tone. I threw back the first glass like it was water then poured a second and set it down on the side.

"You are angry," he assessed. "Why?"

"Are you seriously asking why I'm angry?"

"Yes."

I folded my arms and turned around to face him. "Do you really think that was what Sofia needed to hear? After what she just had to do?"

Arturo sighed. "She didn't have to do anything."

"Why do you always say that?! How can you be so- so...oblivious!" I threw my arms out in exacerbation. "How can you just stand there so calmly when she's so unhappy?! You just let her husband, who she hates, throw her around, and then you expect her to carry his child? To watch as he destroys it too?"

"You don't understand, Florence."

I took a big gulp of wine. "Do I not? Really? Then please care to enlighten me!"

He stepped forward and reached for the wine glass in my hand but I pulled it away. Instead he took the bottle and poured it down the sink. "Not while you are drunk."

"I'm not drunk." I wasn't. I was just furious beyond belief. "You just don't want to explain anything because you know your response would be shitty."

Another gulp of wine.

Arturo closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. "You know I love her."

"If this is how you treat the people you love then I am scared, Arturo."

"I have no choice!" he erupted, eyes flying open. "There is nothing I can do!"

"You're Arturo Lucchese, there's always something you can do." My tone was acidic.

"If I helped her run away, Padre and Salvo would find her. What I said about a forced pregnancy...I was not making it up. It is not a possibility, it's a reality. And if Salvo finds out what she has done...what you helped her do..."

"He'll kill me," I filled in.

"I would never let him kill you," Arturo growled quickly. Then his voice quietened. "But he would try."

"I had to do something..."

"Florence," he breathed. He took a step closer and cupped my face gently. His eyes fell closed. "Florence, Florence, Florence..." His whispered words flowed softly over my skin. "My beautiful, innocent Florence."

"I'm not innocent," I argued, and my voice cracked.

His nose brushed against mine as my tears fell. "You are. Antonio does not matter, you did a brave thing."

His ability to read my thoughts - to know me so completely - made my heart flutter. But even that couldn't numb the guilt of what I had done.

"Murder isn't brave," I sobbed.

"What you did that day does not define you."

"Maybe it does. Maybe I'm just as toxic as everyone else in this bloody world."

Arturo's thumb skimmed over my lips. His skin was damp with my tears. "You are not," he said firmly. "You could never be."

I opened my eyes and when I did the tenderness in his face made my chest ache. "Everything is so fucked up."

"I know, baby." He drew me into his arms and held me to his chest. "I know. This is not forever."

"You said that to Sofia in the car."

"And I meant it."

I pulled away ever so slightly to look up at him. "How?"

"One day soon Padre will die. He will be shot, or his heart will fail him, or Madre will kill him herself," the last part was said half jokingly. "And then his empire will fall to me."

My breath caught. "You're taking over?" It shouldn't have surprised me; Arturo had no brothers, he was the natural successor to the Lucchese throne. But that made a knot of dread twist inside me. A bigger game meant bigger danger. More instability. More time. How much time could he give before there was none left for me? How much danger could we withstand before somebody got hurt?

"One day," Arturo said calmly. "Yes. Then Sofia will be free, and Salvo will be dead."

"You'd kill him?"

"Why is that even a question?" His arms tightened around me. "He will pay for what he has done, and then I'll bury him five thousand feet under."

"As in...torture?"

"Yes. I'm sure Sofia will be more than willing to help."

Almost all of my anger towards Arturo had now dissipated. Being in his arms tended to have that effect on me, rather irritatingly, but the knowledge that he would do something about his sister's situation had also quieted my rage.

Arturo's father was twice as powerful as he, so I could understand the complications that created. Hiding Sofia would be futile, but more than that, it would cause familial divisions that the Lucchese mafia could not afford. If Arturo wanted to stand any chance at inheriting an empire, he had to stay on the correct side of his father. But none of that made Sofia's predicament any easier to swallow. In fact, thinking about it made me feel sick to my stomach.

"It has been a long day," Arturo mumbled, pulling back and cupping my face again. "I will make us dinner."

He kissed my forehead softly, and I allowed myself to think, just for a second, that everything might be okay.

I woke up in the middle of the night to find Arturo missing from the bed. It wasn't an unusual occurrence, and perhaps I should have been used to it by now, but it still made me feel lonely. The room was dark, except for the moonlight which ghosted through the glass wall opposite the bed and illuminated the red silk sheets. Outside, through the pale light, I could just make out the gnarled branches of trees that towered up into the night sky.

I checked the alarm clock beside the bed. It was three a.m. The thought of where Arturo could be at this time - and what he could be doing - set me on edge. I sighed, and rolled over, running a hand across the indent where his body had once lain. It was still warm.

That was when I heard it. The soft swell of music creeping through the house, a beautiful melody played on piano.

Heart in mouth, I slipped from the bed and made my way through the house, following the sound. The air was cold against my bare skin, and I drew my arms around me to keep in some warmth. Arturo's shirt was the only thing providing me with any protection.

On the first floor of the house, all was silent. There was nobody in the kitchen, and not a trace of the sweet melody came from any of the rooms. I continued down the wooden stairs, heart in mouth. The soft padding of my feet kept rhythm with it as I reached the last few steps.

Then I stopped.

Arturo was sat by the beautiful grand piano, his fingers stroking the keys to craft the lullaby that had drawn me down. If he noticed me, his movements did not falter, nor did his gaze flicker my way. He was totally consumed.

I stood and watched quietly at first. His eyes had flickered half-closed in total concentration, and his body swayed with the ebbing and flowing music. It was painfully beautiful to my ears, and so out of place. Marco had told me many years ago that Arturo had not played in some time; to actually see him doing it was incredible. He looked totally vulnerable and unaware.

As the melody grew quieter, I padded across the floor and came to stand beside him. He did not look up. "A Slow Dance on Broken Glass."

I startled at his voice. He didn't stop playing, but spoke just loud enough so that I could hear. "What?" I whispered back.

His hands finally halted, the music growing to a natural close. I placed my hand on his bare shoulder and he turned to me, at last. "It's called a Slow Dance on Broken Glass."

I smiled. "It's beautiful. Who wrote it?"

Arturo took my hands in his and kissed the knuckles of each. "Me."

"You compose?!"

"No," he shook his head. "Just this. For you."

Anything I might have said dried up in my throat instantly. My eyes swept over the piano, and it's beautiful ivory keys, then to Arturo, who was watching me quietly. His stubble was growing back slightly longer, casting darker shadows over his sculpted cheeks.

I could hear my heart beat pounding in my head with nerves and excitement. "You didn't write that for me."

"I did."

"You can't have," I argued, though more because I didn't want to let myself believe something that might not be true. The back of my throat ached with a strong emotion, one I couldn't exactly describe. A mixture of adoration, fear, and apprehension.

Arturo didn't continue to argue with me, but I could tell from the silent smile on his face that he was telling the truth.

"A slow dance on broken glass?" I said breathlessly, with a slight frown. Perhaps it was a good analogy after all; everywhere Arturo and I went there was danger and violence.

Carefully, he pulled me closer until I was sat between his legs on the piano stool, my back pressed to his front. The shirt I was wearing worked its way up to my waist.

Arturo traced a hand from my knee, up my bare thigh, and circled around my hip. I felt like pushing my body into his hand; I was desperate for him. Instead I squirmed but managed to stay mostly still. His lips brushed my neck. "Patience, mio amore," he breathed. "Listen."

(My love)

Though I was only very small, there was no way he could see the piano keys with me right in front of him. I tried to duck down, but he shook his head and moved me back. Then his fingers found the keys effortlessly. His arms brushed my sides as the music began again.

It was just as beautifully heartbreaking the second time. When Arturo finished and his hands came to rest against my bare skin, I felt my heart swelling with love. "Turn around," he whispered. He helped me turn so that my legs wrapped around his waist, and I cupped his rough cheeks between my soft palms. "You and I shouldn't be together," he said, stroking my hair. "We should hate each other. We should be enemies. Yet here we are, despite it all, wrapped around each other like we are the same. My life is dangerous..." Arturo trailed off as if in thought for a moment. "But you are still here. I may be damned in death, but you will always be my angel while I am alive."

I buried my head in the crook of his neck to hide the tears that threatened to spill from my eyes. Nobody had ever done anything like that for me before. "You're not damned," I said, shaking my head. "You're not."

"There is no redemption for men like me."

"I don't believe that."

He gently pulled me back so that he could look in my eyes. "That is why you are my angel. My saint. I would happily die in your arms."

"Don't say that," I warned fiercely.

"It's true-"

"Don't!" I shook my head. "Please. Just dance with me."

Arturo raised an eyebrow, and I thought he was going to refuse. Then, without a word, he stood from the piano stool. I let out a gasp as I was hoisted into the air and then set down again on my bare feet. The room was quiet and dimly lit. The floor was smooth and cool. When I met Arturo's gaze, a smile burst out across my face and everything around us faded away.

Arturo's hands landed on my waist - low enough to make my body ache, high enough to be respectable - and I wrapped mine around his neck.

We danced to a silent song, bathed in the glow of moonlight.

I leaned in to the crook of his neck, and closed my eyes, and sang very quietly to the tune of Arturo's melody:

"the glass beneath our feet tonight is not enough to change our minds."