When I inhale a sharp breath, I come back to myself slowly. Inch by inch, the darkness withdraws. The warmth of the room and Quinn’s arms seep in, soothing me.
I’m safe. In a hotel room in Boston, not at home in New York with Enzo.
Enzo is dead.
He can never hurt me again.
Except he can, because that sick son of a bitch lives on in my memory.
Sweating and trembling, I lower my head to Quinn’s chest.
“You’re okay, love,” he says, sounding shaken as he rocks me in his arms. “You’re okay. I’ve got you.”
The sheets are in tangles all around us. I must’ve been thrashing. I wonder how long it took him to wake me up.
He kisses my head, then takes my face in his hands. His eyes search mine.
“You were having a nightmare.”
My voice raw, I say, “Enzo.”
He winces. “Ah, fuck.”
He gathers me into his arms and holds me until my ragged breath has slowed to normal, and I’m no longer quaking with dread.
“What can I do?”
“Just this. I’ll be okay in a minute.”
He exhales heavily, then pulls the blankets up, holding me with one arm. He settles us back against the pillows, tucking my head under his chin and wrapping his arms and legs around me so I’m cocooned in his warmth.
We lie like that in the dark, breathing together, for a long time. It could be minutes or hours, I don’t know.
Eventually, an odd feeling overtakes me. After examining it for a while, I realize it’s peace.
I’ve never felt peace before.
In all my thirty-three years, I’ve never known what it’s like to find shelter from the storms that always followed me. I’ve been lost at sea for so long, I thought that’s what it meant to be living.
It isn’t until now, with a glimpse of a golden-haired man waving at me from shore in the distance, that I realize the storms might be behind me. My sails are full, the seas are smooth, and the wind at my back is soft and easy.
I might finally be coming home.
In a low voice, I say, “Epinephrine.”
“What?”
I pull away from Quinn, rolling over and sitting up to swing my legs over the side of the bed. I put my head in my hands and exhale a breath I’ve been holding my whole life. It shudders out of me, heavier than gravity.
“I said epinephrine. Normally, it’s used in emergency treatment for allergic reactions. But in large enough doses, it will stop the heart. And because it’s a hormone that occurs naturally in the body, it doesn’t automatically get flagged on the coroner’s report.”
Quinn lies perfectly still and silent, listening.
I lick my dry lips. “Enzo was diabetic. He had to inject himself with insulin before every meal.”
After a long moment, Quinn says softly, “You replaced his insulin with epinephrine.”
I look out the windows at Boston sparkling like a jewel in the night and think I could already be pregnant. I could already have this man’s child growing inside me. I didn’t insist he use protection. If I’m honest with myself, I didn’t even give it a second thought.
I wanted him from the start. Long before I could admit it to myself, I wanted everything he could possibly give me.
I say, “No one else on earth knows that. The official cause of death was sudden cardiac arrest. Diabetes is a risk factor for it. He also had a fatty liver and elevated cholesterol levels, so the coroner didn’t open an inquest. He was cremated, but the coroner’s office keeps biomarker tissue samples for five years. If they knew to look for elevated adrenal hormones, I’d be in prison.”
I look at him over my shoulder. “So you’ve got two years left of excellent blackmail material.”
He gazes at me with a look of deep admiration.
Which is more proof of his insanity, considering I just confessed to murdering the prior man in his position.
He says, “Antivenom.”
“Am I supposed to know what that means?”
“I have a severe allergy to spider antivenom. I was bitten by a spider when I was ten years old. The bite was bad, painful and swollen. My mother took me to the hospital, and they gave me antivenom. I would’ve survived the bite just fine, but the antivenom almost killed me. I went into anaphylactic shock.”
“Why are you telling me that?”
“So both of us know something about the other that no one else does. So that you don’t feel like I have something to hold over you. And so you know I trust you with my life.”
His voice drops and his eyes shine. “Now ask me what the only thing was that saved me from dying of anaphylactic shock.”
My heart pounds painfully hard. I whisper, “Epinephrine.”
Holding my gaze, he nods.
I shut my eyes and bury my face in my hands.
Then his arms are around me, pulling me close. Into my ear, he says, “We should name the first baby Epi.”
My laugh is part sob. “That’s sick.”
He pretends to be serious. “You’re right. How about Nephrine? Epine? Rin?”
“Oh God. We’re both going to hell.”
“For sure. We’ll have front row seats.” His voice warms. “But we’ll be together.”
He drags me back to the center of the bed and holds me tightly, kissing me all over my face. I lie in his arms, enveloped by him and a huge sense of wonder at how strange the world is.
“So is that what your tattoo and nickname are about?”
“Aye. After I came home from the hospital, all the neighborhood kids started calling me Spider. It stuck. The tattoo is a reminder to let things be as they are. That sometimes struggling against what is can make things worse. And that the real danger is never what you think it is, so keep your eyes sharp and your mind open before you make a decision that could change your life. Because everything is connected, linked in a delicate chain, like the web of a spider.”
“Oh no,” I say, my voice cracking. “I’ll never be able to think your tattoo is dumb again.”
He chuckles. “Most people think it means I’ve spent time in prison, so having you only think it’s dumb is an upgrade.”
“I didn’t know spiderweb tattoos were symbolic for prison.”
“Traditionally, aye. But they can be symbolic for lots of things. A struggle you’ve had to overcome. Longing to break free from a trap. Time spent away from family.”
He adds sourly, “Or, in my case, a reminder that if I ever get bitten by a spider again, not to get the bloody antivenom.”
I start to laugh and can’t stop. I lie in his arms and dissolve into helpless laughter until my sides ache and my face feels as if it’s stuck.
When I’ve finally calmed down and am sighing, Quinn kisses the top of my head.
“Go to sleep now, lass. And no more bad dreams, understood? You never have to be afraid of anything again. You’ve got me to watch over you now. I’ll never let anything hurt you.”
I fall asleep with the image of a huge golden spider rocking me gently in its web as it stands vigilant lookout in the dark, ready to give a deadly bite to anything that threatens me.
In the morning, Gianni calls in a rage, demanding to know what I said to the other family heads to get them to postpone the vote for capo.