“You understand nothing,” I laugh. It’s the last thing I expected to do in a moment like this, but here I am: lips curling into a half-snarl, half-grin. All the mockery I was always on the receiving end of, ready to overflow towards the other side. “You didn’t go after Matvey because he was after you—you went after him because he knew the truth. That you, the great Don Carmine Bonaccorsi, were nothing but an overgrown toddler.”
Carmine’s smile freezes on his face. “Interesting choice of words for someone on the wrong side of the barrel.”
“Then use it,” I drawl, taking another step forward. “Make me disappear. And prove me right while you’re at it.”
Finally, there it is: conflict. Such a big man, hemmed into a corner by a measly seamstress. “No, no,” he sneers. “You don’t get the easy wa
