Michael had said no.
No, he hadn't killed Carlo.
But Carlo was still dead. He wasn't the only one, either. All the heads of the five families were dead.
All except for Michael.
She glanced at him in the semi-darkness. He slept. Her skin was still warm from his touch. But still, she doubted.
He hadn't been like this at first. Charming. Confident. Good-nataured. Those qualities had made her fall in love with him. She hadn't known anything about his family.
But then she had found out. And she had chosen to love him anyway. To pretend he wasn't the son of a gangster. To pretend she didn't know what went on behind closed doors. To pretend he wasn't dangerous.
Sometimes, she even believed it. She had believed it that afternoon when he had said it to her. But now, laying in the darkness staring up at the ribbon of moonlight on the ceiling, Kay had her doubts.
Could it be that the man who had stood in that church and told that priest that he would renounce Satan in his godson's name was a murderer after all? That the man who had so calmly comforted his sister had her husband killed? That the man who had so tenderly made love to her had all his adversaries gunned down in cold blood?
She wasn't meant to have seen the papers, but there it was, in bold print: "Slaughter Rocks the Underworld."
Again, she looked at him. So peaceful.
No, it couldn't be true. Not Michael.
She moved closer to him. He was warm.
No. He was not a murderer.