I soaked in water empty-minded. No sense of time had been registered. The hot water had turned lukewarm and now almost cold.
It must've been longer than acceptable, however, since Thomas impatiently knocked on the door and asked to speak to me.
I met with him in the drawing room. He sat in his usual spot and extended his hand, gesturing for me to take a seat. I obliged.
"Yes?" I opened my cigarette case.
"What's on your mind?" He asked. He was on the opposite side with his arms resting on the armrest like he was my therapist.
"That's a strange question," I lit up my cigarette. "You tell me."
He tilted his head marginally to the side and waited.
"Fine," I threw my hands. "How about, well, are you fine with giving Victoria what she wanted by letting her go?"
"She'll never get what she wants," he brushed it off.
"How so?" I puffed. "Does your resentment towards her run so deep that you'll go after her?"
"No, not at all," he curled his lips. "I harbor no resentment towards her. I believe she's only doing what she can to survive. Although I don't particularly appreciate how she treated Lawrence. No man of the Murphys should be spoken to that way."
I raised my eyebrows: "I thought you felt no empathy for Laurie."
"He's my youngest sibling after all," he said half-mockingly, half-seriously. "I suppose it's within my responsibility to care about him."
I pulled the glass ashtray closer: "Is this what you want to say to me?"
"Partially," his tone changed. He straightened his back and laced his fingers while his elbows were still on the armrest. "Now, let me be straight with you. I know you went in circles to find out about Victoria and Ferguson, and I'm quite disappointed that you didn't come to me for it first."
"I didn't think you'd tell me," I crossed my legs and leaned back.
"Well, at least that saves me some time," he shrugged. He was more nonchalant than usual. "I know Ferguson is still in town and plans to leave together with Victoria. But unfortunately for them, that won't happen since the Italians are coming for him."
It took me a few seconds to process what he had said, though it only led to more confusion.
"Care to elaborate?" I forced the ash to fall into the ashtray.
"See, if you came to me, you'd know this part already," he said tauntingly. "Do you remember Matteo De Rossi? The Italians think Ferguson killed him. And they want revenge."
"De Rossi chased after him because he crossed them," I narrowed my eyes. "What did he do?"
"That's not of your concern, nor is it mine," Thomas smiled disdainfully with his lips pursed. "Before De Rossi got to him, he came to me and asked for my help. Can you believe it?"
He laughed. I didn't.
"He was desperate. And I must admit that it was quite interesting to see a man like him being so ridiculously desperate," he continued. "You can't blame me for refusing to help him. I owe him nothing, and as you know, we don't fuck with the Chicago Italians. Can you guess what he did next?"
I shook my head.
"He offered his son to me, your son," he watched in amusement as my expression stiffened in shock and horror. "Said that I can take him as my own, and that in doing so, my position in the county will be solidified. Absolute ludicrousness, isn't it? So, rightfully, I stood firm and refused."
He poured two glasses of cognac. It was a little too much in both glasses. He then looked at me invitingly.
Shakily, I put out my cigarette, stood up, and went to his side. As I bent down and reached for the glass, I whispered: "Why would you want to take in Laurie and I's child but not…him?"
I couldn't say his name. I was too ashamed.
He grabbed my wrist when my fingers touched the base of the glass.
"You're smarter than what you just said," his grip was hard enough that I was sure it'd leave a faint bruise when he eventually let me go. "I've been turning a blind eye to your affair with my brother. But that doesn't mean I'd raise a bastard who shares no Murphy blood."
He set me loose by pushing my wrist away. I almost spilled the cognac.
I sank back into my seat. The distance between him and me brought me a sense of security.
"Can I ask you how De Rossi knew about Aqua Tofana?" I gulped the drink.
"He didn't. It was me," he confessed. "Giulio had to die, and I had to make sure of that. Sometimes you tend to spare people, and I couldn't let that happen in this case."
"Are you calling me soft?" I was offended, even though I wasn't entitled to feel offended by him. "I presume you arranged the meeting between De Rossi and me too. What was the point?"
"I was curious, and so was De Rossi," he took a sip of his drink. "I wanted to see how you'd react."
"Why did you kill De Rossi?"
"Well, to simply put it," he swirled his glass, "I want to fuck with Ferguson. I knew you'd want to save him and drag Wesley with you. I couldn't risk the Italians knowing that. So, I got to De Rossi first. They think Ferguson did it, and now they are coming for him."
"You hold nothing against Victoria, who made your brother miserable," I lit a new cigarette after finishing my drink. "Yet, you'd go at length to get Neil into trouble when you barely know him."
"I know enough about him," he squinted. "I despise him. He acts like he's a man, but underneath all that disguise, he's a coward. I loathe him for what he did to you. And I loathe him even more for trying to offer up his son like the child means nothing to him."
"Do you know what happened to my son?" I took a drag with my head down.
"No," he said, "I don't think that'd concern you either."