She nodded, but I could see that she still seemed unsatisfied with my explanation. Susan, for all her aloofness and intermittent nuttiness, had an uncanny ability to spot bullshit. Especially when it came from me.

She looked at me and asked, “Are you telling me everything?”

I turned the question around and asked her, “Are you telling me everything? About you and Frank?”

She looked me in the eye and replied, “I did. I told you I loved him, and that I killed him because he told me it was over, and told me that he used me, and never loved me, and that he was going to Italy with Anna. And I also told you that I didn’t kill him for us – that was a lie. What more can I tell you?”

I took a deep breath and replied, “Nothing.”

She asked me again, “Are you telling me everything?”

We both stayed silent for a while, and I realized that the time had come – actually, I never intended for this time to come, but this was still bothering me more than I realized, and she’d been honest with me, so I needed to do the same, and if she reacted badly, then we’d both learn something new about each other.

I suggested we sit, but she remained standing, so I did, too. I said, “All right… here’s the missing piece – here’s why Anthony lost control of himself.” I let her know, “I told Anthony that you and his father were in love, and that you were both planning to abandon your families and go to Italy together.” I added, “He didn’t believe me, and insisted that his father was just – quote, sport fucking. But I convinced him that his father was ready to say arrivederci to his wife and sons.”

She nodded, and I could have left it there because that explained Anthony’s sudden change of heart toward John Sutter, the messenger of this unwanted news. But having begun, I needed to finish, so I said to her, “There’s more. And it’s not something you want to hear.”

“I’m used to that by now.”

“All right.” So I began by telling her what I’d already told Anthony – that Frank Bellarosa offered me any favor that it was in his power to do, in exchange for me having saved his life. Then I told her, “The favor I asked him was… to tell you it was over, Susan, and that he never loved you, and that he was using you to get to me, and that he was not taking you to Italy with him.” I added, “And, obviously, he did that. For me.”

I looked at her, and we made eye contact. I could see she was having trouble grasping this, but then she understood that everything that Frank Bellarosa had said to her that night came from my mouth, not his heart. And so she’d shot the man she loved, and who still loved her.

Susan sat on the couch and stared blankly at the wall.

I said to her, “I told all this to Anthony – that his father would have abandoned him, his mother, and his brothers, and the only reason he didn’t was because his father owed me his life.” I added, “I didn’t need to tell Anthony that, but… I was angry at him, and I wanted him to know that his sainted father was not only a government stool pigeon, but also not such a good father and husband.” I was also trying to divert some of Anthony’s attention away from Susan, and toward me, but if I said that, it would sound self-serving, so I concluded, “That is why Anthony went into a rage and threatened me.”

Susan kept staring at the wall, and I couldn’t read anything in her face.

I now needed to tell her something I hadn’t told Anthony, and something I’d never really come to terms with in my own mind. I said to her, “When I asked Frank to tell you it was over, I thought, or hoped, that you would get over him… but maybe subconsciously I thought you would get even with him.” I took a deep breath and continued, “But maybe that occurred to me afterwards because… well, when you killed him, I couldn’t be sure in my own mind if that was something I wanted or hoped for when I set this in motion… I wasn’t sure if I should be taking credit for his death, or if I felt guilty and was taking some of the blame… and even today, I’m not sure about that.”

Susan looked at me, and there was still no expression on her face.

Then I said to her, “I wanted you back, and I wanted you not to love him… though I’m not sure I wanted him dead. But if I did, then you were right about that – I should have killed him myself.”

She remained seated, and I could see she was past the shock, and I was sure she was thinking about her killing a man who still loved her, and who did not really betray her, but who was just following my offstage direction – as a matter of honor – to repay a favor.

I couldn’t even begin to guess how she felt now about what she did, or how she felt about me.

There wasn’t much left to add, but I did say, “I’m not sure I need to apologize to you for asking him to lie to you – you both lied to me often enough – and I’m certainly not asking you to forgive me. But I do want you to know that I take some of the blame for what happened.”

She spoke for the first time and said, “I killed him. Not you.”

“All right. But… when you think about all of this-”

She said, “I think he loved you more than he loved me.”

“He owed me a favor.”

She took a deep breath and continued, “He was always talking about you, and that made me uncomfortable, and… angry… and-”

“All right. I don’t need to hear that.” I said to her, “You have a lot of thinking to do before you decide… how you feel. I’m going to finish up with Mancuso. You don’t need to join us.”

I turned and headed toward the door.

“John.”

I looked back at her, and she asked me, “Did you really want me back?”

“I did.”

“Then why didn’t you take me back after he was dead?”

“I changed my mind.”

“Why?”

“Because… I realized afterwards that… I wanted you to leave him because you wanted to leave him – I wanted you to come back to me because you loved me more than him… so, him leaving you, and him being dead, was not quite what I wanted.”

She didn’t reply.

I was about to turn and leave, but she again said, “John.”

“I need to go.”

“You need to tell me why we didn’t get back together after I killed him.”

“I just told you.”

“No you didn’t.”

As I said, Susan knows me, and I can run, but I can’t hide. So I said, “All right. I was… humiliated. In public. When your affair with him was just between the three of us – and, of course, the FBI – I could have forgiven you. But when it became national news, and the subject of tabloid humor and locker-room jokes, then…” I looked at her and said, “And you wonder why I got in my boat and got the hell out of here?” I asked her, “What kind of man do you think I am?”

She put her hands over her face, and I could see she was crying. I wasn’t sure what she was crying about – her murder of Frank Bellarosa, which she’d just discovered was less justified than she’d thought, or maybe she was crying because she finally understood the havoc she’d unleashed on everyone around her. Or possibly she realized that I was having second thoughts about us being together again.

I turned and left the room.