“All of you?” I stumbled back, jerking away from him. “All of you knew? This whole time? And I was in the dark?”
Choking on a cry, I stared at each of my uncles, none of them could look me in the face, even Frank had averted his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Dante swore and punched a hole in the kitchen wall.
Dust settled at his feet.
And Sergio simply stood there. In the same spot. Staring.
“How long have you known?” I directed my question at him.
“Eight weeks.”
“And you’ve waited that long to tell me! What kind of person are you? You could have at least given me warning! Oh look hi, I’m Sergio, I OWN you!”
“My apologies,” Sergio said in a tense voice. “I must have been too busy taking care of my cancer-ridden wife. How selfish of me.” He moved toward me with a cat like grace, predatory, like he was going to pounce. “You’re right, I should have texted you the minute she died and told you the good news.”
“I—”
“Say you’re sorry and I won’t hesitate to shoot something.”
I lifted my chin as tears clogged my throat. “Shoot something. Just make sure it’s not a human. And I am sorry. There, I said it. Because as much as this sucks…” It was nearly impossible to keep the tears of sadness and frustration away, and I finished in a whisper, “That’s worse.”
His lips parted a bit and then he turned on his heel and stomped out of the room.
“Is he really going to shoot something?” I asked the room.
“Probably,” Frank answered then held out his hand. “Val, let’s go for a walk, shall we?”
“Am I safe with you?”
“I’m a wonderful shot.”
I narrowed my eyes and assessed him. “I bet you are.”
He offered a polite smile. “You’re my niece, I would protect you with my life.”
At least he was willing to give me something. My uncles were still staring daggers into the table as if it was going to come alive and start spouting Shakespeare. “Fine.”
“Good girl.” He kissed my hand. “I promise, it’s not so bad as it seems.”
“Oh?”
“Actually…” He winced. “I’m afraid it’s worse.”
And though she be but little, she is fierce! —A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sergio
CEMENT.
Gravel.
Pavement.
Streetlights.
I exhaled slowly, the shaky breath staggering in puffs of white in the freezing air as I leaned against the brick wall in the narrow alleyway. The winter chill should have been powerful enough to choke the life out of me, but I felt nothing.
Except a keen numbness that had me, once again, wondering what the hell I was doing in New York. I wasn’t making things better. I’d already beaten up a few old men, threatened to shoot people in front of a girl who’d never seen violence a day in her life, and that was with me trying to control myself.
God help us all if I truly lost my shit.
I wiped my face with my hands then focused on a tiny crack in the wall. Life was easier that way — it was the only way I knew how to handle the tumultuous emotions surging through me, focus on small, don’t think about the bigger picture.
So I focused on pieces.
I focused on cracks in the pavement.
The dust of a few scattered rocks the cement at my heel.
It was the same way I looked at Val. My efforts, so far, had been working, ignore her body and face as a whole, but hands? Yeah, I could stare at her hands, she had three scars on her pointer finger, I assumed it was from thorns in the roses she often arranged.
She had a dimple in her right cheek that, on first glance, looked like another scar, but really was just a really deep indent that made her appear even more innocent than she was.
Her hair was dark brown.
But, when she tilted her head at different angles, shots of gold shimmered.
She was short.
Not as short as Andi, but short enough that I knew my presence would be extremely intimidating to her.
Pieces.
I looked at pieces.
Never her smile, only her teeth.
Eyes were fine, as long as she didn’t lock gazes with me too long and, really, I was confident that even if she touched me for a prolonged period of time, I’d be okay.
It wasn’t that she wasn’t striking — she was Luca’s blood through and through, she had his hazel like ghost eyes, so light that they almost seemed white at times, and she had Joyce’s smile.
I’d bet it killed Frank.
And that’s when it killed me — this wasn’t just his niece, this was his wife’s daughter.
Damn me.
I’d been outside having a near nervous breakdown over the fact that I had to marry the girl — a mere eight weeks after my wife’s death, mind you — and Frank had just met his wife’s son and daughter.
His brother’s children.
The last thing he needed was my emotional baggage to go along with it. I kicked the wall one last time and was just about to turn the corner when I saw Frank and Val on the porch of the brownstone.