Francesca groaned. “None of you start. You know Stefano’s bad enough. I’m not going on bed rest unless the doctor says it’s necessary. Which he hasn’t.”
“Yeah, well, not all doctors are bright,” Taviano said. “Some of them pay no real attention to their patients. We should make this decision, not the doctor who probably can’t remember her name.”
Sasha nearly stuffed her napkin in her mouth to keep from laughing. They were all insane. She was very glad she wasn’t Francesca. Stefano was bad enough, but if all the brothers were going to have an opinion on the pregnancy, it was going to be a very long nine months.
“The doctor knows her name,” Stefano assured. “He’s being paid to care for Francesca, day or night, at home. He’s one of the best in his field.”
Sasha was fairly certain that translated into being the very best. Her eyes met Francesca’s, and the two women smiled and shook their heads at the same time.
“What do you think about bed rest?” Vittorio asked Stefano. His tone implied all kinds of things—the doctor was crazy and Vittorio’s woman would already be lounging in a bed.
Sasha raised her eyebrow at Giovanni. He had to see Vittorio wasn’t as laid-back as they all thought him to be. He might be their diplomat, but she suspected he could be the diplomat because he was in control at all times. He was that disciplined.
“I believed bed rest was needed,” Stefano conceded, “but Dr. Hanson convinced me that there was an entire set of new problems with bed rest. So far, she’s had a little spotting, but that’s cleared up and the baby is growing at the correct pace. He doesn’t see any complications so far.”
“What about with Francesca? Does he say she can carry without risk to her?” Vittorio asked. Again, his tone implied that would have been his first question to the doctor, and if there was a risk, his woman wouldn’t be pregnant.
Sasha rolled her eyes, and Mariko hid a smile. Francesca hissed out a breath of exasperation. “Francesca is right here, Vittorio. You could ask me.”
“You wouldn’t tell me the truth, or at least you’d soft-soap it. What did the doctor say, Stefano?”
Francesca half-heartedly threw a piece of sourdough bread at Vittorio. He picked it out of the air without even looking her way.
“He said we would evaluate more as she gets further along. So far, there are no complications or dangers to her.”
“I’m very sorry about the two losses,” Sasha said to both parents. “That must have been so difficult on both of you, especially since you didn’t tell anyone.” She couldn’t help remembering that Giovanni had told her how cruel Eloisa had been to Francesca. Of course, she had no way of knowing Francesca had suffered two miscarriages. It was no wonder Stefano wanted to protect his wife from his mother. She couldn’t imagine how painful that must have been for both when they wanted children so badly.
“Thank you,” Stefano said, reaching out to take Francesca’s hand. “Getting back to the subject at hand, we were talking about this thing with Aaron and whether or not the attacks could be coming from something in your past.”
Sasha shook her head as she finished chewing another bite of spaghetti. She really had to watch her weight if she was going to eat Taviano’s cooking. It was that good. “Definitely not me. My life has been pretty unremarkable. Well …” she hedged. “Until I met Giovanni.”
She couldn’t help looking at him. They’d spent two days in his house, worshiping each other’s body, sleeping and eating and starting the cycle all over again. Sometimes they skipped eating and sometimes they skipped sleeping. She hadn’t tired of him. Or them. Not for a moment. Just looking at him brought those memories into her mind. All the images. The ways he’d taken her. The things he’d introduced her to, all of which she’d loved, even those she’d been a little intimidated by.
This morning, she’d surprised him by insisting he lie still while she had her wicked way with him, and she’d even used rope to tie his hands so he couldn’t move. He moved. He wasn’t a man easily kept down, especially when his body was hard and hot and very ready. Sasha blushed when their eyes met. He knew what she was thinking. That moment he’d flipped her over. The way he’d taken charge. Of course, she’d primed him. She knew at some point, if she kept teasing him, it was going to happen. The blush became a full body blush.
“What about Sandlin?” Stefano prompted.
Everyone was looking at her. Grinning. Her color deepened. “Well, he was very popular with the ladies, and he dated a lot. He was never engaged or even with one girl exclusively, at least not since high school. I don’t think it could be that. He had friends and very rarely got into arguments. Sandlin wasn’t like that.”
“The accident?” Ricco prompted. “Could someone blame him? You said he was driving.”
She took a deep breath, hating to think about that night. The call. The hospital. The sheriff trying to talk to her, to keep her calm when she wanted to go to her parents. Her brother. It had been a terrible nightmare. She pushed that aside and tried to remember the other family.
“The woman was drunk. Horribly drunk. She had children. I remember them being there. They weren’t crying. I was. I was sobbing so loud and I couldn’t stop. I’m pretty certain I was so loud no one in the hospital could possibly have been sleeping that night. The two of them, both boys, teens, I think, just stood there against the wall, their father telling me over and over how sorry he was. His wife walked away without so much as a broken bone.”
“We’ve already checked into the family,” Taviano said. “The report is, the woman is still a drunk, so much so that I doubt she could orchestrate any of this. The man moved away with his two sons and they live in Oregon now. They seem happy. We’re still keeping a close eye, but again, nothing adds up there.”
“That leads us back to Aaron,” Emmanuelle said. “I’m with Giovanni. I don’t think it’s him. I think it’s too much, all that evidence piling up against him.”
“Let’s look at this another way,” Mariko said suddenly. “If all this evidence against Aaron was manufactured, his credit card actually stolen to purchase bomb materials, the picture of Sasha stolen from his phone, the rifle that he had to have kept safe in his home, all of that kind of adds up to the fact that whoever is doing this is very close to him.”
Giovanni’s head jerked up. “Mariko, I want to kiss you right now.”
“Well don’t,” Ricco all but growled.
Laughter spilled around the table. Giovanni nearly crushed Sasha to him. He set her back in her chair and blew a kiss across the table at Mariko in defiance of his brother.
“It’s so fucking obvious now that you point it out. I wasn’t looking at that. To beat the shit out of Raimondo, he has to be a pro. What the hell was wrong with me? Aaron’s friends are all in the same profession. What if this isn’t about Sasha, Sandlin or me? What if this is about Aaron?”
There was a stunned silence. They had been so focused on Giovanni and Sasha that they hadn’t considered that at all.
“Aaron lived on the streets for years. He fought his way to the top. He’s disciplined and goal oriented. He would mow down anyone in his path trying to stop him. He had to have stepped on other mixed martial arts fighters’ careers. He defeated a number of really good fighters to get where he is. Any one of them could be an enemy.”
Giovanni sounded almost relieved, and Sasha put one hand on his thigh under the table in order to comfort him. She knew how he felt about Aaron. She knew he’d been hurt. He really didn’t want to think that his friend would orchestrate everything that had happened, including the fire that could have swept through multiple buildings, destroying livelihoods.
Giovanni smiled at her and put his hand over hers, pressing her palm deeper into the heated muscle of his thigh. “We’ve got to find this bastard and stop him.”