“Bella has horrible taste in men.”
“Bella, huh?” I stared at him with curiosity. “I’ve never heard anyone call her that.”
The side of his lip hitched as if fighting a smile, but instead, he shrugged.
“You know,” I began, unable to stop myself, “my brother-in-law was the only one to call my sister Talia. And now they’re married. Maybe—”
“That’s a bit of a stretch,” he interrupted, smiling now. “And no, she’s too young for me.” He slid a finger beneath his chin. “Don’t have a death wish, either.”
“Fair enough.” I peeked back through the french doors into the dining room, but it was empty now. Maybe the guys had gone after Isabella to apologize? I doubted it was to stop Pablo from leaving. “How’d you meet the Costa family?”
“I moved from Texas to New York when I was sixteen. I met Constantine in high school, and we became friends.”
“You’re the same age?” It was hard for me to imagine Hudson over forty, but then I remembered the brief timeline Enzo had provided, so I supposed it made sense.
“Yeah. Over-the-hill. Officially,” he said with an easygoing smile.
“And you were close to Bianca, too?” I regretted the question immediately, since his lips flatlined, and he faced the water and white-knuckled the railing.
“Yeah, we were friends. The last memory I have of her was trying to get me to come to her monthly book club meeting. Pretty sure she was really trying to set me up with someone there.”
I thought back to Hudson’s bar, remembering all the books in his office. “Right, you’re a reader, too.”
He nodded without looking at me. “I should’ve just gone to her book club. Made her happy, you know? Instead, I now have to remember disappointing her as my last memory. How fucking depressing is that?”
I wasn’t sure what to do right now, but it didn’t seem appropriate to pat his back or hug him. So I whispered, “Try and focus on the good memories instead.” Wow, was that the best I could do?
My list of things I sucked at was growing. Couldn’t draw. Write. Act. Or talk poignantly.
I’m a good mom, I tried to remind myself. But was I a failure at that, too?
“Yeah, sure. Good memories. I’ll think about those,” he remarked flatly.
And damn, I knew that tone of voice. Cold and detached. Friendly Hudson was now gone, and I had the feeling the man Enzo had warned me to stay away from six years ago because he could only “fuck just to fuck” was about to show his face.
“I better check on them.” He gave me a tight nod, then bailed, leaving me alone on the balcony, and I rolled my eyes at how not-smooth I could be in conversations.
I shivered as the mild September breeze blew my hair in front of my face, and I swiped my palms up and down my arms over my sleeves to warm up.
“I’m sorry about that.” I flinched at the deep voice behind me, then slowly turned to face Enzo. He skimmed my cheek with the back of his hand.
“How’s Isabella?”
“Pablo left. He broke up with her, and now Izzy’s in her room refusing to speak to any of us.” He shook his head. “I can’t be sorry about it, though. He was a fucking idiot.”
“She just needs time and space. She’ll be okay.”
“Hope so.” He set his other hand at my hip. “Are you mad at me?”
“For going caveman on the guy?”
A slight smile tugged at his lips. “Is that what it’s called?” He grabbed my ass and squeezed. “I think I’m just a bit tense.”
“Oh, you don’t say?” I slipped my hands between us and set them on his chest. “I’m guessing dinner is canceled?”
“Unless you’re hungry, I was thinking we could talk before I go.”
I blinked in confusion, pulling away at his words. “Where are you going?”
“Let’s go to my old room.” He offered his hand, and I hesitantly accepted it, allowing the heat from his body to warm me up as we walked the length of the balcony to get to the bedroom.
Once there, he locked the french doors and closed the floor-to-ceiling curtains. Annnd we probably should’ve done that earlier when I was on his lap having him finger me into orgasming.
“Where are you going?” I asked again, hoping for an answer this time as I sat at the edge of his bed, willing my nerves to dial down. But it’d been a long day. The two glasses of Chianti were doing nothing to extinguish the anxiety coiled tight in my stomach, chest, and pretty much every part of my body.
He locked the bedroom door next, then stood before me. “Jesse located the man who should know who really killed Bianca. And we need to go to Syracuse tonight,” he finally shared, and that was a good thing, right? “The thing is, he’s in the CIA’s custody, which means we have to break him out. We won’t hurt anyone. Rubber bullets.”
I would’ve fallen onto my ass had I not already been seated. “But you could get hurt? Arrested?” A million other horrific things, too. And now my heart was racing ten times faster, and I could feel my pulse pumping all the way into my ears.
“I won’t. This isn’t my first time doing something like this.”
“First time breaking someone out of a secure location, or first time going up against the Central freaking Intelligence Agency?” My voice squeaked. High-pitched panic that I was incapable of hiding had my hands turning to nervous balls at my sides. I was going to visit this man in a morgue or prison, wasn’t I?
“Hey, it’s okay.” Enzo dropped to his knees before me. He snatched my fists as if they were fragile pieces of glass and covered them with his hands.
“Nothing about this is okay,” I cried, the shudder in my chest escaping through my voice. “Please don’t go.”
“Maria, I promise I’ll be fine, and I won’t hurt anyone.”
“But you plan to torture this man you’re kidnapping from the CIA, right?” I couldn’t even swipe at the tears because he had such a hold on my hands, and I didn’t have the energy to pull away.
His quiet nod had my stomach turning. “You’re not just good with a knife in the kitchen,” I blurted, my irrational fears washing over me and coming true before my eyes.
He lowered his gaze to my lap, where he kept hold of my hands. “I’m good with my hands in multiple ways, I guess,” he said in a solemn tone. “I’d rather cook, though.”
Then slice and dice a man? Oh jeez. There went my stomach again. Tip-tilt-twirling around. “The middle of your story. Just tell me now. Please. Rip off the Band-Aid and get it over with, because I’m pretty sure I’ve already filled in the blanks myself anyway.” My gaze climbed up the ink on his exposed forearm, the one with the rosary inked there.
“How detailed do you want it?” he asked, an uneasy expression crossing his face.
“I, um, don’t need to know exactly how you killed that man. I’m guessing you made him suffer, though.” At his nod, my pulse climbed. “Just tell me what you think I need to know.”
“I can do that.” He looked up for a moment, as if searching for the courage to reveal his past.
I could feel his fear that I’d hate him afterward in the squeeze of my hands. See the guilt vividly in the lines of his face when our eyes once again met.
“The deal my brothers and I were offered to avoid prison time was with the US government,” he finally began. “I don’t even know the name of the group we worked for, but they weren’t CIA or FBI. Not the NSA or Homeland Security. And it doesn’t matter anymore, they were disbanded three years ago, and our contract was voided early.” He paused for a breath. “Those years after Bianca’s death, my brothers and I were basically unpaid mercenaries for the government. We were sent on ops around the world a few times a year but without backup or support. We were on our own if caught. My path also crossed with Jesse’s on occasion during that time.”