Which basically translated as, don’t fight back until I tell you it’s allowed.
And wouldn’t you know? He never asked me to fight back.
So I defended myself and let him hit.
His cold eyes met mine briefly before shuttering.
Normally this would be a point where he’d crack a joke, or say something inappropriate that would call out all the tension swirling around the dinner table.
Instead, he drank more wine and leaned back in his chair like it wasn’t awkward as hell that I was sitting between my sister and her new husband.
Literally in between them.
She had to know it made me want to crawl out of my skin, the fact that the guy who touched her, who killed without blinking was sitting to my left and my innocent young sister was sitting to my right, all easy smiles with stars in her eyes, like Sergio Abandonato was fucking responsible for the moon being hung in the sky at the exact angle she preferred.
“So…” Val elbowed me and reached for another piece of bread. Everything had shifted between us the day I confessed to knowing about our family, our heritage, the day I confessed to the lie I’d been living in order to protect her. A chasm had fractured between us and then when she’d gone and married into the family, it had grown until I barely recognized what we’d been before all the shit hit the fan.
We used to be close.
Now I was uncomfortable in the same room as them.
And that fed the anger, because I hated that they had taken one more thing from me that I didn’t even realize I was at the risk of losing before it was too late.
“How are classes?”
“How. Are. Classes.” I repeated in a surly voice. “It’s been one day, Val.”
Sergio cleared his throat on the other side of me.
I dropped my fork onto my plate and leaned back, crossing my arms over my chest. “They’re good, Val.”
Sergio put another piece of bread on my plate, followed by another. “Eat.”
Chase snickered across from me, still not eating a damn thing, but drink he did. I was ready to steal the bottle from him and make a run for it.
“Good!” She sounded so damn hopeful, I felt guilty. “Do you think you’re going to declare a major—”
I groaned at about the same minute Chase’s eyebrows lifted. He scooted a glass of wine across the table. I shook my head no, and his look seemed to say, your loss.
“Val,” I started, and Sergio gave me a murderous look that I was one hundred percent certain he’d follow through on if I lost my temper again. Last time I’d broken dishes. This time, well this time I showed up after having gotten the shit beat out of me, so I was more… calm. I mentally thanked Chase for that. “I’m not going to major in anything other than business, you know that.”
She frowned down at her plate. “You used to draw.”
I fucking froze.
Chase looked away while Sergio went completely still.
“That was a lifetime ago, Val,” I murmured. “You know that’s not really a choice, not anymore.”
Val’s expression darkened. “It could be.”
“That’s not my reality, Val, you know that.”
“That’s because you’re just letting everyone choose for you!” she yelled.
I rarely heard my sister raise her voice. Stunned, I watched her with a shuttered expression.
“You don’t have to do this!” She threw her hands up, and her dark hair whipped around her sharp jaw. “You have a choice!”
“You mean like you did?” I glared at her. “Don’t sit there and tell me I have a choice, when you would have done — and did do the exact same thing. The choice was taken from us the minute we were born and claimed as Nicolasi blood.”
“But—”
“Enough!” I slammed my fists onto the table causing Chase’s empty wine glass to rattle and then tip over.
He grinned across at me. “How many dishes is that now, Sergio?” He tilted his head with amusement. “Six? Seven?”
“Thirteen,” Sergio said in a bored tone. “But I think I’ll stop keeping track.”
“Sorry,” I muttered.
Tears filled Val’s eyes. “Let’s just sit and have a nice family dinner.”
I snorted. I couldn’t help it, only to wince in pain as something sharp edged into my left thigh.
I didn’t look at Sergio, didn’t have to, to know a blade was making its way centimeter by centimeter past the roughness of my jeans and into the skin of my thigh.
With a bored expression, I used my left hand to quickly flip open my own blade and hover it over his dick.
“God I love family dinners.” Chase laughed.
“Touché.” Sergio pulled the blade back.
I did the same.
Val groaned into her hands at about the same time Chase said, “Hey, Val you made cannoli, right?”
“Don’t you have a wife for that?” Val fired back with a laugh.
Chase’s eyes darted back to his wine glass. “I think it would be extremely generous to use the word cook and Mil in the same sentence. I get my calories from drinking.”
He polished off the bottle.
I narrowed my eyes.
Sergio’s hands were under the table, but he pointed a finger at Chase, then tapped me on the thigh.
And started using sign language, neither of us flinching as Val and Chase started arguing about cannoli recipes.
“Something’s off.” Sergio signed.
“He’s been on edge.” I signed right back. “I let him beat the shit out of me, though before dinner, you’re welcome.”
“Mil? Where is she?”
I tried to think back to the last time I’d seen her. It had been that afternoon, but she hadn’t been at the house. “Not sure.”
“I’ll get Phoenix on it.”
“Why not Nixon?”
“Too close. Too emotional. Chase and Nixon are… like brothers. No, no emotions.”
“Cold soulless bastard,” I signed.
He gave me the middle finger, and then said, “Thanks.”
I reached for a piece of bread just as Chase glanced over at us with a comical expression on his face. “Val thinks her lasagna’s better.”
Sergio shrugged. “Her lasagna’s… delicious.”
“Nope.” I stood. “I’m going… anywhere else.”
Chase’s laughter floated down the hall as I went in search of a bathroom I could hide in.
Five minutes.
I just needed five minutes to breathe.
Once the door was locked behind me, I checked my phone, it was close to seven.
With steady fingers, I jerked the wad of paper out of my hand and read it.
Midnight. The Spot. No cell phones.
CHAPTER TWELVE
El
“YOU ARE… ADAPTING?” Frank swirled the cognac in his glass; the amberish-red liquid pooled like fresh blood.
Frank Alfero was an enigma.
He reminded me of those commercials, the most interesting man in the world, that was Frank. His eyes were soft — his actions ruthless. There was no double-crossing him, no option other than the road he wanted you to take.
The last time I’d actually spoken to him alone, the blood of my husband’s hands had been on his hands. And I’d burst into tears of relief.
The kind of thankful tears you only get once in a lifetime.
And when I had asked for a knife.
When I locked eyes with the Italian boss who would kill me next, I begged for time alone with my husband.
He said yes.
On one condition.