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“Carlo—”
“I’m sick of this fucking war.” His eyes go distant and his hand rubs at his leg. “We’re all tired of it. Renzo and everyone else thinks I’m just some bloodthirsty psychopath salivating at the thought of getting revenge, but you want the truth? I’m fucking exhausted. There are too many dead on both sides. It’s not worth the pain anymore. I want it to end, and allying with the Rinaldo Famiglia might help that happen.”
I study him and don’t respond. I had no idea he felt this way. From the outside, Carlo seems like the only person who actually wants this fight, but I can see the cracks in his facade now. The exhaustion is hard to hide, at least once he points it out.
“I don’t want to put you in danger. This is my mission, not yours.”
“I just made it mine. You want my help or what?”
“No, I just want the location.”
“Can’t have one without the other.” He grins at me and finishes another drink. “What do you say, bro? We gonna go crack skulls together?”
Back when we were young, Carlo and I did a lot of little jobs for our father together. We made a pretty good team, and a part of me is nostalgic for those days. But this is totally different. When we were teens, we’d get into fistfights and minor scraps. This is going to be gunshots and killing, and if Carlo gets hurt again, I’ll only blame myself.
But I need his information. If I try to find the Irishmen on my own, it could take weeks, and I don’t think we have that kind of time.
“Fine, but you better not get yourself killed,” I say, not happy about this, but not able to see another way.
“Don’t worry about me, bro.” He stares at the garden, his smile gone. “I live for this shit, remember?”
Chapter 37
Allegra
Ihave dinner ready when Gian gets home from spending time with his brothers. I’m wearing a short black dress, my hair straightened and my makeup done. He pauses in the hallway door, his eyebrows lifting at the sight of me standing in front of the island plating our meal.
“What’s all this?” he asks. “Are you going somewhere?”
“Nope,” I say. “And this is dinner.”
“Where’d you get it?”
“The grocery store. Don’t be a dick.”
He comes over toward me, a tight smile on his lips. “Did you cook?”
“Yes, I cooked, and I swear I’ll throw it in the trash if you make another comment.”
“I just mean, I’m still amazed that you cook.”
“It’s just a Bolognese, okay? I’m pretty sure they revoke your Italian status if you don’t know how to make a stinking pasta and meat sauce dish.”
He laughs quietly, ignores the food, and walks straight to me. I’m feeling self-conscious, but when he puts his hands on my hips and kisses me, all my worries slide away.
Funny how that happens.
“It looks incredible,” he whispers, peppering kisses down my neck.
“You haven’t even looked at it.”
“I meant you.”
“Yeah, well, focus on dinner before me.” I push him back, my stomach pinging with excitement. “I’m dessert.”
He laughs, clearly delighted, and lets me steer him to the table. I have everything set already and all I have to do is pour the wine. “Enjoy,” I say, sitting down, too anxious to eat.
But I have nothing to worry about. Gian goes to town and makes all the proper happy noises as he finishes his plate. He showers me in compliments, which is only proper, and by the time we’re done, I’m feeling happy and full.
