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“The Lucas Cosa Nostra has been dead silent. And I know the quiet before the storm when I hear it.”
My heart slammed, and I rushed to ask. “Where’s Dad?”
“Doing your grandfather’s bidding.”
“Why is he still working for him?”
“We have no choice. We belong to him now. All it takes is for him to make a phone call, and we’re back in prison.”
I glared at her. “You’re still in prison without the building.”
She nodded. “Your father and I have plans, but they can’t be executed until your grandfather…” She didn’t finish the sentence, and my mouth slowly opened at the revelation.
“You need him to die,” I murmured, stunned.
“So we can live,” she finished.
We stared at each other for a long time. Eventually I spoke. “Dad is okay with this?”
“He came to terms the minute you told us what happened to you when you were young.” Her hands framed my face again, and I felt the tears begin to stream from my eyes. “Baby, I am so, so sorry.”
She embraced me, and I fell into her arms. It was refreshing to cry on her shoulder for once. And I hadn’t realized until that moment how much I longed for her comfort.
She squeezed me tight and rubbed my back, and when I’d emptied my tears, we drew away.
“I brought something for you.”
I wiped my face, and she produced a small cylinder of Dramamine. My face lit up, and I chuckled.
“Nausea medicine?”
“I don’t know when I’ll get back in here to see you. Your grandfather is keeping me busy, but—your father and I know.”
Worry crept on my face. “We overheard you and Dominic talking or…arguing—back at the warehouse. Your secret is safe with us—trust me.”
I nodded, stretched my arms around her, and drew her in for another hug.
“I’m going to talk your grandfather into letting me eat dinner with you tonight. I promise to do everything in my power to keep you safe.”
I nodded and tightened my arms around her.
“I love you, Mom.”
“I love you too, baby.”
17
Dominic
The constant beep of a heart monitor pulled me from a deep sleep. My eyes fluttered open, and a familiar ceiling was brought into focus.
My last memories shuffled through my mind: the fight with Penelope’s parents, the explosion at the warehouse, our argument, her assault, going to meet Dameon, then…
I jerked forward and sat up. I grabbed the tubes stuffed down my throat and pulled them out. The machine next to my bed sent out alerts and I went into a coughing fit. The door opened quickly, and our on-call medical team rushed into the room.
“Whoa, whoa, calm down, Dominic,” Dr. Peterson said in Italian.
“What the fu—” I coughed and spit, grabbed my chest, and heaved as multiple pairs of hands grabbed me and tried to settle me down.
