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“No, you listen!” I hissed, so fucking done with him and his inability to see the problem. “I don’t want to see you again. I’m done with you. Leave me alone, or I’ll tell my father about this.”
Nevio’s expression flickered with harshness at my threat. He nodded once, glanced down at his hands, and then his shoulders moved as if he took a deep breath. The harshness was gone when he looked back up, and the nonchalant attitude was back.
“I was the one who was non compos mentis, as Massimo would call it, and couldn’t consent to anything. So I reckon I should be angry with you. I bet your dad will see it that way too.” He grinned as if this was funny. He actuallygrinned. Was he this oblivious to other people’s emotions, this callous? Why was I even surprised?
I turned back to my desk, away from him.
For the first time in my life, rage toward Nevio blacked out my potent infatuation. I could hardly breathe from it, could feel it in the throbbing of my veins, in the hammering of my heart, in the whooshing of my ears.
I gripped the first thing I could from my desk, a heavy hole punch, whirled back around, and hurled it at Nevio. He was closer than expected. As usual, I hadn’t heard him move. It flew toward his head, right at his temple. I froze, my eyes widening. His arm popped up, blocking the heavy object. It hit the underside of his arm, right below his wrist.
His face flashed with pain for a bare second, soon replaced by terrifying fury and something I’d never seen in his eyes. Murder. Pure hunger for blood and carnage.
He took a step back, closed his eyes, and sucked in a deep breath. When he opened his eyes again, he was in control, and his ability to do so so easily when I could hardly maintain a subpar level of control around him made me even angrier.
I grabbed a book and flung it at him, then another. Dad’s warnings about Nevio’s lack of control flew right past me.
Nevio moved toward me, grabbed my wrist, and jerked me toward him so our chests collided.
I scowled up at him. “You are everything bad and rotten that people warned me about. I hate you. I don’t think I’ve ever hated anyone as much as I hate you,” I hissed, even as my eyes blurred with tears.
Through them, I could see Nevio’s hard face and the bitter smile. “As you should. Finally, some common sense, Rory.”
“Let me go. I never want to talk to you again. I’m going to New York for the summer, maybe longer. I don’t want to see you.”
A hint of confusion in his eyes changed. Nevio touched my chin with his already swelling hand. I recoiled, but he didn’t retreat. “You belong in Las Vegas, and you know it.”
He released me and stepped back, then walked out of the room. I swallowed hard, fighting for composure, but then the tears burst forth and I couldn’t hold them back.
I needed to leave. I’d beg Dad on my knees if I had to, but I wouldn’t stay here.
Massimo inspected my arm with intense curiosity. “The bruising suggests a defensive injury against an object, not a limb.”
Alessio regarded me without pause. “You let Aurora break your arm.”
“His ulna,” Massimo corrected, still prodding my arm mercilessly.
“Whatever the fuck it’s called. The interesting facts aren’t your Latin skills, but the fact that Nevio let Aurora break a bone in his body, very likely on purpose, and I bet she still looks pretty unscathed, and he doesn’t even seem to be angry.”
Massimo slanted a look up at my face. “I wouldn’t retaliate if a female from our family or Fabi’s family injured me for understandable reasons.”
“What exactly happened between you and Aurora that night? And what did you tell her today to bring out her nonexistent violent side?” Alessio asked, narrowing his eyes in that mind-reading way he sometimes had.
I bared my teeth. “Nothing you need to know. We had a little argument about the details of the night.”
Alessio scoffed. “We all know Aurora is too in love with you to speak her mind.”
I pushed to my feet. “Get off my fucking back, or I’ll unleash some of my rage on you. Aurora’s none of your business.”
“She isn’t yours either,” Massimo said.
I stalked out. I really wasn’t in the mood to have them analyze me. Their track record with girls wasn’t very impressive either.
I headed downstairs in search of Nino. He was more experienced when it came to treating injuries, and more importantly, he was less likely to grate on my nerves. He knew less about Aurora.
Of course, Nino repeated the same boring monologue as Massimo about my injury.
“Three weeks with a cast, and you need to rest your arm for four to six weeks.”
