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“Ettore, just leave your shit here until we get back,” Primo says, pulling his plate almost directly into his face as he shoves eggs into his mouth.
Ettore gives a nod, eating his last bite of his waffles. “Let me just get the important things, it won’t take long.” He stands up, shuffling as slow as a turtle out of the room.
Primo looks up at me, his brows pinching together. “I never fully unpacked so my suitcases are in my room. You mind bringing them down?” I’m sure it’s supposed to be a question but it may as well be a statement as he goes back to eating as if it’s already a done deal.
Not having the energy to argue and knowing things will move quicker this way, I go up to his room and grab his bags. I tote them all out to the car and thankfully, by the time I’m done the brothers are ready.
Ettore has a carry-on bag, which I guess holds all his essentials, and he’s now dressed in a pair of jeans and a v-neck shirt.
Primo still has on his flannel pajama pants but I don’t dare point it out, happy enough to get them both loaded and packed into the car.
The drive to the airport isn’t a long one and thankfully neither brother seems up for conversation.
When we make it to the airport, I wait patiently for them to get their things out. Primo gives me a mock salute, while Ettore leans down into my open window.
I glance at the time before giving him my attention. “Yes?”
“Tell my sister that her attitude needs to be different when we get back. We don’t give a shit about her being a hitwoman and we sure as fuck don’t give a shit about thegaything.” There’s something shifting behind his eyes but I can’t quite figure out the emotion.
“The gay thing?” I ask him, raising a brow.
“Yeah,” he nods, looking at me like I’m an idiot. “You know, her fucking women.” Again, there’s this little look that I can’t quite pick up on.
“Lucia isn’t gay, she’s bisexual.” I don’t know why it is that I feel the need to defend Lucia but I don’t like the dismissive way that Ettore speaks of her sexuality.
Maybe it's my own insecurities and what I dealt with so long when I realized I was bisexual.
Ettore frowns and I know he isn’t happy with my tone, but I don’t care. Maybe he’s hot shit in New York the way I’ve heard his cousins say, but he doesn’t scare me.
He blinks and shakes his head, and suddenly he looks more confused than anything. “Yeah, whatever,” he says. “Just tell her what I said.” And with that, he’s gone, headed off after his brother.
I stare off after him, a little confused about the interaction.
I know for a fact that he’s tried apologizing to Lucia about whatever their issue is, hence her shooting a flower vase, but clearly he’s still pushing hard for her forgiveness. But I don’t know what would make him think that Lucia would listen to me of all people.
And I’m definitely not going to risk getting my balls blown off by getting into her business.
Shaking my head, I put the car in drive, glancing at the time on my dash. I’m going to be late to my meeting, but there's nothing I can do about it. If Giovanni asks what happened, I won’t hesitate to put the blame on his cousins.
Still, I drive quickly as I head back into two and I’m only ten minutes late when I pull up the warehouse. This is supposed to be a simple meeting, verifying the time and place where Giovanni will meet the dealer, along with the supply that the other man will be bringing.
Climbing out of the car, I head into the building.
It's quiet in the barren building and I spin around, listening closely for any noise. When nothing comes, I frown, grabbing my phone to call Giovanni.
I hear the footsteps just as my finger goes to click the contact. I don’t hesitate, letting my phone clutter to the ground as I draw my weapon.
I’m a second too late as something flashes in my vision.
Pain rackets through my head as my gun goes flying, but I ignore the pain, blinking as two men come into my vision.
No, there’s more.
I don’t have time to try to count how many men there are as I defend myself. I punch the first, pushing him backwards until he goes following into the second man.
Hands ready, I center my feet, widening my base as another man comes at me with a knife. I block his strike, even as I feel the blade cut across my forearm.
He tries to kick me low which is fucking disgusting, but I dodge the kick, moving to the side. A grunt leaves my lips as I’m hit from behind, but still I fight, trying to get all of the men in front of me. I know that it’d be easier if I had my gun, but with no such luxury available, I continue to use my hands.
