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For a moment, he studies me as if I were a patient he was attempting to diagnose. “I’m only doing this because my brother loves you.” His voice is direct. “I’ll always protect Amara. She’s family and means the world to us, but you? You’re someone from a life I’ve always wanted to distance myself from.”
I wrinkle my nose, unsure how to reply, and he maintains that same expression until I do. “I can go somewhere else. Really, I don’t want to burden anyone.”
“How about you return the favor?” His request doesn’t sound manipulative. It’s coated with desperation.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t let your father kill Antonio.” He gestures toward the kitchen. “You’re welcome here, but I need you to do that for me. Keep him alive, Gigi.”
“Would you have done the same for Vinny?” I step forward. “Protect him?”
“God, no,” he says without hesitation. “Vinny hardly cared about my existence, and I always wanted to keep it that way, but then I needed help.”
“Help with what?”
This time, there’s a delay before he answers. “It doesn’t matter, and it’s not my story to tell.”
“Gotcha.” I draw out the last word. “I respect that.”
My nosiness just needs to figure out whose story it is.
He taps the kitchen island twice before tossing his cup in the recycling bin. “Have a good day, Gigi.”
When Antonio gets home—and he’d freaking better, or I’ll raise hell myself—I have a long list of questions he needs to answer.
I hang out with Eden and Amara for the rest of the day, and before bed, Amara requests I read her a bedtime story. We spend nearly an hour in her bedroom—which is directly across from ours—chatting and reading.
Now, I’m in the guest room watching TV and waiting for Antonio’s return.
Ugh, I wish I could call him.
I bite my nails, ruining my manicure, as vivid scenarios parade through my mind.
What’s leaving him out so late?
Three hours and a hand of chewed-off nails later, he returns.
“What did you do for Dante?” I ask the moment he shuts the door.
He halts. “What are you talking about? Did Eden or Dante tell you something?”
“Eden didn’t.”
“Dante did?” he asks in surprise.
I tap my toes against the sheets. “He started to, but then immediately stopped himself.”
He sits on the ottoman, sighing, and unties his shoes. “When Dante met Eden, she was working as an escort, and after a year, he convinced her to quit and marry him. One of her clients had developed an obsession with her and was unhappy about her leaving the business. He started stalking her and making death threats.” He sheds his blazer. “Dante decided to kill him and reached out to me, asking for advice on the best way to do it without getting caught. However, when I met with him, it was clear he couldn’t do that. So I told him I’d take care of it, and I did. Dante was meant to save lives, not take them.”
I press my hand to my heart.
Aw. Big brother helped little brother.
Okay, I’m definitely on the same crazy street as Antonio, but it’s heartwarming to hear about Antonio caring about Dante like that.
Antonio sets his shoes to the side and stands, the smell of his cologne lingering in the air. “From that point on, Dante and I formed a friendship, if you can call it that. They occasionallywatch Amara for me, and when my father fell ill, Dante reluctantly helped care for him.”
“Poor Eden,” I say wistfully. “Does she know what you did?”
