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At Benny for suddenly becoming an asshole brother.
At Antonio because why the fuck isn’t my Romeo here, fighting for me?
For us?
He stalked me, tracked me down for nearly a year, and now, he’s giving us up?
I toss and turn in bed so many times that I’m surprised I haven’t worn a hole in my sheets.
“Ugh,” I groan, ripping the comforter off my body and rolling out of bed.
Still in my pajamas, I slip on sneakers and stomp downstairs. Darkness consumes the mansion, and it’s quiet. Like my father, nighttime is my favorite. There’s no chaos, just us and our thoughts.
I check each side of the foyer before disarming the alarm, opening the front door, and slipping outside. I ignore the chilly drizzle of rain while beelining toward Benny’s house on the property. It’s dangerous to wander around here, especially at night, and even more so now. My father has snipers stationed along the tall perimeter wall.
When I reach his porch—which is covered, thank God—I pound on the door. Inside, lights switch on, and I’m staring down a gun barrel when the door swings open.
“Jesus, Gigi,” Benny says, lowering his gun. “What the fuck?”
I swat wet hair away from my eyes. “We need to talk.”
“It’s three in the damn morning.”
“And?”
He motions for me to come inside. “If this is about Antonio?—”
“It is, and for once in your life, can any of you listen to me?”
Benny snatches a throw blanket from the back of the couch and drapes it over my shoulders. Water from my hair drips on the travertine tile, but we ignore it.
I push my thumb toward my chest. “I’m a Marchetti just as much as you are. Sure, I might not be a violent, murderous psychopath—no offense.”
He nonchalantly shrugs as if proud of my insult … compliment … whatever the hell he considers it. “None taken.”
“But I should have some control in my life.”
“You can have control in your life when you’re smart about your decisions.”
He reminds me so much of my father when he pulls back his broad shoulders and confidently strolls toward the bar in the corner of the room. Running his fingers along two bottles, he selects one. He pours an expensive bourbon into two crystal tumblers and passes me a glass.
I gulp back the liquid in a single swig—hardly savoring the smoothness of the liquor—and hold it out for a refill. Benny repours my glass, returns the bottle to the cart, and signals for me to sit on the plush leather couch.
“Antonio fucked with your head,” he says, taking the chair across from me as I make myself comfortable. “Even though you believe it right now, you’re not in love with him. He played you, Gigi.”
I shake my head violently. “I was in love with Antonio before he kidnapped me.”
He attempts to appear as comforting as he can. “He’s a master manipulator.”
“I wasn’t manipulated, Benny.”
“Look, right now, we have too much family shit going on to worry about your love life.”
“I’d consider thisfamily shit.”
“Natalia just had a baby. Neomi is pregnant. We’re at war. That’s family shit.”
“Wait.” I hold up my glass. “Neomi is pregs?”
