Luigi looked over his shoulder. “Coming, Dommy-Boy.” To me, he added, “Stay here. Count to thirty.”
I fisted my hands at my side. “I willnot—”
“Oh, no, no, no,” he tsked. “Don’t try to be heroic, Rae. You don’t want to catch a nightmare from what the devil’s done tonight.”
Catch a nightmare…like a damn cold.
But what he didn’t realize was that the memory of kicking that piece of shit was going to haunt me. The way his head just snapped to the side—
I staggered to the bushes, ready to vomit.
It didn’t come.
I stood there, breathing hard, as Luigi slipped away, closing the French door. Through the panes of glass, I saw two shadows move. Their bent forms blurred, covering the act of dragging something heavy from the room. When the door to the hall opened, it didn’t shed light on the situation. I waited until it shut to step back inside.
I could have walked around the far side of the room. I could have avoided the carnage. But the twisted, warped desire to reconcile what was racing through my mind with what actually happened drove me to step back where the side table stood.
Pieces of blue and white porcelain lay on the ground. Some might have been large enough to glue together. Others were fragments that mocked the idea.
With a sigh, I crouched to gather them into a pile. As my fingers swept over the carpet, they brushed against something wet. It was too hard to see the stain in the shadows, but it was darker compared to the swirls of grey on the white rug.
I knew what it was without needing to look.
The panic bubbled fresh, but this time it was fuel, not fear. I scooted into the hall, down the corridors. Avoiding the party, I made it to the service passage and into the supply room. By the time I returned with a cleaning bucket, the stain was drying. I risked detection by turning on a flashlight and set to work scrubbing the patches of blood. I poured some over the urine stain as well. While the cleaner soaked the carpet, I swept the broken vase into a trash bag.
The door opening sent my heart to my throat.
“What are you doing?” Dominico growled, flicking on the light and closing the door. The lock clicked into place.
I forced a breath out of my lungs, trying to dispel the rapid pulse. “What the fuck does it look like?”
“I was going to do that,” he snapped.
I frowned. But he’d already crossed the room and took the brush from my bucket. Sinking onto his knees, he rubbed the spots of cleaner.
Sitting back on my haunches, I stared.
The heir to the criminal family, the boy born into wealth and privilege, was on his hands and knees. Scrubbing.Cleaning. He’d come back to fix the mess, instead of leaving it for me or someone else to deal with. I couldn’t help but watch, completely dumbfounded.
“I’m just glad Luigi caught me in time,” he said conversationally. “He was right about the noise, but a gunshot or my knife would have made an even bigger mess.”
An uncontrollable shiver rattled down my spine. “You…killed him?”
“Broke his neck. Yes.”
It was relief, not horror, that washed through me. I didn’t know the dead man, hadn’t really seen his face. But I was glad he was dead.
And that I wasn’t the one who’d done it.
“You must have hit him hard,” Dominico said and fished a piece of the vase from under the settee. “He had a nasty cut on his forehead.”
“Oh, mercy,” I wheezed and rubbed my own. “I didn’t mean to break the vase, Nico. I didn’t! I know it was a family heirloom.”
“Fuck the vase.” Dominico cut a look to me. His gaze was hard and full of something that sizzled with danger. “I mean it. The stupid thing doesn’t matter.”
“I’m not sure your memaw will see it that way,” I muttered, feeling uncomfortable with the way he watched me. Or rather, with the way that terrible gaze made me feel. There was an intimacy brewing between us. It had been there all along, but the fight only intensified it. I shouldn’t like that he’d killed for me. That wasn’t a normal reaction. But there was no denying the warm ball of joy that settled over my chest.
“Thank you.”
