I stumble out the car, eyes fixed on my muddy Doc Martens.
I’ve come here for no reason.
There’s no way I can get on a plane.
I type Alex an apology and then decide it’s the last thing he needs. I hit backspace furiously, all outside sound muffled byVincenzo’s music. He and Jack grab all the bags, and Vin lifts one of my headphones up to speak to me, cocking his head toward his father’s men. “They wanna search you separately before you get on, I’m sorry. They’re not fully convinced you’re stable.”
A laugh bubbles out of me, imagining my disheveled outfit, mascara running down my face, static hair. “What could’ve possibly given them that impression?”
He smiles ruefully. “Still, I’m sorry.”
We walk into the airport. It’s quieter than when I was last here. It’s a day I can’t bear to think about. A day when Alex and I both thought being apart could be less painful than being together.
“Miss,” says one of Vincenzo’s men, pulling me aside. I snap my eyes up to Vincenzo, wide and panicked.
He gives me a wink and a thumbs up.You’ll be okay.“I’ll meet you out the other side.”
It’s different for private planes, or at least for the Morellos. We skip the short security line. Vincenzo’s men and an airport employee search me in a side room, emptying out my duffel and my tote into trays.
“You scared of flying?” the airport employee asks, as my shaking hands try to relace my boots. I nod, feeling worse by the second. Why did I think I could do this?
“It’s a breeze. Safest mode of transport. No oneeverdies,” he says, popping his chewing gum. I almost throw the boot at his head.
True to his word, Vincenzo is waiting for me outside. “The bus is just refueling, then it’s ready.”
I nod, swallowing down bile that rises in my throat. “Okay.”
“Them candies are really good.”
“Yeah.”
“Would you rather have them for fingers, or every time you buy a bag of candy, there’s a finger in it?”
He drags yet another smile out of me. “Vincenzo, I have no idea.”
“I’d rather have them for fingers.”
The shaking seems to have spread from my hands to my entire body, every breath a labored effort. “Same, I think.”
“You want to know a secret?” he asks, and something about his tone forces my gaze up to his.
“No,” I grumble, shivering again. I’m sick of secrets.
“I’m scared of gunshots.”
A soft laugh escapes me, before I realize he’s serious. “You?” As kind and funny as he may seem to those he loves, he lives and breathes violence.
“Yeah, me. My mom took a bullet in the back for me when I was ten. Jumped in front of me and it caught her spine. My mom is alive and thriving, but guns lost their appeal after that.”
And just like that, I learn Vincenzo isn’t quite the happy ray of sunshine that he lets us all see. “You do shooting practice most weeks.”
“If feeling scared is what I have to do to keep my parents safe, to keephersafe,” he tilts his head in Belladonna’s direction where she picks up a takeaway coffee, “then I’d spend the rest of my life terrified.”
“Feel the fear and do it anyway,” I whisper, nodding.
I can do this. I can doanything. Especially for Alex.
“Fuck yeah, Winters.”
