Page 83 of The Masked King

“Always.” She stands in my line of vision and cleans away the blood from around the wound. “The twins would get away with murder if it was down to Gio to discipline them.”

Her breath hitches when she realizes what she said, and her shoulders slump.

“You mean he’s a big softie with them,” I say.

Her smile is genuine, her eyes filled with love for her family as she pinches the flesh together across the bullet hole, narrows her eyes until she’s satisfied that the two flaps of skin are precisely where she wants them, and inserts the needle.

“You can cry if you want to, you know,” she murmurs, tugging the thread tight.

“I-I don’t think I can.” I feel like I’m on fire, the flames spreading through my body from the needle point at the top of my arm.

“I know you’re still in love with Demi.”

I know what she’s doing, she’s trying to distract me from the physical pain by dragging the emotional pain to the surface. It’s fucking working, because now all I can feel is the ache in my chest, wide open, my heart bared for everyone to trample on.

“I wish you would talk about how you feel, Enzo. We would never dismiss your feelings or try to tell you that it’s time to move on.”

I raise the glass to my lips, hitting my top teeth before I manage to down the amber liquid. “That’s not the Sabatelli way.”

“And getting yourself shot is?” She works quickly and methodically, paying close attention to every stitch like this is one of her cake creations.

“Different kind of pain.”

“I know.” She nods briefly. “I get it, but shutting down and cutting us off isn’t the answer.”

“Do you know what the answer is?” The liquor is taking effect, numbing the sharp edges just enough for me to follow the conversation.

“If I did, I could make a lot of money out of it.” She peers closely at the wound, her expression serious. “Almost done.”

I watch her secure the thread and snip the ends before she stands back to survey her handiwork.

“Gio is a lucky guy, Meggie.”

Her smile lights up her face as she covers the stitched wound with a sterile dressing. “I remind him of this every day.”

I tug my shirt over my shoulder and stand up, swaying against the basin for support. “I should go…”

She shakes her head as she packs away the medical supplies. “I’m feeding you first, and don’t even think about telling me you’re not hungry.”

“No, Meggie, you don’t understand.”

I’m clinging onto Malevsky’s proposition, keeping it firmly fixed in my head so that my rage doesn’t dwindle before I find the fucker and show him what happens when he messes with the Sabatellis. Even though it all feels at odds with the tranquility of this apartment, this family, this happy bubble they’re cocooned inside.

“No, Enzo,” Meggie says softly, “you don’t understand. If you won’t talk to me, feeding you is the least I can do, so just give me that before you walk out of here and get yourself killed. Please…”

I smile and pull her into a hug. “When you put it like that, how can I refuse?”

“You can’t.”

She leads the way to the kitchen, makes me sit down before I collapse, and places a cup of black coffee in front of me. I drink it while she grills cheese and serves it with tiny, cream-cheese-stuffed peppers and aioli.

“Don’t ask,” she says, sitting across the breakfast bar from me so that she can watch me eat. “I’m obsessed with stuffed peppers. Gio caught me eating them straight out of the fridge this morning while I was preparing the kids’ breakfast.”

I chew grilled cheese and picture their morning routine. Megan thinks eating stuffed peppers before breakfast is weird, but I find myself craving that kind of normality right now. Because it might never be mine, I guess, and because my normal includes getting shot by a pakhan who probably never got hugged as a kid and getting stitched up by my sister-in-law the baker.

I’m three coffees down and on my second helping of grilled cheese when the elevator door opens and we both turn around to face Bianca crossing the foyer.

The caffeine is taking its sweet time breaking through the concussion haze, so I’m still processing her presence when she stands in front of me, eyes blazing, and says, “You’re a fucking asshole, Enzo. You went to Rome to see my kids, and you didn’t even tell me?”