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His corded arms closed around her, and she tucked her face against his chest. I resumed stroking her hair. She drew in a deep, shuddering breath, but Marco remained stiff and distant.
Fuck. He thought she was afraid of him on some unconscious level, traumatized by how rough he’d been with her when we’d made love.
I knew that wasn’t right. Ashlyn would never fear Marco. I needed him to believe it, too.
“What was your nightmare about, angel?” I asked, keeping my tone low and gentle.
Her brow furrowed, and she squeezed her eyes shut as she shook her head. She snuggled closer to Marco, seeking shelter in his strong arms. I glanced up at him, only to find that his eyes were closed, his brow furrowed in a mirror image of Ashlyn’s strained expression.
I continued to stroke her hair, watching her relax against Marco. As her breaths turned deep and even, his slowed to match. “It’s okay,” I promised, willing them both to hear me. “Go back to sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”
Ashlyn would tell us about her nightmare, and Marco would understand that she wasn’t afraid of him. If they decided to be difficult about it, I would have to push them. Usually, Marco was the bossy one, but I would take on whatever role was necessary to keep my family happy.
“Joseph!” My father’s voice lilted with joy as he said my name. “Good to hear from you, son.”
Even though it was a minor miracle that he still wanted to have a relationship with me after all the ugliness with Gabriel Costa, my heart twisted at the sound of his enthusiasm. Marco had called his own father yesterday, and he’d been treated with cruelty.
I straightened my shoulders, more determined than ever to make this right, to prove to Marco that I would do whatever it took to protect him and Ashlyn.
“Hey, Dad.” I tried to smile around the greeting, but the memory of Marco’s cold mask after yesterday’s tumultuous events left a bitter taste on my tongue.
“What’s wrong?” My father immediately picked up on my mood. He might be a fearsome mafia boss, but he would always be my dad: stern, but loving. “Is Chemistry still stressing you out? I know you have exams coming up.”
I blinked, suddenly struck by the bizarreness of this inane conversation. A year ago, my father had dismissed my desire to go to college entirely. He cared far more about my education in the family business than Chemistry 101.
“Well, if you don’t like Chemistry, you can choose to major in a different subject,” he continued on. “You still have a year to declare, right?”
I forced myself to respond with something equally normal; just an ordinary college student talking to his dad, not Dominic Russo’s disgraced son. “Yeah, I don’t have to decide my major yet. I’m just figuring out what I like right now. Probably not Chemistry. But that’s not what’s bothering me,” I interjected. “I’m not asking you to get involved, but I’d appreciate some information, if you know anything. Marco caught a man stalking Ashlyn yesterday.” I skipped over Marco’s name quickly and emphasized Ashlyn’s. Dad still wasn’t comfortable with our unconventional relationship, and we kept to a tacit agreement not to discuss it. However, he’d always liked Ashlyn, and the romantic love I shared with her was something that he could understand.
The fact that she’d nearly died when she drank poison that’d been meant for him also softened him toward her. He knew she was innocent and had nothing to do with our criminal underworld, and he had been devastated that she’d been harmed because of her association with him. Especially when he was supposed to be strong enough to protect everyone close to him.
I wasn’t above leveraging his softer feelings for Ashlyn in order to get the answers I needed. “This man stalked her across campus,” I continued. “When Marco caught him, he said that they wanted me dead. He said they would rape Ashlyn.” My voice roughened with residual rage, and my fingers curled to a fist.
“They?” My father repeated, his voice flat and cold, the voice of a hardened killer. “Who are they?”
“I don’t know. That’s why I’m calling. Do you have any idea why someone might be targeting us?”
A beat of silence passed. “What else did this man say?”
“Nothing else. He pulled a knife, and Marco dealt with him.”
My father made a low sound of approval. He might not understand my relationship with Marco, but he liked my friend’s ruthlessness, especially because he’d been protecting Ashlyn.
“There is a new player in Boston,” he said, “Ciro Amato. He recently moved from Calabria to join his family in America. He just finished a five-year prison sentence in Italy, and he’s been throwing his weight around since he arrived. Nothing extreme enough to start a war, but enough to catch our attention in New York. Even if he has gotten his hands a little bloody to earn some respect, I can’t imagine that he has any interest in you. Targeting you can’t be an attack on me, because you are no longer part of my family. Besides, Amato isn’t powerful enough to survive if he chose to insult me. Not only would I crush him, but it would be bad for everyone’s business.
