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Raze leaned back and pointed at Archie.
“You did this?”
Archie’s eyebrow lifted. “I’m reasonably certain.”
Gianni covered a laugh with his fist.
Atlas looked at Raze. “Do you need someone to explain the process?”
“I understand the process.”
“Evidence suggests otherwise,” Marcello quipped.
Raze ignored them and looked at Tone. “How far?”
“Sixteen weeks.”
“And you waited until now to tell us?”
“I found out four days ago.”
“You should have called.”
Tone stared at him. “Really, Raze? That’s the best you’ve got?”
“You should have told me.”
“I had other things on my mind!”
“Like what?”
“Waiting for the brother I had not seen in ten years to come back. For fuck’s sake, what is wrong with you?!”
Every face shifted toward me.
“I apologize for the inconvenience,” I scoffed.
Tone’s expression broke. A laugh escaped her. It trembled at the end.
Archie leaned toward her and pressed his mouth to her temple. His hand remained over hers while the others returned to their seats. I watched him carefully. I had been doing so since the day before, even though I was probably the last person qualified to offer an opinion on the man.
He was Russian. Tall, somewhat reserved, and built like a man who had spent his life learning how to end fights before they began. He positioned himself between Tone and any man who entered the room. Even seated, he remained aware of every movement around her.
Some part of me distrusted him for reasons that had nothing to do with Archie himself. Russians had killed Alessio. Ten years had not taught my body the difference between one Russian and another quickly enough. Logic told me Archie was Tone’s husband. The father of her children. A man my brothers and cousins trusted inside these walls. Grief cared little for logic.
Archie looked at me across the table. He had probably noticed my attention but didn’t challenge it. Instead, he reached for the plate of pastries and passed it to Adriana.
“Eat before my wife claims them all,” he joked.
The awkwardness eased one exchange at a time.
Food moved around the table. Bread, eggs, roasted tomatoes, cheese, fruit, and pastries spread across white serving dishes.
Adriana sat beside me, listening. She spoke when someone addressed her, but she no longer looked like she was ready to flee. Neve asked whether she preferred tea or coffee. Samira passed her the jam without being asked. Mikayla complained that Gianni had taught their son to swear in Italian.
“The boy heard it from Raze,” Gianni claimed.
Raze didn’t look up. “The boy has excellent diction.”
