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“Living with Angelo isn’t about being okay with what he does. It’s about being part of something very few people will ever understand. Becoming a Vitali means being hurt. But it means being made better.”
“Bullshit. Such fucking bullshit.” She took another long drink of whiskey. “You know, I thought they cared. Back when I woke up from being dead, and my boss told me that they’d buried me alive… I thought that going back to Bobby would be like going home. And it felt like home for a while. But then Angelo shot Willow and got bits of her in my hair.”
They were going around in circles to no real avail. Nothing was going to be fixed while drunk in a graveyard, and Mark was starting to hear rustling in the distance. He did not want to get caught here with Gemma, who was worse than useless right now.
“Come on. You’re coming home.”
“I’m not. I’m staying here, where I actually belong. I’m cutting out the middle-man, for when Angelo decides I deserve a bullet too.”
“You’re a spoiled little shit, Gemma,” Mark said calmly. “It’s obvious Angelo hasn’t had the time to take you in hand. But I’m home now, and that means your reign of terror with Bobby by your side is over.”
“It fucking isn’t, though, is it? This shit never ends, Mark. Not ever. Tilly thinks she has a happily ever after? She’s wrong. You think you’re home for good? Wrong. Angelo thinks he’s going to get away with killing my friend? So fucking wrong!”
Mark picked her up and slung her over his shoulder. She screamed at the top of her lungs. He ignored her. She kept screaming until she was sick. Then she passed out. Not the most attractive of interactions, but pretty much what Mark expected.
By the time Mark got Gemma home, she was still passed out from far too much whiskey and the aftermath of an exceptionally stressful day.
He’d had missed the weight of a woman in his arms. Women were sort of soft and warm and curvy in ways men were not, and they had a scent all of their own. He did not pretend to know this young woman, but her pain was obvious. The natural caregiver in him wanted to make it better, even as he nursed his own inner wounds.
“You found her!” Bobby was absolutely thrilled.
“I’m putting her to bed,” he said. “Bobby, you need to keep an eye on her in case she’s sick. Make sure she’s on her side.”
Bobby followed them both to her bedroom, where Mark laid her down on the floor because she needed to be cleaned up before she got anywhere near a bed.
“Have you got her? I need to go talk to Angelo.”
“Oh yeah? What about?”
Mark pushed Gemma’s hair out of her eyes. “I talked to her out there when I found her. She’s not happy.”
“Are any of us happy?” Bobby looked at Mark askance.
“I don’t know. A lot has happened in the last year. A lot has been gained. But maybe more has been lost.”
“You always talked like a book,” Bobby complained. “Just say what you mean.”
“I’m going to talk to Angelo. Get this girl cleaned up.”
“It is so good to have you back,” Angelo said when Mark found him again. He did not seem particularly perturbed to have lost Tilly or particularly interested that she was found. Gemma. Not Tilly. Fuck. Mark was going to have to stop mixing those names up.
“She’s not happy, Angelo.”
“I would imagine not,” Angelo replied.
“Did you shoot her best friend in front of her?”
“I did.”
Mark’s eyes narrowed. “Gemma wasn’t traumatized enough for your tastes? You couldn’t have killed the other woman elsewhere?”
“I wanted her to see what I do to people who try to hurt her and us. I wanted her to know she was protected.”
“I don’t think she took it that way. I think you’ve hurt someone who trusted you.”
“Gemma trusted me?” That seemed to surprise Angelo greatly.
“She came to you, Angelo. She escaped a lifetime of servitude because she felt safe with you and Bobby. And you go and scar her for the rest of her life.”
“We all bear scars, boy. I do not need your lectures. But I do need information. Where has she been, and what has she been doing?”
“She did steal the bike from a gang and some alcohol from a store. She ended up in the graveyard, very, very drunk. I’d say there’s going to be a serious hangover.”
“Oh, pain is coming,” Angelo agreed. “Hangover or not.”
Chapter 11
“Wake up.”
Gemma woke to Angelo standing over her. Her head was absolutely pounding. She sat up, knowing he was going to half-kill her. He would not be pleased about any of her shenanigans, most of which she could only half-remember.
“Coffee?” He extended his hand, which held a cup, which held coffee.
