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My unease intensified.
They know. Matteo must have told Joseph’s father already, and he must be furious.
I took a deep breath. It’ll be fine, I told myself. We’ll explain, and it’ll be fine.
I remembered how happy Mr. Russo had been to meet me, the genuine joy in his eyes when he’d greeted Joseph. He loved his son. He wouldn’t allow anyone to hurt Joseph.
Something hard jammed into my ribs, and I cried out at the shock of pain. The sound was immediately smothered when a hand clamped over my mouth.
Fear slammed through my system. I didn’t have to see it to identify the hard object pressed against the side of my chest: a gun.
Joseph turned, but it was too late. My captor jerked me back, out of his reach.
Joseph froze, his face going pale as his eyes focused on the gun at my side.
“Let her go, Ricky,” he demanded. “She has nothing to do with this.”
“That’s not what I heard.” I recognized the voice: the man who had threatened me in the bathroom when Joseph and Marco had taken me out to dinner. “I heard she was part of your little fuck fest.” I heard him inhale near my hair, breathing in my scent. “She smells so sweet to be such a dirty bitch.”
Joseph snarled and took a step forward. I winced when Ricky dug the gun deeper into my side.
Joseph froze again, his body vibrating with suppressed violence.
“Go on in,” Ricky told him. “Your old man is waiting for you.”
“You don’t work for my father,” Joseph said. “You work for Costa. Why are you here?”
The pressure of the gun eased slightly just before it slammed back into my ribs. My pained cry caught against his hand, and Joseph’s face twisted with rage.
“Go in,” Ricky repeated, his tone silky with vindictive malice. “We’ll be right behind you.”
Joseph reached behind him for the doorknob, but he didn’t turn away from me. He kept his eyes trained on the gun at my side.
He was so busy watching me that he didn’t see the man waiting on the other side of the door. He didn’t see the flash of steel just before the knife slammed into his lower back. His eyes flew wide, his mouth falling open. For a second, he didn’t make a sound.
Then, the man wrenched the knife free, and Joseph fell to his knees with a harsh shout.
I screamed and twisted against Ricky’s hold, struggling to get to the man I loved. I managed to get my mouth free from beneath his hand, and I sank my teeth into his fingers. He released me with a curse, but I didn’t get a step away from him before the gun slammed into the side of my head.
Pain cracked through my skull, and I heard Joseph say my name.
The world flickered around me, and I blinked hard, willing everything to stop spinning.
I realized I was on the floor, my cheek pressed against cool tiles. Something warm and wet trickled through my hair, but I couldn’t think about that.
All I could focus on was Joseph’s pale face, his gorgeous features drawn tight with pain and panic. He struggled to his feet, but Ricky pushed him back down with a hard shove to his shoulder and trained his gun on the back of Joseph’s head.
Gritting my teeth against the pounding pain in my skull, I tried to stand, to go to Joseph.
I didn’t make it to my knees before a man’s hand tangled in my hair, jerking me up to my feet.
“Let the girl go, Gabriel,” Mr. Russo demanded.
I struggled to get my bearings. Joseph’s father sat in his chair at the head of the table, but a man stood behind him, with a gun pressed against the side of his skull.
“I don’t think so,” the man holding me—Gabriel—said. “I was going to finally kill you, Dominic. When everyone finds out your son’s a fag, no one would bat an eye at eradicating your family. You’re obviously too weak to take Lombardi’s place. But I don’t think I’ll have to kill you, after all. Are you going to cry, Dominic?”
Mr. Russo’s eyes were shining as he stared at Joseph. No matter his feelings about Joseph allegedly being gay, Mr. Russo loved his son.
