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One of them punched Brett in the stomach. He doubled over with an oof.
Kathryn cringed but held still, ever aware of the blade still scraping against her neck.
“Let her go, man,” Brett huffed. “Please.”
“I’m not going anywhere without you,” Kathryn said through clenched teeth.
“It’s not worth it, Kath.” His voice was raspy, breathless.
“I’m not leaving you!” The exclamation stretched her vocal cords and the blade pressed farther into her skin.
“You harm a hair on her head and I’ll see all of you dead,” Brett seethed.
Kathryn’s heart pounded, her stomach churned. Yet a little bit of joy surged through her at Brett’s protection.
“You give your old man our message, Falcone.”
“Fine. I’ll give it to him. But I swear to God you’ve got the wrong man.”
“Give him this.” The thug to Brett’s right clocked him in the jaw. Not a pop, like she’d heard in movies. The punch hit Brett’s face with a dull thud.
The thud rang in Kathryn’s head.
“Next time, we hurt the girl,” he said.
The two let Brett go and he fell into a heap. The other pressed the blade into Kathryn’s skin once more, then removed it and fled. Kathryn rushed to Brett and knelt beside him.
“My God. Are you all right?”
“I’ll live,” he said breathlessly.
“Can you get up? Come on, I’ll help you.”
“I’m fine. This isn’t the first time those bozos have mistaken me for the wrong Falcone.”
“What can you expect from morons?” Kathryn helped him stand. “Come on. We’ll go to my house and get you cleaned up. My parents are o
ut for the day and won’t be home until after ten.”
“You don’t have to, Kath.” Then he turned, his eyes wide. “Are you okay?” He reached toward her, trailed one finger along the burning flesh of her neck. “If they hurt you, so help me, I’ll—”
“Do what? Take down three giants yourself? I don’t think so. I’m fine. They didn’t hurt me. You’re hurt. And I’m going to take care of you. Come on.”
Chapter Eight
“Did you ever regret not having a son?” Kathryn asked Brett as she tore another piece of Italian bread from the loaf.
“Only a little,” he said. “I mean, sure, part of me always wanted a chip off the old block.” He smiled. “But I love my girls. They’re everything to me.”
Yet his voice held a whisper of regret.
“But still…” she urged.
“Yeah, I would have liked to have a son.”
You have a son. His name is Michael and he wants to meet us. Her heart thumped. How could she tell him without him hating her for keeping it from him?
“How about you? Did you want a boy?”
