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"She was hurt—"
"A scratch on her forehead," Adrian says in a mild voice.
"They shot at her," I insist.
"Which begs the question, why did she come to Nonna’s house in the first place," Luca drawls.
I turn on him. "What are you trying to say?"
"Me?" He raises his hands. "Nothing."
"Say what’s on your fucking mind, Luc-ass," I call him by the name he hates and am rewarded when his features harden.
"You want me to say it aloud, fine. If your girlfriend hadn’t come knocking on Nonna’s door, the gunman wouldn’t have fired at us, and Nonna wouldn’t be in there fighting for her life."
In my peripheral vision, I notice her glance our way. Her color fades, and she slides the phone into the pocket of her jeans and walks over to us.
Luca glances at her, then falls silent.
The four of us glance at each other, but no one says anything.
"You’re right," she says in a low voice, "it’s my fault the bullet hit Nonna."
"Don’t blame yourself," I murmur, "it's not your fault. It's no one's fault this happened."
"Why didn’t you go to Theresa’s house? Or Seb’s? Or Michael’s? How did you know that we were all at Nonna’s place?" Luca growls.
"Luca," I growl, "shut the fuck up."
"Why?" He folds his arms across his chest. "It’s a simple enough question. Why can’t she answer it?"
I glance between Massimo and Adrian’s faces, and their expressions indicate they agree with him.
"The fuck you guys?" I widen my stance. "This is not an inquisition."
"Luca’s only voicing what all of us are thinking," Massimo points out. "Although, I'll admit, our brother lacks the finesse with which to word his questions."
"It’s true," Adrian tilts his head, "and you know it. The faster she tells us why she came to us, the sooner we can clear all of this up."
"Cazzo." I ball my fingers into fists. "They shot at her. She was in as much danger as the rest of us. You saw that, so why are you—"
"It’s fine." Her touch on my arm stops me. A current sizzles from the point of contact and up my arm, aiming straight for my dick, apparently, for the blood drains to my groin.Gesù Cristo,why is it that just her touch is enough to make me want to haul her to me and kiss her lips, then throw her down and bury myself inside her, when my grandmother is fighting for her life across the hallway? I pull my arm from her grip.
Her face pales further, hurt flashes in her eyes, and she glances toward my brothers.
"Theresa had mentioned to me where she was going to be, and that all of you were gathering at your Nonna's home today. I was on my way to the shop—"
"The shop?" Massimo frowns.
"The florist’s shop that I run with Theresa—when I noticed a car following me. He sped up when I increased my pace, slowed down when I did. I, uh, knew that Theresa had married into theCosa Nostra—"
"So, you concluded that one of our enemies was after you?" I frown.
"Theresa and I do not just work together; we are also good friends. We hang out a lot, go out together. I figured people have seen us together, and something like this has never happened before. I didn't think it was a coincidence I was followed so soon after her being involved with Axel. I… I panicked." She squeezes her hands together. "I didn’t know where to go. And then when they tried to run me off the road—"
"He tried to run you off the road?" I explode. "Stocazzo!"I drag my fingers through my hair.
"N… nothing happened." She turns her gaze on me, and this time, there is no hint of emotion in her blue eyes. Interesting. She’s more in control of her feelings than she lets on.
