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“Bringing up the Matvei stuff. That’s your reason for being here, remember, Miss Protector?”
I try to laugh with her. She’s trying so hard, pushing through all the pain of the last few days, the reveal about her mob life, the agony at Matvei, and what almost happened to her.
Distantly, I wonder if I should be more concerned that I’m going to have dinner with a killer. Then I think of Mom’s illness eating her away and all the times I wished I could killthat. I think of the murderous rage that filled me. That scared me most, my certainty. If it had been a person doing that to Mom, I wouldn’t have hesitated. I would’ve done my best, so I can’t be mad or judgmental.
Mostly, I’m wondering where the heck Leo is. I wonder if he noticed my outfit, if he cares, and if he regrets what he said. Does that make me a bad person?
“I need to use the bathroom,” Rosa says. “Do you mind?”
Her shame at the kidnapping is so severe she’s asking my permission to pee. I can’t handle this guilt. It’s tight and clawing at the base of my throat like a killer’s grip.
“Of course not.”
She leaves. A minute later, Dario returns, whiskey in hand, a tray held casually in the other with our sodas. He leans over to place the tray on the table, offering a shaky smile.
“I’m not much of a waiter.”
He retreats to his place at the wall. It’s like his instinct to stand there, scanning the wall, watching the exits. Every time he looks at me, his expression tightens.
“Where’s Leo?” I ask.
More tightening, more giving himself away.
“He’s talking to the chef.”
“Long conversation.”
Dario winces, then covers it with a smirk. He’s got shades of Leo in him but with more boyishness. He’s not as mature as my man, more like exactly what he is. He must be the second-in-command, the loyal lion at the alpha’s side.
“Dario,” I say.
Nerves try to stop me, but Ihaveto know. It’s not because I don’t have to ask those dream questions if Dario confirms it. It’s not because there are shades of paranoia in me still. It’s because I have to ensure he doesn’t tell his niece. Or is it a bit of both?
“Yes?”
“Do you… know something?”
Dario glances at the door, then at me. He nods quickly.
“Ah.”
“No judgment,” he says quietly. “In fact, I’m happy for you.”
“You are?”
“Or I would be if it wasn’t for Rosa.”
I can’t reply. Rosa walks into the room, adjusting her hair. She’s doing that a lot lately, as if constantly on the edge. She’d fall over if I pushed her, shoved her with the truth.
“Why are my ears burning?”
Dario sighs. “I’m notalwaystalking about you, dear niece.”
“Where’s Dad?” Rosa asks, sitting and picking up her glass of soda.
“Talking with the chef.”
“Long conversation.”
