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Lucca dismissed his attention from me and turned toward Ilias. The shift was noticeable and quick. A small moment of care. How he saw Ilias as any other human would see their youngest sibling. It was strange to see Lucca any other way than a mafioso. Not even that, a boss.
I guess everyone has their weaknesses.
But how much did he really care for Ilias?
“I must let you know, within an hour, my men will be back inside the house like usual. Rumors will begin,” Lucca announced. “Don’t cause any more trouble.”
Ilias moved over to the table and filled two plates with everything that could possibly fit on them. There was no way I could eat it all, but I remained quiet, taking a seat by the chair closest to me, and the furthest to Lucca. It wasn’t hard with the size of the table, and as I waited for Ilias to sit next to me, I busied myself by counting the chairs.
There were twenty-two, and Lucca sat at the head of the table.
“Arlo?” Ilias asked.
“Hasn’t been back yet.” Lucca’s lips twisted. “Must have been a tough clean.” His eyes shifted to me.
There it was again, guilt. Remorse. The reminder of my sin.
Ilias ignored his comment. “There’s a few things I need to pick up for Davina.”
“No one is leaving the compound.”
“Lucca.”
They stared at each other.
“It’s the weekend. The streets will be crowded.”
“Nothing will happen,” Ilias assured him.
Lucca’s smirk threw me off more than his emotionless face.
Maybe we should stay.
“Ili—” I began, but Lucca cut me off.
“Fine. Viktor will accompany you, and I know where you can go.”
Ilias’s body tensed. “You don’t trust me.”
“I don’t trust New York.” Lucca stood, and with a nod, he left the room, leaving us in silence.
Looking down at my plate, my stomach turned. I couldn’t force myself to take a bite. I was drained, not only physically, but mentally. And when I heard the distant whistles of Ugo in my head, I closed my eyes only to see Nightmare’s wicked smile, Tattoo’s cruelty, and Ugo’s slumped and lifeless body.
The car ride was silent. And even with Ilias sitting in the back of Viktor’s car with me, hand resting on my thigh, I couldn’t dismiss Lucca’s smirk.
Something wasn’t right, and the pit of my stomach only confirmed it.
“Ilias,” I whispered.
His eyes slid over to me, but I also felt Viktor’s gaze shifting toward the rear-view mirror.
Right now was not the time to voice my concern, I would hate to have Viktor see me with the same hatred as Arlo and Lucca. Instead, I asked something that has been concerning me. My purse.
It wasn’t money or my phone that I wanted from it.
It was Martin’s note that I’d kept crumbled with me. It was the bullet casing. It was the reminders.
They’d kept me sane for this long and now, more than ever, I needed them as the paranoia and anxiety drowned me in fear of what was to come.
