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So, she adopted the animal when she was exiled to California.
She’s still speaking. “Friend. Companion. Protector. A sounding board, even though he can’t talk back.” Her voice breaks, and when she continues, it’s thin with the tears she refuses to shed. “He’s the brother I lost. The family I chose.”
I close my eyes, then open them. “We’ll save him, wild girl. I promise.”
Fucking idiot.As if you can make a promise like that. I did, though. And if I have to stand over that doctor with a gun to his head, I’ll make sure it happens.
Hourslater,Bacciolives.
He took a bullet to his flank, and the vet assured us that Mals have incredible survivability odds, even if we hadn’t been able to get him into the clinic as quickly as we did.
“I knew a guy—a combat veteran—who was a dog handler over in Afghanistan. His Mal took not one, not two, but three fucking bullets for his sorry ass. Jumped right in front of him! And she’s living her best life out on his farm, happy as can be. When he retired, she got to retire with him.”
Carina cries at that, dissolving into tears. I pull her into my arms and thank the vet quietly before swinging her up against me and carrying her out. Baccio will be spending the next few days in the vet’s kennel, receiving the best surgical aftercare money can buy.
Which leaves me to take care of Carina.
I don’t take care of women, but that’s exactly what I find myself doing from the moment we step out of the clinic. I tuck her against my side in the car and hold her as we make the drive back to her apartment, stroking her hair as silent tears stream down her face.
I don’t think I’ve ever seen Carina cry—not since Francis died, at any rate.
I lift my eyes heavenward, grateful that the dog made it. I’d be dealing with a very different Carina if he hadn’t, and I honestly don’t think I’m equipped for it.
“Shh,” I murmur, pressing a kiss against her temple. “He’s all right,pretty girl.”
“I n-need a cigarette,” she mutters into my shirt.
“No fucking cigarettes anymore. They’re bad for you.”
She lifts her head, and I’m relieved to see the tears drying on her cheeks. “You’re not my fucking father, Luca.”
“No, I’m a hell of a lot more than that.”
“Yeah? What’s that? Because last time I checked, you belonged to another woman, and I didn’t belong to you.” She breaks free of my grasp and starts to slide to the opposite side of the bench seat.
Fuck that.I grab her and haul her back.
I change the subject. “Have you done anything that would make the II Veleno gang target you?” There’s no good answer for it. I don’t even know why the hell I’m here—only that I can’t stay away from her any more than I can stop breathing.
Carina wipes her cheeks with the back of a shaking hand. “What on earth would I have done? I just got back to town.”
“That’s not what I asked you, Carina.” Lowering my hand, I massage her thigh gently through the thick coat. We’re both covered in the dog’s blood and in desperate need of a shower, but… I peel the coat back to see bare thigh. “What the hell are you wearing? You went out naked under this?”
She pulls the coat back around her. “Focus. The only person I’ve seen is you. I have no idea why I’ve been targeted.”
With difficulty, I pull my attention back to the matter at hand. I believe her.
We were surrounded by people at the policemen’s charity and the Bastoni e Pietre, and we weren’t exactly subtle. What if someone else saw us? Saw me lead her into the Concorde? Saw us speaking in the restaurant? I brood as my mind spins until we reach her apartment and ride the elevator up.
The agent had said Geno was angry and that truces were being formed between the gangs to strengthen their positions. What if Geno had asked a member of II Veleno to make the hit? Another thought hits me. If the gangs are aware of Carina and me, so are our people. That little whisper wouldn’t escape being transmitted to the most powerful people’s ears.
“So, you have no idea?” I ask again. But it’s clear she doesn’t know. We walk inside, and I take in the spacious apartment, something I had no time for earlier. One wall is entirely red brick from floor to ceiling; it should make the space feel cold, but it creates quite the opposite atmosphere.
I like the place. I always have. It suits Carina perfectly. And yet…
“The Scarpetta mansion is secure and heavily guarded. It’s stupid for you to be holed away in a little apartment when protection is available there. You have no protection here. Look how easily someone got in.” I turn to find Carina watching me again.
She touches the stem of the abandoned wineglass from earlier before her fingers dance along the medallion around her neck. “I’m not going to my family’s estate. This is my home.”
