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“Too fucking much,” he said, dragging his gaze away from me.
“You’re not going to tell me?” I reached for the door handle. “Too bad. Have a good night, Leo.”
“Wait!” he shouted, taking a large step towards me. “I’ll tell you. Just not here—it’s too public. Can we go to your place?”
I sighed and rubbed my forehead, buying some time for my answer. It didn’t take me long to open my mouth again. This was Leo. He had had the decency to reveal how Felix had wound up in hospital. Had it been one of his friends, my response would have been a big, fat no.
“All right,” I agreed with a nod. “This had better be good, though.”
“Trust me.”
I waited for him to turn away and entered my car, wondering just how in the world he’d gotten those scratches. The bar fight he mentioned wouldn’t have surprised me. In fact, any kind of fight wouldn’t have shocked me. Just like his buddies, Leo had a knack for getting in trouble. I just didn’t know what sort of trouble he had been in.
Whatever it was, it had to have been big.
He was an athletic guy. More than six feet tall and with a great build, one would think twice about starting a fight with him.
Or not think at all. There were plenty of dumb morons out there, ready to use their fists to settle a dispute.
Unwilling to believe scenario number two, I arrived at my apartment building a few minutes later. Just because he had run into somebody stupid, didn’t mean that Leonardo had to engage him in a fistfight.
I walked into my apartment, with the same amount of curiosity in my head. He clicked the door shut, and his gaze settled on mine.
“A blast in a Brooklyn bar,” he began, his sullen eyes and his words sparking worry within me. “Did you read about it?”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “But witnesses said there was gunfire before; something about three gunmen.”
“Right,” he said, biting his bottom lip. “We still don’t know shit about who blew that place up, but we know who those sons of bitches were after. Cesare, Matteo, and me.”
“What did you just say?” I squinted up at him, fear creeping into my tone.
“You heard me, Piper,” he went on, his tone steady. “The minute they walked in there, they set their sights on our table. It’s crazy, but that blast saved our asses. They were about ten feet from our spot, and they had rifles. They were showering us with bullets. Our guns just couldn’t protect us.”
I pressed my fingers to my forehead and breathed in and out, at a clear loss for words. I had been expecting him to narrate a normal fistfight.
To hear that someone had insulted him, and his ego couldn’t take it.
Not a shootout.
Not a life-and-death situation.
“Why…?” I whispered out, my gaze still on the space between his shoes and mine.
“Money.”
His answer was blunt. He wasn’t going to beat around the bush, unlike Matteo.
“It’s always about cash, Piper. We stole theirs and they got pissed.”
“You lost me,” I confessed, taking my hand off of my face. “You mentioned a gunfight. Why would the same people try and blow up the very bar they were in?”
“They didn’t. No way,” he said, shaking his head sideways. “If you ask me, someone else tried to whack the guys that had come to take care of us, but that’s just a theory. Anyway...” He paused, his stare intensifying further. “I’ve got another theory, and I’m pretty sure you’re going to hate my guts for saying this, but I’ll do it anyway. Those people are out to get Cesare, Matteo, and me, and everybody who’s been helping us.”
“Oh, god,” I whispered, putting my hands together over my mouth. “Me, too?”
“Yeah,” he spoke in a firm tone. “I told you you wouldn’t like this.”
“Why?!” I squeaked, tears rising up in my eyes. “I mean, I had nothing to do with that money you stole.”
