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“Miss,” some guy at the other side of the table whisper-yells at me, “can you keep it down? I’m studying.”
I shoot him an apologetic wince, my cheeks burning with embarrassment, before hastily typing a response to my stepfather. My fingers fumble over the keys as I write a message and then delete it, my mind racing with excuses and explanations. The bright glow of my phone screen illuminates my face, casting a shadow across my features as I desperately try to salvage our conversation.
Where are you at? Are you okay?
Niccolo
biker bar hurry
He’s down the street? And he didn’t even drop by to say hello?
“Stop,” I mumble under my breath as I begin to pack up my things. Just because we had sex and he made some promises that he hasn’t followed through with doesn’t mean I’m going to fall head over heels for the guy. He’s my stepfather, and soon, he’ll be nobody to me. Once I convince Giovanni to let me finish college before I get married and I run away to Argentina after graduation, I won’t even think about Niccolo anymore.
But right now, he needs me to pick him up. And right now, it’s okay that I’m thinking about Nic. Right now, there’s nothing wrong with wanting to be with him.
I tug my thick, woolen jacket snugly around my body and sling my heavy backpack over one shoulder, bracing myself for the biting winter weather. I didn’t get anything done, but I haven’t spoken to Niccolo in almost a week. Maybe it’s for the best that I pick him up, get him sober, and make sure he’s alright. Iremember what it was like when my father walked out on our family and the emptiness that filled me when my mother passed. If Niccolo feels even half as bad as that, I need to be there for him.
“I can be his shoulder to cry on,” I tell myself. “He’ll appreciate that.”
I’m patting myself on the back for being a good friend and stepdaughter right up until the moment I make it to the bar district and walk into Leather & Lager. I’ve stepped out of my calm and quiet life right into the middle of an action movie. The Terlizzi brothers are fist-fighting with a bunch of dudes in leather, and I don’t think they’re winning.
What the hell did Niccolo get himself into, and why did he call me to get him out of it?
Chapter 31
Christine
Ialmost catch a fist trying to break up the fight. It’s enough to send me reeling backward, jaw-dropping in shock. “Un-fucking-believable,” I mutter to myself, the words escaping through clenched teeth.
My gaze fixes on a security guard standing by the door. With his arms crossed over his chest, he watches the fight unfold with the detached enthusiasm of a spectator at a prime-time show. My frustration boils over, and I confront him. “Are you going to do anything about this?”
Rolling his eyes, the security guard inserts two fingers into his mouth and lets out a harsh whistle, cutting through the chaotic commotion. The fight momentarily freezes, as if someone hit the pause button on a movie. “Hey. Knock it the fuck off.”
One of the leather-clad bikers scowls in disappointment. “Bryan, he started it,” the man complains while pointing at Niccolo, who stands at the center of the turmoil.
“Well, this little lady wants it to stop,” Bryan shrugs, his indifference palpable. “Do whatever. I don’t care.”
“No!” I yell over the cheer the bikers let out. I force myself through the mess, and men back up, throwing their hands into the air so they can’t be accused of touching me. “Nic,” I plead, “let’s go.”
Niccolo looks worse for wear. Blood drips from his nose, a gash above his eyebrow oozes crimson, and a bruise darkens his right eye. But Niccolo is undeterred. “Lemme at’em, Chrissy. I can take any of these fuckers.”
The temperature in the room rises, the air crackling with newly formed tension. Fists tighten, the crowd inches closer, and restless voices intensify. “Let’s go, baby,” I coo, desperately trying to pull Niccolo away from his opponent.
Thank God one of the Terlizzi brothers has common sense. There’s a small scuffle a few feet away, and I look over to see Dante shoving someone off him. He adjusts his shirt before walking over and looping an arm around Niccolo’s waist. “C’mon,bambina, we can take him to my place,” he grunts at me.
I don’t want to argue, not when the tension in the room threatens to consume us before we get through the door.
Salvatore and Luciano extract themselves from their own fights and follow in our footsteps.
“Is Lucia gone?” Luciano asks when we’re blasted with a blast of frigid winter air.
Luciano and Lucia are the twins of the Terlizzi family, the first in a century. Niccolo once told me they were inseparable as children, but they’ve since grown apart.
“Yeah,” Dante grunts as he pushes Niccolo forward, mirroring my lead. “She left an hour ago. Said she had papers to grade or something. On a fucking Saturday night. Stand the fuck up,” he changes the subject by yelling at Niccolo. “Christ, who let you have that fourth shot?”
“Four shots?” My cheeks drain of color. “What the hell, Dante?”
We reach my car, and Dante practically tosses his brother into the backseat. Niccolo lands with a groan. “He’s a big boy, Christine. He can make his own choices.”
