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It was a struggle, with numb, filthy hands, to get the goods back in order, pants buttoned, belts fastened, but they managed, at length.
“Alla faccia di chi ci vuole male,” Bruno said quietly.
“Amen,” Kev agreed.
Sean made an irritated sound. “The secret language bullshit makes us tetchy. Translation?”
“In the face of our enemies,” Kev translated.
Davy nodded. “Yeah.”
“Ditto, that,” Connor said.
“Can we get the fuck out of here now?” was Sean’s poetic offering.
Bruno gathered up shovels, hoisted them up onto his shoulder, while the other men loaded themselves up with the rest of the gear, and took the lead as they headed out over the long, treacherous rockfall.
“Thanks for the help, by the way,” he called back. “Real generous of you all, to exert yourself for this coddled, ungrateful punk.”
Davy snorted with amusement, behind him. “Oh, for fuck’s sake. You still got your panties in a wad about that?”
“Italians are good at holding grudges,” Kev called, from further back. “Something in their genes. They get off on it.”
“To be fair, you’re a little long in the tooth to be a punk.” It was Sean, right behind him as they stumbled and slid across the rockfall.
“I’m gratified that you noticed that,” Bruno said.
“Don’t be,” Sean said. “You know what an aging punk is?”
Bruno tried not to laugh. “What, Sean? What is an aging punk?”
“An asshole,” Sean informed him cheerfully.
Bruno considered different responses to that jibe, but he was so damn tired, he just went for the one that used the least amount of breath. “Fuck you, man.”
Sean made wet smooching sounds. “Aww. I love you too, honey.”
Bruno stumbled, slipped. Dropped the damn shovels every which way, and slid down the slope for about three meters, arms flailing.
But when he’d crawled back from the brink of death, he found that he was actually grinning.
* * *
“Not a chance in hell.Not a snowman’s chance.” Val made a furious gesture towards the group of women by the garage door.
“Snowball.” Tam tapped his shoulder from behind, with a long, electric blue fingernail. “The correct term is, ‘snowball’s chance in hell,’ my love. Get them straight, or don’t use idioms at all, please, OK?”
“Snowman, snowball, iceberg, I do not give a shit.” Val folded his arms across his chest, and radiating unquestionable authority. A skill all the men around this place tended to be scarily good at, Lily had noticed. Bruno being no exception.
“Val, I do not want to miss this exam,” Sveti explained. “I have studied for four months for this test, and tomorrow morning is the only testing date. If I do well, I will pass out of freshman year, and save, oh, forty thousand dollars that I do not have? Maybe more?”
“I will give you the forty thousand dollars!” Val snarled.
Sveti shook her head. “You are sweet, but you and Tam already give me enough,” she said. “I am too much in your debt. Truly, I do not think bad guys will be interested in me and my exam.”
“And since she has to go anyway, I might as well ride along, since I need to get back to my bookstore,” Liv said briskly. “My manager is short-staffed, and coming down with the flu. So Edie’s coming to help, and Margo and Erin are coming over with the kids tonight, so we can—”
“You arestupid, to go out now!” Val glared towards the three women gathered at the entrance. Miles slouched in the garage doorway behind them, wearing his habitual long-suffering expression. Baby Eamon was playing enthusiastically with one of Miles’s ears, cooing.
