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“Do you plan on telling him?”
He finishes his scotch in one mouthful, and places the glass on the table. Maybe his issue is he drinks too damn much.
“Yeah. I will. Eventually, I guess. Maybe when this is all over. I’m not opposed to helping you both figure this shit out, but if the family thing is a definite, I’m a no-go.”
“You’ll have to tell him for the sake of honesty. We can’t have secrets between us when we have people out to end us.”
“Okay. I’ll tell him.”
“Today.”
“Soon.”
“Marco—”
“Don’t lecture me, Vincenzo. I said I’ll tell him. So, I’ll tell him.”
I sigh, but let it go. His need to confide in me and not tell our brother makes it seem like maybe he cares more than he’s letting on. So fine. I’ll let it go for now, but not forever. He needs to tell Elio so we can all be on the same page. If we’re going to survive what’s to come, we need to be open with each other.
Marco looks around. “Your girl here?”
“Yes,” I say carefully, and he flashes me a grin.
“Can I meet her?”
“You’ve already met her,” I argue.
“Yeah, when she was like ten. So, like five years ago?”
“You’re disgusting,” I tell him, pulling my cell from my pocket.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Jordan
My cell phone rings, and I wonder if it’s my father. I haven’t talked to him since Monday—the first and only time. I haven’t called him, but he hasn’t called me either. And I think that tells me a lot. So much more than any of his words could.
I dry my hands on the towel beside the tub before grabbing the phone. When I grew bored with playing matching games about an hour ago, I figured a bath would do me good. I’ve taken so many baths, spend so much time in the hot tub, since being here, I’m surprised I haven’t growl scales yet.
When I see it’s Enzo calling, my stomach flutters, and I can’t tell if it’s from nerves or excitement.
I’ve found myself indifferent. Not to him, but to life in general. Something about this revelation that my father is an asshole who never loved me has me messed up. To where I don’t care about anything. The anger I felt toward Enzo? It’s gone. Yet, my heart is racing as I answer the call.
“Hello?”
“Could you come down to the study on the first floor?”
I scrunch my nose up at his request. Why does he want me in there? I’ve never seen him in that room before. I sometimes spend time in there, reading and relaxing, when I need a break from the hot tub. The smell of the books and cedar wood makes me feel like I’m not locked away like a prisoner.
“I’m in the bath.”
“I’d really appreciate it if you could come down.”
He sounds like he means that. There’s a sincerity in his voice, and instead of making me happy, it makes me nervous.
“Is everything okay?”
“Just make sure you’re dressed, please.”
