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I look away, then back again. She’s not wrong. I struggle with the pain we inflict every day, and if I have a choice in the matter, I always stay back away from the violence as far as I can. It’s not that I don’t think some people deserve it, it’s that I don’t think I have the right to make that choice. “It’s complicated,” I say, standing from the bench. “My life was indebted the day I was born. I live it with pride, but not for the passion, but because I have no choice.”
“Your dad’s side?”
“My mother’s family was old Italian mob, which was absorbed by the Sicilian mob fifty years ago. We live by their code of ethics, and I, as her only son, abide to it,” I say with a smile, “and also never miss a Star Wars movie.”
She laughs and looks away before our gaze meets again, this time with more heat. “I take it you’re for the Empire then… not the Rebellion?”
“Why,because I’m organized crime?”
She smirks and tangles a finger into her hair. “Kinda, yeah.”
What is it about all this Star Wars talk that’s getting me off? My lips are aching to lean into hers, my hands desperate to run over the top of her skin and hold her close. I resist the urge out of better judgment.
“So you think I’m a stormtrooper?” I laugh. “I guess I always saw myself as Skywalker. I’m an idealist and I guess that gets me into trouble sometimes.”
“Like now?” She laughs and arches her back away from the wall before sighing the sweetest sigh I’ve ever heard.
“Something like that.” My stomach turns with anxiety as I stare back at her pretty face. “Who do you see yourself as?”
I expect her to say Leia. It seems that would be the most popular answer.
“Qui-Gon Jinn.”
I lower my voice. “So you’re a Jedi Master?”
A laugh bubbles up from her throat and makes another beautiful sound. “Yes, something like that, or I just have a thing for Liam Neeson.”
This time, I can’t hold back. Her smile, the way her eyes shine in the dimly lit space, the way her chest rises and falls with joy, and the exhilaration of talking to someone who enjoys the same things as I do. It’s too much.
With our gaze locked, her laughter calms and my fingers intertwine with hers in raw emotion that I’ve never felt. It’s delicate, warm, and every breath this close to her smells like wildflowers. For the first time since I’ve known myself, I’m destabilized, as though she really does have the force, and she’s using it against me. If that’s the case, I never want her to stop. In fact, I need her to keep going. I need her to ruin every bit of sense I’ve ever had until all that’s on my mind is her.
A loud clank hits the hatch, followed by a rap that alerts me that Saint is waiting to be let in.
Lucy’s eyes widen and she pulls away from my grip. “What’s that?”
I suck in a deep breath as I stare back at her. “Saint.”
“We’ll talk to him,” she says. “It’ll be okay.” She says the words like she believes them, like she’s known the man for half a century, but I know the truth. Saint is unforgiving, and I’ve made a terrible mistake.
Chapter Nine
Lucy
The second I climb up out of the shelter, I’m attacked. “Lucy?” Everleigh runs up to me, wrapping her arms around me tight. She looks happy, happier than she’s looked in ages. I guess that’s what loving a mobster got her. Maybe it could do the same for me. I laugh to myself for a second at the idea of love. It doesn’t matter what I feel for these guys, it’s all ending soon anyhow.
“They said you’re sick.” Everleigh’s voice drops an octave, and she looks at me straight in the eye. “Are you sick? What’s going on?”
I glance up at Saint and Dante who are both standing like straight arrows, their hands crossed in front of their chest like they’re trying to contain their anger toward Luca. I’m also supposing that Saint has told Dante everything about the cancer. I see it in the way Dante is looking at me. There’s a sympathy in his eyes that’s gross, and I wish he’d stop.
I suck in a deep breath and let it out slowly, trying to gather myself back to the respectable woman I am. That’s a laughable thought. I look toward Everleigh. “I’ll tell you everything in a minute, promise, but I have to talk to Saint first.”
She nods and I take a step toward Saint, hoping to soften him enough that he backs down a little, but he’s a brick wall and his concern with me approaching couldn’t be less.
“Why did you call Viktor?” Saint’s voice is dark and tense.
Luca clears his throat and stands straighter, his eyes locked on Saint’s as though they’re two wild animals facing off in the woods over territory.
“I asked him to call,” I say. “It was when we were still on the ship. Luca came in to check on me and I begged him to call Viktor. I told him that I’d—”
