by Bethany-Kris
“Lucia.”
Her sharp intake of breath felt like a knife cutting him right to the bone. “What’s wrong?”
Renzo couldn’t make his mouth work—not properly, anyway. Not to tell her they were in danger, or what he had found at his uncle’s home. Not to explain the note that was still crumpled tightly in his fist even though it felt like it was giving him a million and one little papercuts just by holding onto it.
No, he couldn’t seem to tell her any of that.
Instead, he said, “Don’t fucking move, Lucia. Do not move.”
FIFTEEN
“What are you doing?”
Lucia straightened to her full height at the sound of Renzo’s sharp voice behind her. She spun around to find him standing in the doorway of the bathroom. The wild look in his eye was only aided by the fact his hair was a mess. Like he’d been running his fingers through it. Even his jacket was skewed, and undone.
He just looked … out of it.
His call earlier had only served to freak her out, especially when he wouldn’t explain anything to her. But when he hung up, there was nothing Lucia could do except wait for him to get home and get on with her evening. Diego still had a routine that needed to be followed even if Renzo was going through some kind of shit.
Simple as that.
“Getting Diego in the bath,” Lucia said. “Like I do every night to get him ready for bed. What is wrong with you?”
Bending over, she turned the taps off. There was more than enough water in the tub. Diego, who was probably still playing on the small veranda with his tiny trucks and cars, didn’t need much to get clean. Never mind to make a mess. He could do that with a goddamn inch of water, like all kids.
“He’s not having a bath,” Renzo said, turning to leave the bathroom. “Let’s go.”
Lucia didn’t move. “What?”
“We don’t have time, Lucia. We have to go.”
No, she didn’t think so.
“I’m not going anywhere, Ren. What is wrong?”
When he didn’t answer her, she followed the path he had taken out of the bathroom. A quick peek at the sliding doors leading out to the small veranda told her Diego was still safe and playing happily. The veranda’s railing was too high for him to climb over, and the railings were close enough together that he couldn’t slide through them, either. They didn’t put any chairs out there just to make sure he wouldn’t try to climb up on one and fall over the railing, too.
With the sliding doors closed, he also couldn’t hear their conversation.
Renzo headed for the short hallway that led into the two bedrooms. Lucia didn’t even think about it, she followed him without question. Standing in the doorway, she watched as he yanked the dresser in their bedroom open without care. Some of the clothes they’d unpacked and put into the drawers spilled onto the floor, but he didn’t seem to care.
His mind was on something else.
Lucia felt like hers was just starting to catch up to speed.
“What are you doing?” she demanded.
Renzo didn’t even turn to look at her as he replied, “What the fuck does it look like?”
She didn’t want to answer.
She didn’t want to know.
They’d decided, hadn’t they? They said they weren’t doing this anymore. They couldn’t—it wasn’t good for Diego. They’d said.
Renzo kept moving inside the room even as Lucia stayed frozen in the doorway. He went to the closet, yanking out the two black duffle bags she didn’t want to see again, if ever. Throwing them uncaringly to the bed, Renzo finally turned to look at her. He widened his arms, as if silently asking, What are you doing standing there?
“Renzo,” Lucia said quietly.
He just kept staring.
She refused to move.
“We have to go,” he told her.
Lucia shook her head. “No.”
“Lucia.”
“We’re not going anywhere.”
“We don’t have a fucking choice here, Lucia.”
She didn’t know what he was talking about. She didn’t know what had him so spooked that he looked crazed, but none of it mattered. They’d already had this goddamn conversation, and there was no way she was backing down on it.
She couldn’t.
“We’re not going anywhere, okay?” Lucia stepped forward, once single step into the room. “If we run again, that’s going to make Diego even worse than he already is, Ren. You know this. What in the hell is wrong with you?”
Renzo said nothing as he yanked a crumpled piece of white paper from the pocket of his jacket, and threw it at her. Lucia didn’t catch it in time before it fell to the floor, but she was quick to bend down and pick it up. It took entirely too long for her to get the paper flattened out so that she could read the words written on it. By that time, Renzo had already yanked out the clothes in the top two drawers of the dresser, and dropped them inside the bags.
Lucia was still frozen.
Stunned.
Silenced.
She read the words on the paper—three times, actually. She understood what they said perfectly well, and what they meant. She didn’t need to take them in over and over to comprehend what the words were telling her. No, she read them over and over because that handwriting … so familiar and careful in its strokes. She’d seen it time and time again in her life.
Her father’s handwriting.
Lucia’s hands trembled as she stared at the words for longer than she needed to. They left her colder than ever, and yet, she was still firm in what she had told Renzo.
“We’re not leaving, Ren. We’re not running again.”
Just like that, all of his movements stopped. It seemed like everything slowed as he turned to face her with an expression that said he thought she had lost her damn mind.
And maybe she had.
“Do you understand—”
“I understand perfectly fine what this means,” she whispered, flipping the note over in her hand. “And I also know what I said, Ren. We can’t keep running. They’re just going to keep chasing us, anyway. That much is obvious, but they don’t even matter. It’s not about them. It’s about Diego. Right now, he panics every time he thinks we’re going to have to leave again, or God forbid he somehow convinces himself you’re going to leave and not come back. We can’t keep doing that to him. You know it.”
Renzo’s shoulders dropped. “Lucia, if we stay here—”
“They find us. I get that.”
“And they take you away. Is that what you want?”
“They can’t take me,” she said, although she wasn’t even sure if she believed her own words, to be honest. They absolutely could take her, if they wanted to. Her family could do whatever they fucking wanted to do. God knew the Marcellos had enough power, influence, and money to make the world stop turning if they wanted to. But that didn’t change what she felt about it, either. “I’m eighteen. I can make my own choices—they don’t have to like them. So what if they come here.”
“They already are here!”
She stiffened at his tone. “I—”
Renzo crossed the room in a blink, and snatched the note out of her hand. It tore in the process, but neither of them gave a damn, really. He waved the ruined note like she needed to take another look at it, or something. “They’re here! You know where I found this, huh? On my uncle’s body. Because he’s dead. They got to him—your family did that, Lucia. They wanted me to find him first; that’s why they left him where I could find him and this fucking … this fucking note,” he snapped, throwing it to the floor at their feet between them. “And you think they won’t take you just because you say you’re eighteen? Look at all they’ve done! Look at how they keep chasing us, but they’re gonna stop, right? Just because you say so, right?”
Her heart stopped for a second. She was sure it did. Like the shock and the pain of him throwing those words at her like they shouldn’t have some kind of impact—though they abs
olutely did—made her do a double-take of him in that moment. No wonder he hadn’t been making sense earlier. No wonder he was so fucking crazed and wild.
“Ren—”
“Lucia, think about it.”
She did.
And she understood what he was saying.
She heard him perfectly fine.
“That doesn’t change what I said. That doesn’t make it any less true, Ren. Diego can’t be moved again. It’s bad for him.”
She was going to keep saying that until he heard her. That was all there was to it.
Lucia wasn’t sure what did it—the fact she delivered the truth to him with a cold flatness, or maybe the way she just stood there, entirely unmoved by his panic. Whatever it was, Renzo’s tense stance loosened, and his arms dropped to his sides. Like all his fight was gone, and all he could do was stare at her like this was it.
The fight was done.
It was over.
“They’re coming for you,” he murmured.
“I know,” she whispered.
“So you go, then. You go … and we’ll meet back up. Right, we can do that, can’t we? We could do—”
“No.”
“Lucia.”
His words had turned desperate almost. Like there was an edge to his voice that he couldn’t hide no matter how hard he tried. There was a panic in his gaze when it landed on her.
You go, I go.
That was their thing.
She promised.
“I’m not going, Ren,” she said. “I’m not.”
Not without him.
She knew it was stupid—she knew he was right. If her family was here for her, then there was really only one way this whole thing was going to end. The rational part of Lucia’s brain recognized that for what it was, but her heart was an entirely different story. It was her heart that was keeping her right where she was, calm and steady.
Unmovable.
She wasn’t leaving.
Not without him.
And they weren’t running because they couldn’t keep doing that.
Not anymore.
“Lucia, please,” Renzo muttered.
It was her turn, now. Her turn to tune out all the things she didn’t want to listen to or knew were the truth. Her turn to pretend like she didn’t hear what he was trying to tell her, and the fact that she knew he was right, even if that’s the very last thing she wanted. It was her turn to be desperate and wild.
She shook her head. “Maybe … maybe if they give me a chance to explain, then they’ll—”
“Lucia, fuck.” Renzo closed the small bit of distance between them, not even allowing her to finish what she was trying to say. His hand came up to grab her right under her jaw in a firm grip. He tipped her head back to force her to stare up at him, and there, she found his honest to God fear staring back at her. “Listen to me.”
“I am,” she breathed. “I know, Ren.”
She could feel the tremor working its way through his fingers. Then again, that could have been her own shaking reverberating through to him, too.
“It’s not going to matter what I tell you, is it?” he murmured, his sadness thick and clear.
“You go, I go. So, no, I’m not going anywhere.”
He swore under his breath. The sound reminded her of heartache and heartbreak. She hated the way it twisted out of his mouth like he didn’t want to say it, but he didn’t have a choice, either.
All those thoughts drifted away when Renzo closed the last bit of distance between them with a kiss that set her blood on fire. His lips against hers were rough and harsh and lovely. Demanding enough to drive her crazy, even if she already was entirely insane because of this man. Savage enough to make her numb and take her breath away. For the moment, their problems didn’t exist. The fear was gone. All it took was the graze of his lips against hers, and the way his tongue struck out against the seam of her mouth for a taste.
He pulled her closer.
She went happily.
“Lucia?”
It was Diego’s quiet, soft voice filtering down the hallway that finally made the two of them break out of their daze. She felt the shuddering exhale of Renzo’s breath graze the top of her head as he rested his chin on her forehead, and held her tight with one arm around her shoulders, and his other still holding under her jaw. All she could do was hold him back—fist her hands into his rumpled jacket, and keep him right there.
Keep him close.
Closer was always going to be better for them.
“Lucia, who is that?” Diego called down the hallway.
Lucia blinked, not sure she was hearing Diego right.
Renzo cleared his throat, and unlike her, seemed well enough to talk to Diego. “What are you talking about, buddy?”
“There’s cars down in the alley, Ren. I saw them, they’re coming up the stairs and—”
The comforting, tight hold of Renzo’s arms on Lucia let go at the same time the first kick against the apartment door reverberated down the hallway. She heard the sound the door made when it was kicked in, and crashed against the wall. The shout of a man—a familiar voice Lucia hadn’t heard in a long time—came right after.
Her brother’s—John—demand for her drowned out Diego’s cry of fear.
Time was up.
They were there.
SIXTEEN
Diego’s cry was all Renzo heard, and he had to move. It was like an invisible rope had been tied around his middle, and with just that sound alone, it was pulled taut and dragged him in his brother’s direction. He let go of Lucia, and slipped past her in the bedroom to head for the hallway even as she turned to go with him.
It felt like he was floating, in a way. Like everything had suddenly slowed down in time around him. He was running for the hallway, but it seemed like slow motion. He couldn’t get out of the bedroom fast enough despite the fact he moved so fast, he slipped on the way out of the doorway and crashed into the hallway wall.
Voices filtered into the apartment.
“Lucy, make this easy on me,” John Marcello said clearly.
His voice bounced from wall to wall, it was that loud. Another time, and Renzo might have answered the man back with an equally nasty fuck you. Not right then, though. His mind was focused on other things.
Lucia’s quiet, broken noise behind him bled through it all.
Didn’t matter.
All Renzo could see was Diego at the end of the hall. His brother had turned around—his back faced Renzo now. He had a good view of whoever was coming into the apartment while Renzo couldn’t see anything but Diego. His little brother’s head was tipped back, so he could look up at whoever was approaching him.
“Diego!”
It still felt like his body was slowed down—like he wasn’t moving fast enough. Diego turned, and his big, dark eyes met Renzo’s. Wide with fear, and wet with unshed tears. Confusion wrinkled the kid’s brow.
“Come to me, Diego,” Renzo told his brother.
Did he say it loud enough?
He couldn’t tell.
His lungs ached.
He outstretched his arms to grab his brother, ready to get him safely away from whoever was coming for him. Was it just John, or had they brought others? Diego had said cars, meaning more than one. Fuck. Maybe he could handle one person, but not a small goddamn army. And right then, the only thing he needed to get out of harm’s way was Diego.
Would John hurt him?
Renzo didn’t know.
He didn’t know anything at all.
“Diego,” Renzo shouted, “come to me!”
Finally, that seemed to snap Diego out of his daze. Renzo was only a couple of feet away from him, then, too. Diego turned on his heels, and took a single step forward like he was coming for Renzo.
It was already too late.
The man who darkened the end of the hallway was quick to snatch Diego around his little waist, and rip him out of Renzo’s reach just a half of a second before he would
have grabbed his brother. Diego’s cry of shock as his little arms reached out for Renzo came like a kick to his goddamn chest.
“Ren!” Diego howled. “Help me!”
The air might as well have been sucked right from his lungs. His heart? Yanked right out of his chest in the most brutal way. The pain of having his brother pulled away from him before he could even get to him was painful enough that it might have put him on his knees right then and there.
Except he couldn’t focus on that agony for too long. Not when the rage that burst inside his gut was a hot, poisonous beast. All that movement and time that felt like he had slowed down was suddenly back up to speed again. If anything, it moved faster than ever. Everything was painfully clear.
Every step.
Each breath.
All the beats of his heart.
Vivid and vicious.
It was like all the rational thought he had in that moment was gone. He didn’t care what he had to do, but he was going to get Diego away from that man. He didn’t stop to consider he was just one single man—a man with no weapon except his fists because his gun was hidden in the kitchen. One man who couldn’t do very much.
He didn’t even think about what might be waiting for him just outside the shadows of the hallway when he came out of it, heading right for the asshole that was currently holding Diego. A man he didn’t recognize at all, but that was just fine, too. He didn’t need to know who the man was to bash his fucking skull in with his bare hands.
Maybe that was the point—maybe that was their plan. To get Renzo so pissed off and blind with his anger that he didn’t think clearly. He wasn’t like these men, and he could admit that. His life had not been one lesson after another in the rules of mafioso—he only needed to learn how to survive.
He came out of the hallway not thinking about anything except getting Diego back, and that was his mistake. He didn’t consider who was waiting around the corner, or how many of them there might be. The first strike hit him in the side of the head—heavy and hard, it cracked against his temple, and sent him sprawling to the floor with a cloudy vision and pain radiating through his brain.
His ears rang, but he still heard the aftermath of that first hit.