by S. Massery
I shake my head as understanding hits me. He didn’t just ask her to go against her religion—he forced it on her. And why? Because he’d rather hurt an entire family than become a father. Than have a bastard floating around like Jameson. It hurts, and maybe she sees that, because she exhales.
She turns to her brother. “We take this up with Wilder, and him alone.”
Cristian nods. “If that’s what you want.” He stands and goes to Luca, extending his hand. “A temporary truce until Wilder is dead. You don’t step foot in Sanremo, and we don’t kill you on the spot.”
Matteo lurches to his feet. His face is beet red. “Brother. Luca killed—”
“Enough,” Cristian snaps. “You want to settle this with Luca, dear brother? I think he might be just as inclined.” He motions to Mariella, and she releases me to take his hand. They pause at the mouth of the hallway, and he looks back at me. “Where is Wilder going, Amelie?”
I swallow. My palms are sweating. It has to be somewhere believable. Somewhere…
“My parents have a house in France,” I say slowly. “They offered it to him after Luca and I got married.” I rattle off the address. It’s not far from here at all—they could take us with them to confirm it.
Cristian sneers. “How kind. I hope they won’t mind a little blood in the place…”
“They have cleaners,” I snap.
Mariella analyzes me. “Why are you doing this? You’re a DeSantis.”
I put my hand on a table, steadying myself. “Because what he did was wrong, and he deserves to go to Hell for what he did to you. I’d say the same about any man, family or not.”
Luca’s glaring holes in my head, but he can suck it.
Cristian nods. “I’ll hold you to that. Just don’t fucking kill him.”
I can’t tell if he’s talking to Luca or Matteo. I press myself flat against the wall, hoping to stay far out of this—plus, I don’t want Matteo to use me as a pawn again.
The door slams shut, and then it’s just the three of us. Except this time, Matteo doesn’t have a gun to my head—and Luca is furious. The facade he had managed to keep together shatters. If I was on the receiving end of that expression, I’d probably piss my pants.
Matteo doesn’t, though. He just mimics his brother’s sneer and grabs his crutch. I want to punch his face in.
Luca strides toward him and shoves him backward. Matteo pinwheels his free arm, trying to stay upright, but he tumbles back into a table. The gun he threatened me with is in the front of his pants, and Luca wraps his fingers around the handle.
They both freeze, and Luca grins. “I wish you had put up a semblance of a fight.”
I instinctively turn away and cover my eyes with my hand. I’m not strong enough to handle this, if Matteo would somehow get the upper hand. Except, I keep waiting for a gunshot and none comes. Just a snap and grunt, then something hits the floor—a chair, maybe.
“Amelie,” Luca calls.
I peek at them.
Matteo is on his knees in the center of the room, breathing hard. His legs are at an odd angle. Luca has Matteo’s jaw in his grip, the gun now tucked into the back of his pants. Well away from Matteo.
“Come here,” he says to me.
I unlock my legs and circle around, stopping behind Luca.
“He touched you,” he confirms.
“Yes,” I whisper.
“What else did he threaten?”
Matteo tries to jerk out of his grasp. Luca goes with the motion, shoving him back, and steps on his leg. A whine escapes from Matteo. Blood seeps up through his jeans. He’s caught under Luca’s shoe, and the pain flashes across his expression like a strobe light.
“What else, wife?”
Matteo stares at me. Now he wants mercy?
“He was going to break my jaw after I sucked his dick.” I’m emboldened by Luca’s presence and step forward, directly in front of Matteo. “But here’s a secret, asshole. I would’ve bit it off if it came anywhere near my mouth.”
“Go see to Ricardo,” Luca says to me. “And don’t look back.”
I don’t know why the idea of him avenging me is hot, but it is. Matteo seems well in hand, so I face Luca and cup his jaw, kissing his cheek. That isn’t against the rules.
He turns quickly, catching my lips. He deepens the kiss, his tongue tasting my mouth before he breaks away. “Check on Ricardo.”
I blink, shocked. We said no kissing.
Still, rather than stand there, no better than a lovesick teen, I hurry to Ricardo. There’s a pool of blood around his torso, but I can’t see much. He’s facedown, eyes closed. I check for a pulse carefully, waiting painful moments until I feel it.
Relief floods through me. He’s alive.
I roll him over, bracing myself against the doorframe. He flops onto his back and groans.
“Holy shit,” I murmur. A knife—one of Paloma’s fancy ones, from the look of the handle—protrudes from his stomach. It’s still in there, which I’ve heard is a good thing? But the front of his shirt is soaked with blood.
He reaches up, grasping at it, and I cover his hands with mine. They’re covered in sticky, half-dried blood, like he wanted to staunch the bleeding before it became too much.
“You have to leave it,” I say. “Until the ambulance arrives.”
“Did you call them?” He’s still whistling with every breath. His sides are moving weird with his breathing. Broken rib? Punctured lung?
Ambulance, Amelie.
Shit.
“Not yet.” I release him and rise.
A scream cuts me off. I cover my ears, dropping back to my knees.
Silence.
Strong hands pull me up, and suddenly I’m in Luca’s arms. My eyes are wide open—I couldn’t close them if I tried. But the rest of the world seems to be moving disjointedly.
He sets me on the kitchen counter and grabs a phone off the hook. He leaves me there to see to Ricardo, and I don’t know how long it is before paramedics rush into the restaurant. Luca lifts me, urging me to wrap my legs around his waist, and carries me out the back. He sets me in the passenger seat of a car and closes me in, then jogs around to the driver’s side.
We zoom off down the street in the opposite direction of the rescue.
I have too many emotions, and I fear all of them. Relief, horror, terror. I’m worried for Ricardo, curious—and sick—over what Luca did to Matteo. We don’t speak, don’t stop back at his house, we just go.
I understand the mad dash.
If the Costas find out I lied…
I shiver. My jacket isn’t cutting it anymore. Shock and the cool night air conspire against me, and soon enough I’m trembling like a wind-torn leaf. Luca cranks the heat.
“You saved us,” he says softly. “Don’t doubt that.”
I wipe away an errant tear. Pesky things started falling a while back, rolling down my cheeks and neck, collecting in my shirt collar. “I condemned a man to death.”
He grunts, then offers, “I didn’t kill Matteo.”
I bury my face in my hands.
“I wanted to. I did. But I don’t think killing a Costa would solve our problems. It’d complicate them. But…” He tugs at my wrist, lowering it.
I meet his gaze before he has to look at the road again.
“I broke his jaw,” he says. “He’ll be eating out of a straw for a while.”
I laugh. I can’t help it. I tip my head back and let the giggles consume me, to run the last bit of my energy from my muscles. And once I’m depleted, I let my head fall to the side.
Luca doesn’t seem stressed. He’s relaxed behind the wheel, watching the narrow, curving road ahead of us. He switches hands on the wheel, resting one palm-up on my leg. I glance down and lace my fingers with his.
“How can you bear it?” he asks.
I sigh. “Which part? A lot of shit seems to keep happening.”
We turn onto the airport road, and he pulls around to my family’s hangar. T
he jet is already outside, gleaming in the floodlights.
We park and climb out, and I don’t wait for Luca. I trudge toward the plane. It’s cold now, and goosebumps break out along my arms.
The pilot waits at the foot of the stairs and nods to me. “Welcome back, Ms. Page.”
I smile. He’s been my family’s pilot for over a decade. We don’t fly a lot, so he has other clients, but I secretly think we’re his favorite. “Thanks for being flexible.”
He nods. “Mr. DeSantis was persuasive.”
Great. I hope he doesn’t mean with threats, because we could end up crashing into the Atlantic Ocean. I wouldn’t even blame our pilot, either.
I step past him and into the cabin, grabbing one of the thick blankets we keep near the front. I curl on a couch in the back, buckling myself in and making a little nest for myself. My eyes still refuse to close, though, because every time I do, I feel Matteo’s hand on me. Forcing his finger inside me.
I shudder.
“Ready, miss?”
I sit up slowly. “Where is Luca?”
He shakes his head. “He said to leave without him.”
I scoff. “Yeah, right.”
The pilot regards me carefully. He isn’t joking. My stomach does a weird swooping movement, and I throw the blankets off me. I bolt up the aisle and down the stairs, only taking a second to spot Luca’s car. It drives away—but it has to loop around to get back on the main road.
I sprint for it and leap into the road, throwing my hands up. He’s speeding toward me and might not be able to stop in time. I shut my eyes and hope for the best—but if he wants to leave, he’ll have to run me over.
The car skids to a stop inches from me. The heat from the engine and the glaring lights on my legs seep through my clothes.
Luca jumps out. “What the fuck, Amelie?” he yells. He comes closer, stopping inches away.
“You bastard,” I scream, shoving him. It doesn’t do much good. “You were going to make me leave without you?” I hit his chest, slapping at him with my open hand. “After what we just went through, you were going to put me on a plane and just—”
He catches my flailing wrists and yanks.
Our bodies collide.
“I can’t leave,” he says. “Ricardo, my aunt and uncle—”
“You promised me.” My voice is barely above a whisper. “You promised that you’d protect me.”
“And I fucking failed,” he says.
“I told them we’d leave.”
He lets out a short laugh. “Yeah, well, Wilder is dead, so I’d say you kept up your end of the bargain.”
I cringe. “We have to go back to New York, Luca. They’re going to kill me when they find out.”
His eyes darken.
I stand firm. I have nothing left to bargain with. I’m pretty sure my worth has been ground into dust. He holds my wrists out to the sides, and I have to tip my head back to meet his gaze.
My vulnerability with Luca has shifted. I’m not afraid of it. I drop my guard and let him see the pieces I’ve been hiding—the fear and anger and relief.
His gaze lifts, going over my head, and I wish I could hear the thoughts running through his mind. How fierce is the debate to leave me?
“Stay on the plane,” he says. “Get some sleep. I’ll be back in an hour.”
I try not to let his decision hurt, but it stings more than I anticipated.
“What are you going to do?” I ask.
He steps back and points to the plane.
I wasn’t expecting an answer… but this is almost worse.
14
Luca
Amelie trudges back to the plane slowly, almost daring me to call her out. I have half a mind to help speed her along, but this is the tiniest resistance she can manage. She didn’t ask to come with me, and she doesn’t argue.
She’s hurting.
Once the pilot, Smith, seals her inside the plane, I climb back into the car. My first stop will be Paloma and Antonio’s home. They live not far from their restaurant, and hopefully they made it back without complications.
This whole night was a fucking complication.
I should’ve known Matteo wouldn’t wait to retaliate. I didn’t think he’d be bold enough to touch Amelie in front of me. He was just asking for pain and suffering. I followed Cristian’s wishes. I didn’t kill him. But if Matteo comes out the other side of tonight without scars, I’d be impressed.
I hit the call button on my phone. It’s early afternoon in New York, which could mean a number of things. But it’s been just over twenty-four hours since Wilder was shot. Aiden either has a lead or he doesn’t.
“Hello?” Aiden answers.
“How goes it?”
He’s silent for a moment, then spits, “No one’s talking.”
I grunt. “Did you expect anything less? Everyone’s afraid.”
Of us, of the Wests. The whole town has caught wind of our feud, and our brother’s death… well, it just depends on who can exert more force. Those trying to reveal the secrets or those trying to keep them hidden.
Lucky for us, Aiden is extremely good at pressure.
“Why are you calling?” he finally asks. “It’s night one of your trip, technically speaking. Unless you got started on the plane.”
“We’re returning to New York tonight.” I pass the road to the DeSantis estate. I won’t be back there for a while, I would bet. Every minute takes me closer to family I dread to lose. But because of Amelie’s bargain, I fear I’m going to lose them anyway.
“Why?”
“The Costas,” I say.
This gets his attention. He demands, “Explain.”
So I do. The whole grueling story, including what I did to Matteo’s face. And his friends. I don’t feel a lick of remorse, even when I remember how close we used to be. He lived right down the street, after all.
“You’ve really made a mess,” he says. “But Amelie pulled one out of the bag.”
“Is that even an expression?”
He chuckles. “You know what I mean. They couldn’t have heard about Wilder—it was smart of her to trick them. Send them to France and broker a deal. I like her.”
I grimace. “Don’t fucking like her. Don’t even think about her.”
“Easy, brother.” He pauses. “You okay?”
I turn onto my aunt’s road and kill the engine. If someone’s watching the house, I don’t want to broadcast my arrival. It took long enough for the paramedics to show up, and if Cristian went straight to France, they could be minutes away from uncovering our deception.
We don’t have a lot of time, in other words.
“I’m fine,” I grunt. “I’ll be better once I’m on the plane.”
“Wait, wait, where are you?”
I hesitate. “I just have some unfinished business. I’ll text you when we’re headed back.”
He makes a noise of affirmation, and I end the call. I didn’t tell him it’s fucking killing me to leave Sanremo like this. As if I’m a fugitive sneaking out of the city—or worse, driven out by a mob with pitchforks. That’s sort of how it feels, although it just so happens my wife orchestrated everything.
I slip out of the car and hurry between homes, scaling a fence and dropping into a neighbor’s backyard. I am nearly invisible in the shadows, and I have to hop over two more fences before I land in Paloma’s patio. Light spills out from the kitchen.
I knock on the sliding glass door. It’s covered by a gauzy curtain, but her shadow quickly falls over it. She peeks, then whips it aside and opens the door.
Wordlessly, she hugs me.
I return it, holding tight. This is probably what Amelie wanted—or needed—but instead she got me. A lump forms in my throat. How do I comfort a girl who just walked through hell beside me? Dump her on a plane and run away.
“What are you doing here?” Paloma demands.
I sigh. “I just came to say goodbye. I might not be back for a while. Until things settl
e, you know.”
She pats my cheek. “I know. The Costas were watching my house, but Antonio and I know how to deal with them. We grew up on more violent streets than these. You go take care of your wife, and we’ll be just fine.”
I nod along to her words. “Okay. Can you check in on Ricardo for me?”
“Of course. His mother and I are close. Now go. I love you, dear boy.”
I hug her again, and then I’m pushed back out into the night. Even if this is all I could accomplish, a deep part of me settles. I’m glad I was able to say goodbye to her, to set her on a path to look after Ricardo. Hopefully my old friend will be all right.
Instead of going to the car, I go in the opposite direction. Most of this city is built into a hillside, and Paloma’s property butts up against a stretch of undeveloped land. It’s rocky, but it beats climbing over more fences. I navigate by moonlight and step into a narrow gulley. It takes me between houses, past one street, then two, and finally dumps me out at a modest cemetery.
I know. I should get on a plane with Amelie and take her back to New York. But giving up feels a bit like leaving the Costas to run Sanremo. A bit like cutting off connection to my mother, too.
“I knew you’d come here.” A body peels away from the shadows and follows me down a well-worn path.
Almost everyone’s families are buried here. It’s getting to the point where the next generation will be shoved into the mausoleum the town built last year. Space has been running out for years, but it only became dire in the last two. They refuse to create another one on the hillside I just cut through, because some are convinced it’ll be needed for housing. And what’s more valuable? It helps that cremation has gained popularity. I don’t know why—who would want their grandmother sitting on a shelf, judging you for eternity?
Mariella keeps pace with me, maybe waiting for an answer.
I grunt.
“Talkative,” she says. “What did you do with Amelie?”
“She’s safe. Your brother—”
She grabs my arm. “He shouldn’t have touched her. Even Cristian admitted that was crossing a line.”
I raise my eyebrow. “But he allowed it.”
“And then he allowed you.”