War of Hearts

by Julia Sykes

  Well, a real mobster. Joseph and Marco didn’t count.

  Joseph led me through the restaurant after dropping off our coats with a young man at the host’s stand. It was obvious that everyone who worked at the restaurant knew Joseph. They all had a polite smile and a “hello” for him.

  When we reached a closed door at the back of the restaurant, Joseph opened it without hesitation and led me inside.

  “Joseph!” a man’s voice boomed, ringing with genuine joy.

  I kept my body tucked halfway behind Joseph’s, but I could see the older man get up from his seat at the head of the table. His face was blocky, his salt and pepper brows thick and heavy. He didn’t look anything like Joseph, whose sensual features were practically sinful on a man. But their pale, aquamarine eyes were the same, and I knew this must be Joseph’s father.

  “Let me see her, let me see her.” He waved Joseph to step aside as he approached us. His eyes caught on my face, and his features split in a wide, genuine smile. “You must be Ashlyn. Bellissima. No wonder my son’s been hiding you away.”

  Even though I hadn’t been able to greet him in return yet, he leaned in and clasped my shoulders, brushing a familiar kiss against my cheek before quickly pulling away. The energetic exchange occurred so fast, I could barely keep up.

  “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Russo,” I managed to find my ingrained manners. “Thank you so much for inviting me to dinner. Joseph’s told me great things about your restaurant.”

  The door opened behind me, and I jolted slightly, on edge. Then, I felt Marco’s fingers brush the small of my back as he came to stand beside me.

  “Marco,” Mr. Russo said with nearly the same enthusiasm he’d shown Joseph. “I’m glad you could come. Now, it’s a real family meal. Sit down, sit down.”

  He motioned us over to the dining table and resumed his seat at the head. The table was set for seven. To Mr. Russo’s left, I noted a petite, middle-aged woman. Although fine lines were drawn around her eyes, it was obvious where Joseph’s beautiful features and glossy black curls came from.

  I gave her my best smile. “You must be Mrs. Russo. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

  She inclined her head and returned my smile. “It’s nice to finally meet the girl who’s stolen my son away.” The words were a bit frosty, but she was outwardly polite.

  My gaze flicked away from hers as my anxiety spiked. My eyes fell on the man seated on Mr. Russo’s right. I instantly recognized him as Marco’s father. They looked almost exactly the same, only separated by twenty years or so. Mr. De Luca even shared the same cold glint in his black eyes that Marco possessed. That hard exterior had frightened me at first, but I knew Marco better now. I knew he was gentle and kind.

  I wasn’t certain there was a gentle, kind soul hiding behind Mr. De Luca’s hard exterior.

  He gave me a small nod of acknowledgement. “Miss Meyers.”

  That was all he said in greeting. It was even frostier than what Mrs. Russo had offered me. In her case, I could understand the touch of animosity. Joseph had run away from his family and started a relationship with me in Cambridge. Even now, he was living at Marco’s house with me instead of staying at his own home.

  But Marco’s father… He simply fixed me with a frozen stare, his cold eyes inspecting me.

  Joseph pulled out a chair for me, seating me beside his mother. He settled down at the end of the table, opposite from his father, and Marco sat on Joseph’s left. I wanted to be between them, but I knew that might seem odd. I did my best to smother my discomfiture.

  “I’m Matteo.”

  I blinked and focused on the final person seated at the table. A young man—he couldn’t be older than eighteen—sat between Marco and his father. His wide smile seemed genuine, and I gratefully returned it. The boy didn’t particularly resemble anyone at the table. He did seem to share Mrs. Russo’s hazel eyes, but the similarities stopped there.

  “Matteo is my cousin,” Joseph explained. “He’s been helping my father while I’ve been with you.”

  I tried to keep the guilt out of my expression. This boy was being pulled into a life of violence because of me. If I hadn’t been keeping Joseph away, Matteo might be doing something different with his life. He might be enjoying his time like an eighteen-year-old boy should.

  But I didn’t want that violent life for Joseph, either. This little family gathering was only making me more determined than ever to get Joseph away from New York. I didn’t care if his mother hated me for it.

  That helped me brush off my anxiety over her obvious dislike.

  The door opened again, and the young man from the host’s stand stepped in, balancing drinks on a tray. He served Mr. Russo first, setting a glass of red wine in front of him. Mr. De Luca was next—a glass of whiskey. The rest of us received champagne.

  “Are we celebrating something?” Joseph asked.

  “Meeting Ashlyn, of course,” his father replied, beaming at me. I was baffled. He really did seem excited to meet me. He might be a mobster, but he wasn’t all that scary. Not like Marco’s father.

  He picked up his red wine in an obvious gesture that we were all meant to toast. I picked up my water glass rather than the champagne. I didn’t want to drink alcohol. It might calm my nerves, but I needed to stay sharp. No matter how welcoming Mr. Russo might be, I couldn’t let myself forget what he really was.

  He frowned at me. “You don’t like champagne?”

  “Not really,” I lied, taking the excuse he was giving me. “I’m good with water, but thank you.”

  “You have to at least toast,” he told me. “Here. We’ll trade, since you don’t like champagne.”

  He passed his red wine to me. I thought about refusing, but Joseph squeezed my hand under the table.

  “Thank you,” I said, taking the glass from him and handing off my champagne flute.

  He raised the flute, and the rest of us mirrored him. “To family,” he toasted, meeting my eye with a significant glance. It was bizarre, feeling so welcomed by a man I knew was dangerous.

  To be polite, I took a sip of the red wine. I supposed I’d have to drink a little more over the course of the meal, since Joseph had grabbed my hand to signal for me to take it in the first place. While his father was jovial, there was clearly some underlying tension. Obviously, no one said no to Mr. Russo.

  “So, Ashlyn,” he addressed me. “Joseph tells me you’re a student at Harvard. That’s very impressive.”

  I blushed, heat creeping up my neck. “Thank you.”

  “What are you studying?”

  I flushed hotter, anticipating that Mr. Russo would react similarly to my own father regarding my choice of major. After all, it wasn’t very practical.

  “Art History,” I told him.

  His brows rose with interest rather than condemnation. “And what do you want to do with that?”

  His scrutiny was making me uncomfortable, and I was very aware of everyone’s eyes on me. My sweater was suddenly far too hot, and my palm grew clammy against Joseph’s.

  “I thought I might work in a museum or a gallery for a while,” I replied.

  My stomach twisted violently, and I stifled a gasp. I’d never had a nervous reaction this intense before. Then again, I’d never been surrounded by mobsters before. Maybe I was on the verge of a panic attack.

  Whatever it was, I needed to excuse myself before I freaked out in front of everyone.

  “You okay, angel?”

  “Yeah,” I said shakily. “I um, I just need the restroom. Excuse me.”

  My body burned with embarrassment. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I pushed up out of my chair.

  I didn’t make it two steps before pain knifed through my gut, intense enough to knock the air from my lungs and make my knees weak. Joseph was with me in an instant, catching me before I collapsed.

  “Sorry,” I said faintly. “I don’t know—”

  I doubled over on a harsh cry as my stomach twisted again. Acid coated my
tongue, and a foamy substance dripped from my lips.

  I was vaguely aware of Marco shouting for an ambulance, Joseph saying my name over and over again. My body convulsed, pain wracking my senses as everything faded to black.

  Chapter Twenty

  Joseph

  I paced back and forth across the hospital waiting room, my gut twisting with fear I’d never known before.

  Poison. Ashlyn had taken the poison meant for my father.

  She could die.

  I didn’t understand how Marco could bear sitting still in the tiny waiting room chair. His face was ashen, his eyes staring at something far away I couldn’t see.

  Inexplicable rage surged. How could he sit there when Ashlyn’s life hung in the balance? How could he hunch his shoulders like he’d already given up on her?

  “She’s going to be fine,” I growled at him, even though I didn’t fully believe it. I had to say it out loud, because Marco looked like he was already at her fucking funeral.

  He scrubbed a hand over his face. “My fault,” he muttered, and I was certain he hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

  In my anger, I caught on to the admission. We weren’t sure who had slipped the poison into my father’s wine, but if Marco knew who was responsible, he’d better spill. If he was holding back on us for some reason, I’d kick his teeth in. My fury coursed through me, desperate for an outlet. Taking it out on the motherfucker who was responsible for this would be a good start.

  “What do you mean?” I barked. “Do you know who did this?”

  He finally looked at me, his black eyes drawn with anguish. “I did.”

  I wasn’t sure what he was playing at or who he was trying to protect, but that simply couldn’t be true. “What do you know about this? Tell me right fucking now, Marco.”

  His gaze shifted. His eyes met mine, but he was focused on something I couldn’t see again.

  “I did this,” he rasped. “I took her. I brought her into our world.”

  “Fuck off,” I seethed. I didn’t need any melodramatic bullshit right now. “You know we didn’t have a choice. She was in danger.”

  “She wasn’t. But I took her anyway.”

  I froze. “What the fuck are you talking about?” I couldn’t stop cussing. Spitting out the crass words helped channel my anger.

  He blinked and stared at me again, but his eyes were hollow. “You were so unhappy without her. So, I gave her back to you.”

  “I don’t know what you’re trying to say, but you’d better start making sense. Snap the fuck out of it. You know our enemies were watching her. They were going to hurt her to get to me.”

  “They weren’t,” he said on a strained whisper. “I didn’t know that for sure. I knew it was a possibility they’d been watching you in Cambridge, but there wasn’t a threat against her after you left. Not really.”

  My mind churned, struggling to absorb what he was saying. Marco wouldn’t betray me like that. He wouldn’t pull Ashlyn into our world without a good reason. Not when he knew I’d left her behind to protect her.

  “But Ricky threatened her at the restaurant when we took her off the estate. He said they had pictures of us together. They’d been watching the estate since we took her.”

  “They might have known about your relationship in Cambridge, but they had no reason to think you still cared for her after you left her behind. She probably wasn’t on their radar until I brought her to you.”

  “You can’t know that for sure,” I said, still unable to process the depth of his betrayal.

  He surged to his feet, getting in my face. “This is my fault, Joseph. Why aren’t you listening to me? It’s my fucking fault. And now she might die. She—”

  Whatever he was going to say next was cut off when my fist connected with his jaw. I didn’t hold back, and he reeled at the force of the blow. He took a few steps back and shook his head hard to clear it.

  He didn’t tense with aggression. He didn’t take a defensive stance.

  He simply stared at me, as though he wanted me to hit him again, to punish him for his unforgivable sin.

  “Hey!” a security guard appeared in the waiting room. “Break it up. You’re both going to have to leave.”

  Marco rubbed his jaw and turned away from me. “I’m going,” he told the man. “Joseph can stay.”

  I watched as he stalked off down the long hallway. My stomach dropped, my chest hollowed out.

  Marco had betrayed me. He’d put the woman I loved in danger, for his own selfish reasons.

  No, he’d done it for me.

  And that only made his choice that much more inexcusable. He’d made me complicit in this. It was equally my fault that Ashlyn was fighting for her life right now. Because I’d chosen to keep her with me instead of sending her to the police for protection. Marco’s reasoning that we were protecting her was just a flimsy excuse for me to keep her. I’d wanted her to be mine, so I’d taken her.

  “Mr. Russo?” a nurse in green scrubs called my name.

  She’s not dead, I told myself in the long second it took for the man to speak. She’s not dead.

  “Miss Meyers is stable. She’s going to be okay. You can come see her, if you want.”

  My knees almost went out from under me as relief slammed through my body. My legs shook as I followed the nurse to her hospital room, but somehow, I managed to walk without stumbling.

  When I got to her room, I rushed to her side, taking her small hand in mine. It was warm, reassuring me that she was alive. But the pretty pink flush was absent from her cheeks, and her full lips were chapped and pale.

  She stirred when I stroked my thumb over her palm.

  “Joseph?” she mumbled. She didn’t open her eyes, and I wasn’t sure if she was fully awake. She certainly wasn’t completely aware of her surroundings. I’d always known she was fragile, but it pained me to see her so frail.

  “I’m right here, angel,” I promised. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  “Where’s Marco?” she slurred.

  Rage made my muscles ripple and flex, but I was careful not to squeeze her delicate hand.

  “Go to sleep, angel,” I said instead of answering her. “You need to rest.”

  A little furrow persisted between her brows, but a few seconds later, it eased. Her breathing turned deep and even.

  My eyes burned.

  Our fault.

  My fault.

  I never should have kept her for myself. For us.

  Now, it was too late to send her back to the safety of her life at Harvard. That was shattered, now that my father’s enemies were aware that she was with me. They knew she was important to me, since I’d brought her to New York.

  Since Marco had brought her to New York.

  I’d been angry with him in the past, but I’d never felt this toxic rage. It held a burning edge of hatred that made my stomach sour.

  I might have no choice but to take Ashlyn back to the safety of his family’s estate, but what Marco and I had shared was broken. He wasn’t my brother anymore, and Ashlyn would never belong to him. She was mine, and mine alone.

  It had been three days since I’d brought Ashlyn back to the estate, but she was still weak, and she tired easily. Really, she should still be in the hospital, but I didn’t want to risk her. She was safest on Marco’s estate, behind the impenetrable gates.

  So, we had an on-call doctor come check on her twice a day. Other than that, I took care of her.

  And Marco kept his fucking distance, as he should.

  She’d asked for him several times, but I’d told her he was busy in the city, helping my father track down the fuckers who had tried to poison him. Of course, we knew who was ultimately responsible, but we couldn’t go after Gabriel Costa until someone turned on him. Whoever had tried to poison Dad had to say they were working under Costa’s orders. Otherwise, we’d be the ones instigating the war, and the family might not survive that. It was essential that my father came out on top, with the fam
ily intact and as powerful as ever.

  I was grateful that the task of finding the traitor kept Marco away, but part of me wanted to help. Twice, Marco had returned with blood on his hands, his knuckles split. He got to be out there, hurting the people who had hurt Ashlyn. And while I didn’t like my violent lifestyle, I wouldn’t mind beating the shit out of whoever was responsible for almost taking her from me.

  As it was, Marco only showed his face if he was bringing Ashlyn’s meals to her in the bedroom. He wisely left them on the nightstand and let me feed her. If he tried to pull any Daddy shit with her in front of me, I’d punch him again. He didn’t get to be her Daddy. He didn’t get to take on that responsibility. He’d lost the privilege.

  Ashlyn seemed upset when he’d leave, but mostly, she slept.

  Today, she was brighter, more alert. She’d been awake for nearly three hours this afternoon, and she was sitting in bed, propped up against the pillows. I’d brought a TV in from one of the guest bedrooms so we could watch Sons of Anarchy together. I sat in bed beside her, and she rested her head on my shoulder.

  I couldn’t stop touching her, couldn’t stop feeling her warmth and inhaling her light, floral scent. I’d almost lost her, and I had to reassure myself that she was alive and safe in my arms.

  Marco knocked on his bedroom door, waiting for me to invite him to enter. When I did, he stepped into the room, carrying two steaming plates of pasta. He’d been cooking blander dishes for Ashlyn, making sure she could keep the food down while still getting enough calories.

  He set the plates on the nightstand, not looking at either of us.

  “Marco,” Ashlyn said, her voice soft and pleading. “Come sit with us.”

  He tensed, but he jerked his head in silent refusal and turned away. She reached out and caught his wrist.

  “Wait. Don’t go. I want to talk to you.”

  “I’m sorry,” he rasped and pulled his hand free from her weak grip.

  “Come back.” I was sure she meant to sound firm, but she was still too weak to put any real force behind the demand.