“Why didn’t you?” Finch asks.
“Why didn’t I kill her?”
He nods. It’s not a question with any blame attached, only curiosity.
“Because you asked me not to,” I tell him. “And because I love you.”
Finch goes very quiet at that, even his breath stilling. I reach over and take his hand, his left hand with the wedding ring. His fingers wind through mine, and he smiles.“Sorry,” he says lightly. “I didn’t quite catch that. Say again?”
“I love you, angel. I love you with everything in me. And for the rest of our lives together, I will never deny that again.”
His eyes are bright, but he’s still smiling. “I love you, too, baby. Forever.”
He can’t hold back the one tear that slips out of the corner of his eye, but I don’t mind. For once in my life, I’ve made someone cry with happiness.
We spend a pleasant interlude making promises in between gentle kisses until he pauses, pushes me back, and narrows his eyes at me at me. “How did you know where they’d taken me?”
Ah. I thought we might come to that eventually. I’m not sure how Finch is going to take this news, but I don’t want to hide anything from him anymore. I take out my phone, smashed screen and all, and bring up the tracking app.
He frowns at it. “That’s me? That glowing circle?”
“Yes.”
“Did you put a fucking implant in my neck or something? Where’s the—oh.” He gets it. He looks up at me, face darkening. “Oh, you son of a bitch.”
“Look, the important thing is, you’re safe, and it’s thanks to—”
“You put a tracker in my fucking wedding ring, didn’t you?” he asks, his voice low and dangerous.
I’ve never heard my husband sound dangerous before. It’s cute. But I try not to smile.
“That is not okay, Luca,” he says. “That’s so far from okay I can’t even begin to tell you—”
“How about this,” I break in. I could point out that he was supposed to be a prisoner, a hostage, but I don’t think that would calm him down any. “I’ll get a tracker in my ring, too, and you’ll get your phone back. You can keep tabs on me, if I can keep tabs on you. Deal?”
His glare eventually softens. “A new phone, not my old one. I want the latest model.”
“Okay.”
“And you have to eat my ass for a week, every night.”
I can’t help snorting at that. “Fine. What a terrible punishment. Am I forgiven?”
“No.” He pouts, then relents. “But you will be, eventually.”
Before I can lean in to kiss him carefully, there’s a quiet knock on the door. I look up, senses alert. “What?” I call.
“We need you downstairs, Boss,” Marco calls back. “We got a visitor.”
I go down with Marco and find Frank standing in the foyer with his gun drawn, eyes fixed on the sheer curtains that look out onto the stoop. And waiting on that front stoop is Angelo Messina, Tino’s bodyguard. Seeing him here without warning, and without Tino, makes my blood run cold. There are only two things Angelo’s visit can mean.
One, I’m about to get whacked for disobeying orders.
Or two…
Celia comes into the hallway from the kitchen, her face pale and dark eyes wide with fear. “Frank? What’s going on?”
“Take Cee up to Finch,” I tell Marco. “Protect them.”
Marco hustles Celia upstairs, and once I hear the bedroom door shut and lock, the small sound carrying in the silence, I give Frank the nod. He steps up to the door and calls through it, a simple, “Yo.”
“Let me in, Frankie,” Angelo calls back. “News to share.”
He sounds exhausted. Frank looks back at me, and I nod again.
Angelo, when the door opens, is battle-worn and weary. He leans up against the doorframe and gives a head-nod of greeting, and hands over his gun to Frank.
“Better get inside,” I say, putting my gun back in the holster. Frank, who has taken Angelo’s gun, keeps his own trained on Angelo.
“Pat me down first,” Angelo says with a glare. Always conscious of security.
“If you’re planning to kill me, get on with it. No? Then get in the fucking door so I can lock it up again.”
Grumbling, Angelo follows me into the lounge room. His handsome face is bruised and bleeding, but he sits upright and alert in the armchair.
“Why aren’t you with Tino?” I ask, no preamble. If he needs first aid, he can have it after our conversation. Because I think I know what’s coming, and it’s more important than cuts and scrapes.
Angelo looks at his hands. “Tino’s dead.”
I can’t help the involuntary swallow, the rush of strange regret. If I’d gone there when ordered—but I push it away. “Who else?”
He names the dead, and more than one of my crew are among them. I sent them there without their Capo to lead them, and they’ve paid for their obedience with their lives. But not me. No, I’m still breathing. I feel disgusted at myself.
“I should’ve been there,” I mutter, but Angelo shakes his head.
“Wouldn’t have made a difference. The Clemenzas were there too, backing up Fuscone. There were plenty of casualties on their side, I’m glad to say, but Fuscone got away. I hear Joey’s dead, though?”
I give him a grim smile. “He most certainly is. But none of this explains why you’re here, Angelo. If it’s just to give me the bad news—”
“No.” He reaches into an inside pocket and Frank, who’s been standing in the doorway, takes a step forward. Angelo holds up his hands slowly. “Told you to pat me down,” he says with a ghost of a smile. “It’s a phone. Tino recorded something for you.”
“Then I’ll get it out for you,” Frank says, and reaches into Angelo’s jacket. His hand comes out with a phone, which he looks over as though it might be booby-trapped, before giving it back to Angelo with a sniff.
Angelo says nothing more, just scrolls through his
