“My bull’s got enough rides.”
Anger flashed on her face then suspicion. “Two months then, and you pay for Carlotta’s surgery as a wedding gift to me.”
“Deal,” I said.
Diego shook his head.
Remo raised his hand. “Accept it. Your sister needs that heart surgery.”
“Let’s go deal with the Russian,” Diego said simply.
“I should head home to Mom and Carlotta,” Gemma said.
“Nino needs to keep an eye on you for now. Once he’s sure your head’s all right, someone will take you home.”
Gemma glanced at Diego. He gave a small nod.
I moved closer to her. “Will you be all right?” I murmured.
She searched my eyes then nodded. “I have to be. Thanks for consoling me.” A delicate blush stained her cheeks, which Diego didn’t seem to notice, or I would have had his fist in my face again.
I didn’t say anything. All the playful comebacks seemed wrong.
Nino motioned for her to follow him into the infirmary. “Maybe you should take care of your sisters and mother and not seek revenge,” Remo said. “We’ll dish it out in your stead. You have a family to take care of.”
I touched Diego’s shoulder. “I’ll make him pay for you. He’ll regret every second of his pitiful life.”
Diego nodded slowly. “I could never be as good at torture as you anyway.”
“Take care of Gem.”
Remo and I headed for the Sugar Trap to torture the Russian.
My heart felt heavy as I stepped into our house. Diego’s hand on my shoulder felt less like a steadying presence, more like an anchor that he needed to stand upright.
Two Camorra soldiers guarded the driveway. Inside we found Mom bent over the kitchen table, crying. I hurried over to her and wrapped my arms around her. She embraced me tightly, shaking against me.
“Where’s Carlotta?” Diego asked gently.
“Upstairs with your aunt.”
Dad’s sister lived close by, so of course she’d be the first to help us in this time.
Diego wrapped his arm around Mom and me. “I’ll take care of you.”
I knew he’d work every second of every day to provide for us. He’d kill himself to make sure we were all right, but he couldn’t do this on his own. Even if two months wasn’t nearly enough time to organize a wedding or make Savio pay for what he’d done, I’d marry him then so Diego could accept the money without losing face.
I made Mom lie down in bed, but Diego refused to rest. He sat on the sofa, bent over our bills. I knew it was his way to distract himself so I let him.
The bell rang and Diego jumped to his feet. Grabbing his gun, he answered the door. Toni stood on the doorstep, behind her one of the Camorra soldiers. Her eyes darted from Diego to me, and her expression softened. I staggered forward, falling against her. She hugged me tightly. Diego slowly backed away and returned to the sofa.
With her arm wrapped around my shoulders, Toni led me upstairs then laid down with me in my bed. She held me all night as I cried.
We had a big family, and yet they didn’t even make up half of the people attending Dad’s and Nonna’s funeral. Loyal customers from the restaurants and Camorrista filled the pews of the church. Diego steadied Mom who seemed to shrivel under the force of her grief.
When I spotted Savio, Remo, and Nino followed by their wives, surprise washed over me. I’d expected them to show up at the graveyard, but knowing their aversion to religion, I hadn’t thought they’d show up for church. They came over to where Mom, Diego, and I stood beside the open coffins. Every word of condolence left another wound in my heart. By now, it was tattered. I hadn’t once dared to look at the bodies of Nonna and Dad, could hardly bear being here at all.
Savio stopped in front of me and took my hand. He didn’t say he was sorry, and I was glad. The words had become meaningless, unable to encompass the magnitude of our loss. His touch was warm, steady, the comfort I desperately needed. Diego was staggering under the pressure of being the master of our family, but Savio, he was solid and strong.
I swallowed hard, my fingers tightening around his when he was about to pull back. I needed someone to hold me up, to steady me. I felt like I couldn’t hold myself anymore. It was all too much. The grief filling not just my heart but also the church and back at home, every inch of the house. I tugged at his hand and his brows drew together. He bent down. My lips came up to his ear. “Get me out of here,” I begged.
He nodded, and wrapping an arm around me, he led me off to the side, away from hundreds of solemn faces, and teary eyes. Not away from my guilt and grief. Those clung to me.
He pulled me into a small side room and closed the door.
“Better?” he asked in a gentle voice.
He searched my eyes. His face didn’t hold a trace of his usual arrogance or teasing, and I almost wished for it, for that flicker of normalcy among the shambles of my life. I’d spent the last week in a bubble of darkness. Mom and Diego, even Carlotta, were as broken as I felt, and with every new member of our extended family that visited, their sadness was added to our own, until I buckled under its weight.
“Gem, say something. Tell me what to do.”
I lifted the hand he wasn’t still holding and curled it over his neck.
His expression became wary. I stepped closer, my chest pressing against his. So steady and warm, so strong. The Falcones were a force—invincible,
