She sighed and leaned back against the couch. “I always hate when this happens,” she said.
“Does it happen a lot?” I asked.
“It’s the Valentino family, dear, so yes,” she said, smiling a little. She picked up another mostly-empty whiskey and finished it. “The boys shoot at each other, get all angry about it, yell a whole lot, and my life gets harder. I’ll have to feed those guards, you know.”
“Sorry, Bea,” Dean said, smiling tightly. “It’s for your own good too, you know.”
She waved a hand. “It’s no bother really. I’m just tired.”
Dean glanced at me then stopped pacing and tugged at the shoulder of his button-down shirt anxiously. “I wanted to ask you something,” he said. “Do you know anything about changes at Father Giovanni’s church?”
Bea frowned a little and shook her head. “Your father and Father Giovanni had a long-standing deal. I don’t see why it would change.”
Dean glanced at me and I frowned back at him.
“I spoke to him about that,” Dean said. “Father Giovanni said that Roy told him things were going to be different. That Roy was making other arrangements.”
That surprised Bea. Her eyes widened, and she sat up straight again and glanced over in my direction. I nodded slightly, as if to confirm Dean’s story, and wished I could go over and have one of those whiskies. I supposed I could, if I really wanted, but my hands were still shaking, and my knee pulsed where I fell on it, and I felt terrible all around. Drinking would only make it worse.
“I don’t know why he’d do that without consulting you,” Bea said. “You’d find out eventually.”
“That’s what I was thinking,” Dean said and let out another frustrated growl. He stalked over to the small side bar at the edge of the room and poured himself a heavy drink, three fingers of straight whiskey. He drank it back and knocked the empty glass against his temple, eyes squeezed shut.
“Something’s off about all this,” I said, pacing into the middle of the room. Bea gave me an appraising frown. “We talked to Father Giovanni, then as soon as we left the church, they suddenly attack right at that moment? How did they know?”
“Are you saying Father Giovanni sold you out, dear?” Bea asked.
I shook my head. “No, he seemed too eager to make money,” I said. “He was quick to accept it when Dean said the deal would be back on.”
“She’s right though,” Dean said, nodding to himself. “It happened fast, like someone was watching. Could’ve been someone outside, spotting for them.”
“Or someone in the church,” Bea suggested. “It’s a big, old building. Lots of places to hide.”
“Also convenient they’d attack right after we learned about what my uncle did,” I pointed out.
Dean frowned at me. “You think he had something to do with it?”
I shook my head and sat down heavily next to Bea. “I really don’t know,” I said. “But I’m exhausted.”
“I’ll make some tea,” Bea said, patting my knee, then stood up. “Tea’s always the answer.” She shuffled off and I watched her go. I wished I felt the same way—that tea was the answer to anything at all.
Instead, all these questions and problems swirled around my head and I didn’t know how any of them connected. My marriage to Dean, my uncle’s machinations behind the scene, this war with the Healy family. It felt so tenuous and fraught, but somehow connected.
Dean sat down next to me, closer than I would’ve liked. It felt good flirting with him in that church, and the way he looked at me during the service was right along that line of pleasure and discomfort. I was embarrassed that he was staring, and I was sure other people noticed, but it felt good to be looked at, to be really seen. And besides, we were playing the role of a young couple in love.
I wasn’t sure what was an act and what was the truth with Dean though.
He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back against the couch. “How are you holding up?” he asked. “You hit the ground pretty hard.”
“Knee hurts,” I said, rubbing it. “Otherwise, I’m fine. You didn’t have to do that, you know.”
He rolled his neck to look at me. “Do what?”
“Push me down.” I chewed on my lip. “Cover me.”
“I was protecting you,” he said. “Didn’t think about it much.”
“You’re the Don,” I said. “They can afford it if I die. You’re more important.”
He snorted once. “I wonder about that,” he said and his fingers touched my leg, then slowly moved down to my knee. I was already starting to bruise, and he rubbed it gently, expertly, his rough callused fingers rolling around the muscle and ligaments. It felt good and it felt wrong, and I didn’t know which I liked better. I wanted to brush him away, and I wanted to pull him closer.
I was a mess of conflicting emotions, and I was afraid they’d never settle out.
“I never wanted to bring you into danger like that,” he said, his voice strained. “But I suppose now you know what it’ll be like, living with me.”
“I hope we don’t get shot at every Sunday,” I said.
He smiled slightly. “We won’t,” he said. “I’m not sure we’ll ever get shot at again like that, although we might. It’s just, you should know it’s always a possibility. That sort of thing’s always there in this line of business.”
“Why do you do it then?” I asked suddenly. “You’re smart and handsome. I’m sure your father left you money. Why do you stay?”
He frowned a little bit as if he didn’t understand the question, and he didn’t say anything for a long moment. I looked at his lips, at the stubble on his chin, at the swell at his throat, and his broad shoulders, and I wondered how a man like him survived knowing he might die at any moment.
Maybe there was a liberation in it, when you know with certainty you might not
