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Enzo released her shoulder, giving her a pointed look before trailing behind them.
Alina wasn’t certain what the look was supposed to mean. Perhaps it was a reminder that he had a plan. Or maybe he was saying she should stay put.
Antonio sighed. His expression was concerned when she stared into it. “How’s the head?”
It ached as if it had been cracked open. Alina saw no reason to tell him that. “Do you know where Luka is?”
His blue eyes hardened. “So you can chase after him and get killed? I may be a bastard, Alina, but not that type. You won’t be getting information from me.”
Her lips pressed together. He was the second Di Salvo to say that. Antonio’s tone had been flat. “You don’t really want to go after him. You hate Luka.” She’d seen it every time they were near each other. Luka had brushed it off, like he expected that treatment.
Antonio’s fake smile hadn’t returned. “It’s not about him at all. It’s about you, Alina.” He stepped closer. “We offered you protection, and you were attacked right here on the estate grounds. The Bratva did that once before. Never again.”
“Stop talking big, Di Salvo.” The voice belonged to the woman, Vespa. She nudged Antonio hard with her good arm.
Vespa was as tall as he was. Her dark hair was pulled back in a tight bun, and her face was full of hard edges, with a scar slashing through an eyebrow and appearing as a long-healed nick along her cheekbone. She wore a black suit, but with one arm of the jacket hanging limp. The white of the sling it hung over was the brightest thing about her.
“The Bratva have been irritating the Di Salvos for as long as I can remember.” Vespa snorted. “Nice try getting the Coronellas to do your dirty work, though. Glad Montrell saw right through it.”
“It was my idea to use you, it’s true, but we were very serious in our offer.” Antonio stared at Alina. “I might hate the assassin, but Giovanni has a soft spot for him. The pakhan will expect the Di Salvos to attack. That expectation makes us vulnerable.” His gaze switched, looking toward the stairs where Giovanni and Montrell had already disappeared. “I’d rather Giovanni lives than the man that once tried to kill him. Even Nera agrees with me, and she’s got a soft spot for the kid herself.” His gaze shifted toward the open office.
Alina hadn’t noticed Nera standing there. Giovanni’s wife wouldn’t meet her eyes. Alina’s hand went to one of Luka’s knives at her waist. Touching it let her breathe through the strangling feeling in her chest.
“We’ll still go after him. Giovanni won’t be able to live with himself otherwise.” Antonio slipped his hands into his jacket pockets, rocking back on his heels. “But without the Coronellas, or any other reinforcements, I’ll delay it as long as I can. I love my brother too much not to.” He didn’t look away from Alina’s gaze. “I know Luka is the one you think you love, Alina. Take this time to come to terms with that. There are much better men.”
The idea of being with anyone else froze her inside. Luka might not live. She’d already considered that, or so she thought. Her hand ached where it gripped the handle of his knife.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” Vespa muttered, shoving Antonio hard with her good arm. “Always thinking with your dick. She’s not going to fuck you, Di Salvo, so leave her the hell alone.”
“It was solid advice.” His mouth hardened as he flicked his skewed jacket straight. He paused when he caught sight of Alina’s face. “I’m sorry. The way you look…” He sighed, scowling at his feet. “Giovanni will try to save him.” Antonio strode away.
“He really is a bastard,” Vespa said, glaring as Antonio disappeared down the stairs.
“You’ve never liked him.” Nera moved closer.
Alina looked at the woman she’d started to consider a friend. There was a hardness to her face.
“But Antonio isn’t wrong,” Nera said, her words sure. “The pakhan knows how close Luka and Giovanni are. He was able to sneak in here and take down someone like Luka. I’m sorry, Alina, but I don’t want to lose Giovanni.” Her hand moved to her stomach, as if she felt sick from the words. “I can’t lose him. Not even for Luka’s sake.” She turned, her back stiff as she walked away.
Luka was being left to die. Alina’s head throbbed harder, and she stared at her feet as the cold inside her body spread.
“Oh, hell.” Vespa blew out a breath. “And we’re out too. Montrell won’t change his mind, not after I got shot the other night.” The hard woman crouched down in front of Alina, forcing her to meet her eyes. “Kiryl Ivankov is a murderous asshole. So is that man of yours.” Her dark gaze hardened. “What about you? You a killer?”
It was easy to remember how another knife in her hand had continued to slash. “Yes,” Alina said.
“Hm.” Vespa continued to study her, as if she couldn’t decide if she agreed. “Seems to me you asked a simple question. One I’ve got the answer to.”
The ice inside Alina paused, not quite reaching her fingers, making them tingle. “You know where Luka is?”
“Well, the Di Salvos were talking about hitting the old pakhan’s house. Some burned-out estate from when Ivankov went in and murdered the Lipins.” Her head cocked as she smiled. “That help you any?”
Blood rushed to Alina’s head at the words. “Yes,” she said, hope blooming in her stomach. “Yes, it does.” Even as a child, she’d been taught the address of her own home.
Vespa raised an eyebrow, the unblemished one. “And you have a weapon? Something besides that big-ass knife you’re clutching?”
Alina didn’t bother to explain it was one knife of many. Or to pull the revolver, which was still tucked into the small of her back, where sweat had begun to gather. She simply nodded.
Vespa sighed again, reached toward her ankle, and pulled the Velcro there free, the sound loud in the quiet hallway. The holster came loose, and she reached toward Alina’s leg. “Well, here, take my spare too.” It took her using the hand in the sling to fasten it around Alina’s ankle, and she grimaced.
