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Giovanni didn’t agree like he’d expected. Antonio’s eyes cut over to him, and he found his half brother watching him.
“Luka mentioned Montrell’s mother.”
Antonio growled inwardly. And just when he had started to soften toward the little prick.
“We’ve never talked about your mother. I know the outcome, but I’ve never heard the complete story.”
It wasn’t quite a question. It wasn’t a demand. Words crowded into Antonio’s throat anyway.
“You’ve never wanted to talk about it.” Giovanni’s eyes searched his in the dim light.
Antonio dropped his hand from his jacket as if it’d been burned. “I still don’t.” He looked away.
His brother didn’t push, like Antonio knew he wouldn’t. Instead he said something worse. “You’re always taking care of things. Am I not enough?”
Heat flared in Antonio’s gut. “Fuck off about that shit. You know I don’t think that.”
“Then why are you outside of my room, Antonio?” Giovanni asked. His tone firmed. “You should get some sleep.”
“Is that an order?” Antonio asked.
“Do I need to make it one?” Giovanni didn’t flinch when their gazes locked. “I can protect Nera. We can protect each other.”
Antonio’s palms began to sweat. It took more effort than he’d care to admit to push off the wall. “Fine. Good night, Gio.”
His brother’s eyes remained on him until he shifted out of sight beyond the top step. Antonio waited there, listening for the bedroom door to click shut behind him.
Then he settled into his new guard post, not worrying at all about the possibility of drifting off. With his mother’s last words rattling around his mind, he wasn’t anywhere close to tired anymore.
Chapter 19
Vespa ignored Antonio when he showed up for the hit on Lucchese with the Di Salvo muscle he’d promised. He’d expected the cold shoulder after she’d cried the last time they were together. Remembering the way she had sobbed twisted something inside him.
Over the last few days, he’d found himself wondering who was helping her wash her hair and dress, but he had reminded himself that she and Montrell were close friends. If not Montrell, Giulia would step in.
Seeing Vespa changed his mind. Even pulled back in a sloppy bun, her hair had a sheen that wasn’t usually there.
The bruises on her face had darkened instead of fading, and the scar on her discolored cheekbone carried a twitch. He wanted to smooth a finger over it.
He hadn’t meant to mention her staying behind, and he should have expected the vitriol she threw at him. She wasn’t focused, though, and he didn’t regret pissing her off by pointing it out. While they shot their way through the Lucchese family, Vespa seemed fixated on Montrell and Beatrice.
Montrell hadn’t forced the injured women to stay behind, but he made certain they weren’t the first ones through the door, and Vespa didn’t hide that she hated it. Even injured and distracted, she took out more of the Lucchese than any of them. Her aim was something to behold, her instincts sharpened for spotting pinch points.
Antonio began to wonder if she could have reached Santino Lucchese all on her own, just like Luka would have been able to. Their styles were different—Vespa would never be quiet about it—but they were equally lethal.
Vespa shifted impatiently as Beatrice stared down at a man she’d shot. Beatrice’s face, with its healing scratches, drew tight as she studied the fallen soldier.
Vespa sighed, moving toward her. They had similar slings bracing their right arms, though Beatrice also wore a cast. Antonio winced as he watched Vespa bump her still-healing shoulder against Beatrice’s good one.
“Fuck him,” Vespa muttered.
Beatrice shifted her gaze finally, nodding at Vespa and ready to move on.
Antonio moved closer to Vespa. “Bet that hurt,” he murmured.
Her eyes flashed with more humor than the annoyance he had expected. She met his eyes, but then her face changed. She whirled and lunged at Antonio, pushing him into the wall as she squeezed off a shot.
One of the Lucchese soldiers jerked on the ground, the gun he’d lifted dropping without him firing.
