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“Should have known you wouldn’t be gentle,” he muttered, his hand moving over hers as his vision grayed.
“You don’t like gentle,” Vespa muttered.
“That’s not true,” he breathed out, the dizziness taking over. “Shit. I’ve never been shot before.”
Her grip tightened on him. “Never?”
He lifted his other hand, but his depth perception was off and his finger trailed over the scar on her bruised cheek instead of her nose. “Now who will wash your hair?”
“You’re such a jackass.” The pressure on his arm increased, adding to the pain as she leaned down and kissed him hard on the mouth. “And thanks,” she mumbled.
He stared into her eyes, the expression there one that he couldn’t quite interpret.
Then he fished out his phone because he was the one who always called the doctor.
Giovanni was going to be pissed. Antonio hoped he hid it behind that stoic face like usual because he was tired. His head fell back to the sitting room carpet as he made the calls. At least it was someone else’s problem to handle cleanup.
It was the early hours of morning by the time Antonio was alone in his bedroom with Giovanni. His half brother stood still, his arms crossed, his familiar eyes staring at the cast the doctor had insisted on.
The bullet hadn’t gone through Antonio’s arm, which was a relief when he considered who had been behind him at the time, but it had been a bitch to have it treated. The bullet had fractured the bone and torn through ligaments and muscle. Antonio wasn’t proud that he’d passed out during the ministrations, but only Giovanni had been there to see it besides the doctor.
His brief lack of consciousness didn’t make up for days without sleep. His body was forcing utter exhaustion on him, as if it was afraid he’d run headlong into danger again.
“You’re not usually the one injured,” Giovanni said.
Antonio had no idea what to do with the rawness in his brother’s voice. “That’s not true,” he mumbled, tilting his head back on the pillow to show off the scar that ran under his chin and along his neck.
Antonio had always been proud of the scar. He’d earned it the first time he’d stepped into a fight at Giovanni’s side. The scar was proof that he’d pivoted from the path his mother had been leading him down.
Irritation rose in his mind as Giovanni continued to stare at him. Antonio really was tired; he rarely got irritated with Giovanni. “Just say it.”
Giovanni lifted an eyebrow. “What is it you think I’m here to say?”
“I know this doesn’t help us. Yesterday wasn’t about protecting the Di Salvos, and this wound will set some of our plans back. I should have been more careful.” His stomach shriveled at even the hint that he’d made the wrong call. “I didn’t weigh all the consequences,” he mumbled, letting his chin sink to his chest. Antonio had thought only of Vespa, and how it would feel if he stood there and watched her die, and his body had moved on its own.
“That’s not like you.”
“The Coronellas will owe us.” Antonio tried to focus on that. “So we came out with an advantage.”
Giovanni’s Di Salvo eyes were sharp on him. “They already owed us. A few times over.”
“Another one doesn’t hurt.” Antonio regretted taking the pain pills. The fuzziness in his head was making this conversation worse.
“You were the one who wanted the alliance with the Coronellas. You pursued the knowledge necessary to make it.”
Antonio snorted. “I’m always pursuing information. This path seemed best at the time.” He couldn’t shift his cast without his arm hurting. “I’m second-guessing it now.”
“Are you?” Giovanni asked.
Antonio’s thoughts whirled. “A little.” He’d known better than to sleep with someone in the business. It made things murky, but he couldn’t say that his time with Vespa was a mistake. “With Lucchese gone, the Coronellas will consolidate even more. It’ll pay off in the end.”
“You were the one who saw potential in the Coronellas.” The way Giovanni studied him made Antonio want to squirm. “Was that potential all related to Montrell?”
The research he’d gathered on Vespa rose in his mind. He had dug into both of them hard. That was another reason he’d been irritated about the attack she had suffered. He should have fucking known. He’d gathered so much intel that it was difficult to accept he’d been missing such a large piece.
His intel had painted a picture of an enforcer who wasn’t afraid of the front lines or of getting blood on her hands, an enforcer who was damned skilled at taking people in the business out. That type of person had a lot of potential. Before he’d met her, he’d known exactly who she was. There hadn’t been any attraction at the time, just a satisfaction that she could be the perfect tool, adding to the draw of an alliance with the Coronellas.
Plus, if the alliance went south, all he had to do was use her loyalty to Montrell against her. Against them both.
