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That same knowledge had led to Antonio getting shot instead.
A light rap at the door, and Enzo slipped inside.
Antonio groaned. “You too?”
Enzo lifted an eyebrow.
“You here to give me a hard time?” Antonio clarified.
“Is that what’s happening?” Enzo’s gaze slipped to Giovanni, then back to him. “And me without my popcorn.”
“Fuck off.” Antonio closed his eyes. “You both know I’m injured, right?”
Enzo flopped into the armchair against the wall. “Figures you’d whine about it.”
“I’m not whining,” Antonio said, but he heard the surliness in his tone. His arm ached, even with the meds trying to spit on the pain.
“You’re not used to it, is all.” Enzo smirked.
“He did get his head caved in that one time,” Giovanni said.
Antonio didn’t like to think about the blubbery cook who’d almost killed Nera after knocking him out. “Don’t remind me.”
“None of us saw that chef coming.” Enzo scowled. The expression didn’t suit his normally cheerful face.
Giovanni studied Antonio again. “You’re tired,” he murmured.
“No shit.” The heaviness of it pressed on him.
Giovanni reached out, surprising Antonio by tousling his hair. “Get some rest.”
Antonio didn’t miss the look his brother exchanged with Enzo before leaving.
“I liked it when Gio talked less,” Antonio muttered.
Enzo snorted.
“You got something to say?” His limbs felt too heavy to move. “Or are you here to creep on me while I sleep?”
“You’re family, Antonio. Family that’s weak and drugged at the moment. I’m here to watch out for you.” Enzo settled into his chair. “I know it must feel weird to you. Especially since I’m not a person you’d take a bullet for.”
Antonio’s breath hitched in his chest.
“That’s not a complaint. I’d rather you didn’t.” Enzo rested his elbows on his knees as he stared into the distance. “I took one for Nera,” he murmured.
Antonio managed to release the pent-up exhale, forcing himself to take a new breath. “I remember.”
“I know you do. And I know you understand the reason behind it.” His eyes slid back to Antonio. “There’s always a reason behind it for men like us.”
“Vespa isn’t Nera,” Antonio said. From the moment they’d taken Nera in, Antonio had known she would need protection. She’d proven him both right and wrong, but she was still soft in a lot of ways.
Vespa had edges. She wasn’t a hard-ass, not like she tried to be, but she wasn’t soft, even if she had cried. Her tears hadn’t been about sorrow or grief. She’d sobbed in frustration and anger that she hadn’t been the one to kill, and he’d been spellbound by it.
Antonio had felt that way when he’d watched Giovanni shoot Vittore and again, when he’d watched Nera shoot their father.
“She’s nothing like Nera,” he repeated.
“Didn’t say she was,” Enzo agreed. “That’s the point. Did you need to take that bullet, Antonio? Or did you choose to?”
