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The rim of the tray smashes into the calf of the first man. He yells a loud, bloody roar. He topples as the second man pivots to aim his automatic at me. I whack the tray sideways at his gun hand. It raps on his knuckles and deflects the weapon.
I just have time to grab Adrianna’s hand and snatch her out of the group. The men fall back fast, aiming their weapons at me, but then retreating fast as the Fortuna brothers open fire. They’re close enough now that they’re drawing blood, hitting arms and shoulders.
Blood seeps through the pants of the man I brought down. He howls as he tries to push himself off the floor. As I’m turning, making eye-contact with Adrianna, who looks more enraged than relieved, Don Fortuna steps close with a gun in his hand.
He calmly leans down and puts a bullet in the back of the injured attacker’s head. Then he beckons to Carlo.
The don points at me.
“Take her home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Carlo looks like he’s just won the shit sandwich.
He takes me downstairs. His sapphire-blue Bentley convertible is waiting, with the top down and both of the doors open.
Like an old-school true gentleman, he seats me and closes the door for me before he strides around the beast of a car and swings into the driver’s seat. The engine makes an almost silent, threatening rumble and the car moves smoothly, like a force of nature. A sure-footed jungle cat.
The ride is majestic, but Carlo’s stony silence scrapes the shine off the drive.
I try saying, “Seems like you weren’t ready to leave the party.”
A hollow laugh accompanies his disparaging tone and the slight, sarcastic stretch of his beautifully manicured eyebrow. He doesn’t look at all like the don. Or like either of his brothers. Carlo’s face has a natural, almost aristocratic perfection, like an Italian Renaissance marble statue.
With the perfect proportions of his face, and his clear, sad eyes, he could be the hero of an ancient Roman myth.
“Party?” An empty smile stretches his lips thin, and he shakes his head. “Up until those punks came in with their pop-guns, it was all the riotous fun of a wake. One where all the guests were jonesing to get back to their daytime TV.” I feel a warm glow as he looks at me, watching for my reaction. There’s something exciting about having his attention. About being the thing that he’s studying. Even if it’s only for a moment. “No,” he says, “I just wanted to find out what really happened.”
He throws the car into a fast turn. Almost like it was just for the hell of it.
Eventually, he says, “You showed yourself well in there.”
“Your father didn’t seem to think so.”
There’s an odd look in Carlo’s eye as he says, “The don walks his own path. Sometimes it’s impossible to know what’s driving him.”
“My daddy’s like that sometimes, too.”
There’s that look again. He says, “But you were smart back there. Decisive and bold, without being reckless.”
“I was thinking the same about you three. You in particular.”
He blinks. “Don’t blow smoke up my ass, little Princess. Especially not because I’m paying you a compliment. If you get to know me, you’ll appreciate the appreciation more.”
I tell him, “You mean that you’re not generous with praise.”
“I’d sooner put it more like, if I say I’m impressed, believe I mean it.”
A man of few words. When he does say something, it’s deliberate. And it’s meaningful.
He says, “I feel like I’ve been exiled.” Then he looks across to me and says, almost as an afterthought, “No offense.”
“None taken. Welcome to the club of exiles. It’s my second time today.” He turns to look at me again. So I add, “No offense.”
He laughs. The effect it has on me is a bright shock out of nowhere. Like a wave breaking in the desert. The cascade of bursting, tingling explosions his playful ripple of laughter sets off inside me takes me totally by surprise.
He sounds like a light-hearted killer. Innocent, playful, filthy and dark, all at the same time.
