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He grabs me into his arms and pulls me to him, knocking all the air out of me. He wraps me in a huge hug. Strokes my face and runs his fingers in my hair as he takes a long kiss. He holds me close. “Are you alright, Lucia?”
I look into his face. “Yes.” I stroke his cheek. Poke my fingers into his hair and grip. “Yes, Bruno.” For this moment, I forget everything. I kiss him, tasting and relishing the tangs and scents of him and the crush of his hot, strong mouth.
I tell him. “I’m okay.” Right now, I am.
His eyes gleam and shimmer as they move, looking in my eyes and flicking to look at all of my face. He says, “For now.”
And he holds me tighter.
Bruno is so instinctive and he understands me so well, it almost makes me choke.
We hug and I cling to him like a woman drowning in a storm, holding on tight to the mast of a sinking ship. He strokes and soothes me until I calm down a little. His voice is gentle but so strong and reassuring, it makes me grip him tighter.
He says, “There’s got to be a way through this.”
When Carlo arrives, he comes around the outside of the house to the patio. My heart leaps to see him. I’m running to hug him, but I stop when I see the look on his face.
“Alessio says he can’t make it for brunch. He apologized and said he was in the middle of something and he didn’t have time to call.”
“He called you and told you that?”
“Yup, micia. That’s what he said.”
“He called you to tell you that he didn’t have time to call.” Carlo nods. Then shakes his head.
Bruno says, “Prick.”
Carlo flinches. “Me? Or him?” He shrugs and says, “Or both?”
“No. Him.”
“It’s okay. I felt like a prick as I was coming here with the message.”
I hold his shoulders and pull him to me. It feels so good to hold him.I’m furious with Alessio again for what seems like the millionth time for dropping that bucket of cold water on our meeting.
“You? Why should you feel bad?”
“Because I should have told him to poke it and to deliver his own wet, scummy excuses.”
Bruno asks, “Did he say what it was he was doing that was so fucking important?”
“No. But by then I wasn’t really listening anyway.”
We all drink coffee and juice, eat toast and scrambled eggs, but the air feels thick and heavy.
Eventually, Bruno brings up one of the things we all don’t want to talk about. He says, “So, what’s your take on all this, Lucia, what do you think? Is this Chicago making a play, or is Alessio’s wise guy uncle out on a limb here?”
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head.
Then, retreating, he says, “Anyway, what difference does it make? Either way, it’s a threat and we’ve got to kill it. I say we take out Jerry and see what comes after.”
I ask, “Carlo?”
“Sorry, Bruno, but that’s short-sighted. He’s a made guy and he’s one of the tall trees in Chicago.”
“Not the top.”
“Not the top, no. Not even the top family. But still. He’s a noise. Whatever the story is, if we whack him, we would need to be ready for some serious comeback.”
