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"What was your excuse?" I ask him.
"I told him I needed to visit Sal Giordano."
"Are you gonna do that?"
"Eventually."
"Isn't it dangerous?"
"Not really. I usually have the upper hand because they know they're in the wrong. They won't threaten me or they'll have to deal with your dad."
Images of my dad's associates threatening Foster swim in my head. The fading bruise and missing tooth are one thing, but he could get killed if he becomes too embroiled in my dad's business. "My dad has a gun. I saw it when Rocco attacked me in my room."
His head jerks back and he blinks several times. "What the hell?"
"Rocco attacked me in my room. Threatened me about Donnie again. My dad came in with a gun and actually shot it at him. He missed, but still. I was shocked my dad even has a gun."
He goes very still and his jaw clenches. "When?"
"I don't know. Shortly after the pool incident, I asked my dad about moving out. He said he wants me to live with him to keep me safe and a few days later Rocco broke in and threatened me."
A vein throbs in his neck and his whole body is stiff when I press my palms to his chest.
"Please let me up. It's hard to leave you, but he'll expect me home. It's my birthday."
He shakes himself out of whatever thought he was stuck in and his smile returns. "Happy birthday," he says with a soft voice. "Come back tomorrow and I'll give you your present." He presses his lips to mine.
Our lips brush as I shake my head.
"Come back tomorrow." His hand squeezes my hip, and his urgent lips on my neck send a tremor to my core.
"It's really hard to get away from him." His kisses are so enticing, but I have to go.
He grunts and turns to his side, resting his palm flat on my tummy. "Tell your dad you're not marrying Renzo."
The thought of confronting my dad again makes my chest hurt. "I've told him before."
"Tell him you're with me."
"It won't go well." That's an understatement, but I don't want to hurt Foster's feelings.
"He likes me now," he says with a bit of humor in his voice, but it's not funny at all.
I hate to have to say it, but we need to have the truth between us. I stare up at the ceiling because I can't bear to see his face. "You're still not Italian and not from an influential family."
He sighs and runs his hand through his hair. The chasm between us is growing huge.
We both sit up. He's quiet for a long time. His lips press into a thin line, and the warmth between us cools.
"You don't have any idea who killed your brother?" he asks out of the blue.
His mention of Ricky shoots a spear through my heart. "No," is my breathy whisper. "Please don't talk about it, Foster. It hurts too much."
He nods and pets my hair as he gazes into my eyes. "How 'bout your mom? You wonder how she died?"
His voice is gentle but his words pull the spear from my heart and cause bitter blood to spill out. "She had an unknown heart condition. I don't like to talk about it."
"Maybe it's time you looked into your mother's and brother's deaths."
