Page 121 of Made in Love and Blood

His father pulled him away just to blast him against the SUV again.

“At least he has fucking taste. Can’t say that for Marco, can I?” Giorgio asked, scoffing hard. “Although, let me say, if she’s whoring around with him already, and it’s so new like you say, that’s on you, Salvatore. For fucking shame.”

With those words, Giorgio let Nico go. He pointed a finger at Nico.

His father stepped closer again. Nico forced his chin up and stared the man down.

Just like Marco.

Same bully. Same bullshit.

“If you think a son of mine is—”

“Okay, okay,” Salvatore muttered, stepping in between the two physically that time. “Another day, Giorgio. We’ll do this on whatever fucking day you choose. Just not here, and not now.”

Fury met rage as Salvatore and Giorgio locked into a stare down that even had Matty stepping closer to them both by a few inches. Nico sniffed hard to clear the sting in his nose before wiping the blood from his lip and chin. His hand trembled from the adrenaline. It’d been so fucking long since he felt that kind of high.

Fighting, fucking, or drugs. Any would do the job for him.

Giorgio watched Nico again.

This time, he averted his gaze. He couldn’t keep looking at his father and not shout exactly what he knew the man was right in his face. Or worse.

He’d fucked up so much tonight for everybody. For himself. Would he see his sister again?

The world crashed around him one second to the next. More conversation passed between one face melting into another subsequent moving mouth saying words he couldn’t understand. His reality shifted all at once, settling into Nico, so he fully understood what he’d done here.

The sky just fell.

Nico barely registered Salvatore yanking him away from the SUV. He did hear the man’s words echoing in his mind with every step he took further from the house while his father and Giorgio’s men drove away.

Tires squealed.

Nico just kept hearing Salvatore.

“Get the hell out of here, Nico.”

•••

Nico didn’t know how long it had been. An hour, maybe a little more. Long enough for him to walk to the guest house at the back of the property, grab his lanyard, phone and wallet, and head back for the main house. Or rather, back to his vehicles and the rest of his things.

The time didn’t help.

His hands still shook. Hate gnawed away. He wasn’t a bit better.

“Hey, there you are. I’ve been calling and texting you. I heard what happened, are you okay?”

He blinked, biting hard into his lip as he yanked open the Mustang, back in the garage now. He couldn’t acknowledge Frankie talking to him because he might explode if he did.

“You didn’t see it?” he dared to ask.

Even his voice sounded off.

“No,” Frankie murmured, stepping closer to him. In his peripherals, he noticed her sweatpants and matching gray hoodie, and how she shrunk in the oversized clothes. “I went to get changed after you saw me. Marco gave me the fucking creeps.”

Nico snorted. “You’d be the first to say so. You wouldn’t believe the pussy he used to bring home.”

A sound came from Frankie. He didn’t recognize it.