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I push the thought away and touch the curve of Carina’s spine, directing her toward the front door. She moves quickly, getting away from me.
When we get inside, I turn on the lights. The interior of the house isn’t quite as rough as the outside, but it’s no Ritz. The power works, and the place has been kept in good order. As I take in the two-room space, I stop at the bed Carina and I will have to share since there’s only one and a loveseat, and just stare.
Normally, when I get to safety, I plan my next move and gather myself, but I can’t move. The bullet hit the spot where Carina’s head had been a second before. If I hadn’t pulled her back onto the floor, she would be dead.
“You can sleep on the sofa.”
Her voice behind me has me turning around and regarding the bane of my existence with thoughtful eyes. Evie and my father both want me to sit back and let her die.
I think she’s a target because of me. Maybe it’s Geno. He can’t strike at me directly, not without severe repercussions, so Carina is his target. Or maybe it’s Evie. She doesn’t want her plans fucked up. Regardless, I’m the impetus behind the bullet’s trajectory.
I ignore her statement to clear the space between us and take her face in my hands. Her back collides with the wall as my mouth consumes hers. The kiss is feral and harsh, and I break it after a second, but I don’t release her face.
“You are so fucking stupid and careless.” I tighten my hold on her. “Your anger is going to get you killed one day.”
I release her face, and she doesn’t move. I think she’s stunned. “And I’m not sleeping on the fucking couch.” I lean into her neck and inhale her scent. I can’t let her die.
But I can’t have her either.
This is a new kind of pain.
Chapter 14
Carina
Seventeen Years Old
DearDiary,
Things have changed between Luca and me since Francis’s death.
We were always close…the three of us. Even though Luca was a couple of years older, we hung out all the time.
And then there was that Independence Day understanding, carved in my twelve-year-old heart, that he was going to marry me one day.
But after Francis’s murder, it’s like Luca has attached himself to my hip. I wake in the middle of the night, and he’s stretched out beside me, one hand fisted around a lock of my hair as if to make sure I don’t go anywhere while he sleeps.
I think…no…I’m almost certain that he has feelings for me. I’ve always had feelings for him. We’re just not entirely sure what to do with them.
As we’ve gotten older, the politics of the Five Families has become increasingly obvious. It’s such a delicate balance. We’re not free to be with whoever we want because doing so could give one family more power than another family.
But it’s obvious that Francis’s murder unsettled Luca, and he’s getting tired of waiting for something to happen.
I’m getting tired, too.
Iwakewithmyback tucked securely against Luca’s chest in the singular bed. We went to sleep in separate locations, me on the bed and him on the sofa despite his declaration, but at some point, he must have climbed into the bed with me. I cast my gaze around without moving my head, cataloging my surroundings in the dim light of morning before I disturb him.
I can barely tell that the sun has risen. The windows of the second room where we slept are blocked with boards, allowing weak strands of dust-flecked sunlight to stream in and infiltrate my sleep. The room itself is tiny, allowing just enough space for a full-size mattress to sit on a metal frame beside a small nightstand.
Luca’s arm tightens around my belly, pulling me in more tightly against him. His fingers curl against my skin, bared by my decision to sleep in my underwear and preserve my clothes so I could wear them again today.
I hold my breath.
It feels like an involuntary action, like he doesn’t realize he’s even doing it. All the same, the simple touch is sending heat coiling through my system from tip to toe. Part of me—the weak part—wants to place my hand over his and push his fingers between my legs. The other part remembers how he left me the other night.
I pick up his hand and drop it behind me, slide out of the bed, and stalk from the room.
The rest of the place looks as abandoned on the inside as on the outside. It’s dark, dingy, and lacking all of the comforts I’ve grown accustomed to. I bypass the kitchen and use the bathroom, grateful there’s at least a roll of toilet paper sitting on the sink and a thin clean towel hanging on the bar.
