Chapter Two
Antonio
Someone tried to kill me.
They failed, terribly at that, seeing how they only managed to shoot my fucking leg. It’s a miracle that nothing vital was hit. It was blind luck that they hit anything at all. The shots were made from a moving car, but whoever fired them meant to kill me.
It wouldn’t be the first time this has happened.
I experienced my first attempt fourteen years ago when I was twenty-three.
Got into a fight with some fuckers who hated me because I was a Rossi.
I was hotheaded and stupidly believed that it would be a fair fight.
Matteo and I against four of them—bad odds, but we were young and arrogant.
We were winning, too, until one of the bastards pulled a knife.
Slashed my palm open when I blocked the blow.
He was aiming for the neck.
At least back then, I knew who wanted me dead and fought back even with a bleeding hand, but yesterday was different.
Whoever shot me was afraid to be recognized, hence the reason they had a cap pulled low over their eyes.
Since he missed my head, I can only assume he wasn't a professional sent to take me out.
And now, I’m stuck in bed running through the mental list of the people in New York who want me dead.
“What’s with the sour face?”
I glance up to watch Matteo step into the room.
I’ve heard before that we look the most alike.
He and I were born Irish twins, with only an eleven-month age gap between us, so we were very close growing up.
He, more than anyone else, understands how lying in bed all day doing nothing is driving me insane.
“What the fuck took you so long?” I ask, sitting up, careful not to disturb the injury. As fun as it sounds to have Emilia tend to me, I'm not exactly looking forward to getting new stitches if I tear open my wound. “Did you think it was fun to keep an invalid waiting?”
“I have a life and a wife, something you wouldn’t know anything about,” Matteo retorts as he keeps the door open. I don’t realize why until Lorenzo, our youngest brother, follows in with his laptop. "Are you going to keep whining, or do you want to start work on finding your shooters?”
“About fucking time.”
Matteo walks to the window, and Enzo approaches the recliner to sit, but I must make some noise as he stops and turns to look at me. “What?”
“Not there,” I tell him, nodding to a cushioned stool. “Use that instead.”
“What’s wrong with the recliner?”
“It’s broken.”
“It looks fine to me,” he argues, kicking it. “The stool doesn’t look half as comfortable.”
“Sit there anyway.”
He grumbles under his breath but walks to the stool and makes himself comfortable on it before turning to open his laptop.
“I should probably feel sorry that you got shot,” he says, not an ounce of pity in his voice.
“Anyway, I’ve been scouring the surveillance footage of the area where you were shot, but so far, I've come up empty.”
“Do you have any idea who shot you?” Matteo asks from his spot.
“I could come up with a list of people who hate me and run out of paper. This family alone probably has the entire city wishing death on us, not accounting for the people who have personal grudges with me." Still, one name keeps popping up no matter how I look at it. “There is someone I suspect.”
“Who?”
“Marco Bortelli.”
Matteo’s brows furrow in confusion at the name. "Why the fuck would the son of a rival family in Boston want you dead?" And then his eyes narrow on mine. "Fucking hell, Antonio, what did you do?"
I was reckless. It’s always been a known fact that Matteo is the most responsible of the Rossi brothers. As the new don and heir to our father, he had to be responsible in ways the rest of us didn’t. Even so, I knew my limits and the lines I couldn’t cross. I am, after all, his capo.
“I joined a game, invite only,” I tell my brother, watching as his eyes flare with surprise and rage.
“It’s a poker game with high stakes. At first, I wasn't going to accept the invite, but since most players are members of organized crime families, politicians, and other influential people, I figured there was no harm in networking with other powerful men. As your underboss, of course.”
“Oh, fuck that! We both know that's not the only reason you accepted. You are a fucking adrenaline junkie who revels in chaos.”
He’s not entirely wrong. Sure, I joined to network, but I also love the rush and the high-stakes nature of the game. Still, I'm always careful about how much I gamble. I may be reckless in some ways more than others, but I am smart about how I go about these things.
Well, maybe I wasn’t so smart that night, gambling with the likes of Marco Bortelli. I should have known the man would be a sore loser. Enough to want to blow my head off.
“The game is supposed to be neutral territory, and most of these men don’t give a fuck about losing any amount of money.”
“Clearly, someone did,” Matteo grumbles before turning to Enzo. “Check the financial situation of Marco Bortelli. Let’s see if he has vaults of money he can afford to gamble away.”
“On it,” Enzo says, fingers flying over his laptop.
“The fucker used his father’s prized antique car as collateral to play the game, but I was feeling charitable that night, so I told him I would take a hundred thousand dollars if he wasn’t willing to hand over the car.
” I run a hand over my beard as I bring that game night back to mind.
“He accused me of cheating. I remember him foaming at the mouth and crying about how I had somehow cheated, so I simply told him he had two weeks to pay up, or I would collect the debt from his father and expose his gambling addiction.”
“Smart,” Matteo snickers. “Very smart of you to threaten a cornered dog. What the fuck did you think was going to happen? Of course he was going to bite."
“Clearly not hard enough. He missed.”
“And yet, here you are. In bed. With a hole in your fucking leg.”
“Touché.”
"If you two are done bickering, I've found something," Enzo says, turning his laptop to face us.
Matteo steps closer, and we both stare blankly at the series of numbers flashing on the screen, none of which makes sense.
Lorenzo shakes his head and turns his laptop away.
"I won't bother explaining everything. The short story is that Marco Bortelli should not be gambling anything, let alone his father’s antique car.”
“He’s broke?” I ask, surprised. The people who manage the game state they're careful about the people they invite to play, but it seems they didn't run a proper background check on Marco. “I know the fucker shot me, but I need solid proof before I can act. This isn’t enough, but it’s a start.”
“I’ll look into it,” Enzo says, getting up to leave.
He glances at the recliner and shakes his head before leaving.
Matteo does as well, after leaving me sharp instructions to sit still and not do anything reckless as I wait for them to investigate.
I probably wouldn't get past the gates anyway, with the level of security in this place, so I lie down and try not to think of a woman with blonde hair and the prettiest blue eyes I have ever seen.
Still, she slips into my mind.
As does the memory of the first time I stopped thinking of her as Luca’s sister and as something…more.
I don’t like myself when I’m around her. Not the way my brain short-circuits when I catch a glimpse of those blue eyes, like two pools reflecting the sky. I get lost in them, and it fucks me up that I can’t function around her, so I do shit like I did this morning.
I pretend.
I pretend that I don’t want to wrap my arms around her and kiss that mouth until she goes slack against me. Pretend that I don’t want to see her stripped naked for me, under me, with eyes locked on mine as I sink my aching cock into her tightness.
I pretend that I don’t want her when in truth, I’ve never wanted anything or anyone more.
A soft knock pulls me from my thoughts. Silvia appears in the doorway, Luca trailing behind her. I imagine this is going to be the rest of my day, with people coming to check up on me, so I welcome their presence. It provides a distraction from thoughts of…her.
“How are you feeling?” Silvia asks, sitting down on the bed and taking my hand. I’ve known Silvia for many years. Known her long before she started working as a housekeeper and nanny for our family.
She and my mother were close. Growing up, I thought they were inseparable and watched them do everything together. And then a series of bad events happened. Silvia became pregnant with twins and was kicked out by her family when she refused to name the father.
She turned down my parents' offer to just move in and instead wanted to earn her keep, so she was hired as the housekeeper and nanny.
And then my mother found out she was pregnant with Gabriella, and the two were so excited by the thought of raising their kids together, but that never happened.
She died in childbirth, and Silvia had to step in to raise Gabriella alongside her own children.
She never tried to replace my mother and kept her memory alive.
Silvia is a huge part of my life and memories, and now…
I’m in love with her daughter.
Fuck!
“Antonio?”
I shift my eyes to Luca, and it’s so fucking weird how he looks nothing like Emilia despite them being twins. "I'm fine," I tell them, running a hand through my hair. "I'm just sick of lying in bed already."
“It’s just been one day,” Silvia laughs, patting my hand affectionately. “You gave us quite a scare, Antonio. You need to be more careful out there.”
There is worry in her eyes, so I squeeze her hands in assurance. “I’ll take better care next time."
“Okay, now let’s change your dressing,” she says, getting up, and my brows furrow in confusion.
“What do you mean?” I glance at the antique grandfather clock I won in another poker game and note that it’s only five p.m. Emilia has the day off—I’ve gotten in the habit of tracking her work schedule.
Surely, I can wait until she checks in on me to change the dressing herself.
“Emilia should be the one to do it. You don’t need to worry about it, Silvia. ”
Something akin to discomfort crosses her eyes before she shakes her head. “Emilia won’t be here tonight, but she’ll stop by in the morning to check on you on her way to work.”
Her words give me pause. “Why can’t she do it tonight?” I ask, ignoring the little voice at the back of my head that calls me selfish. She looked exhausted when she left this morning, and I figure she needs all the rest she can get, but something about Silvia’s eyes has me prodding. “Silvia?”
"Well, this is awkward. I'm not the kind to talk about my daughter's personal life—"
“Mama,” Luca cuts in. “What are you talking about? Where’s Emilia, and why can't she be here tonight? If she's too tired, I'll go get her and bring her back here. She can stay here, then I’ll drop her off in the morning."
Silvia lets out a sigh, turning to her son. “She won’t need you to pick her up, Luca. She called to say that she’s going out on a date with a man from work and won’t be able to come until tomorrow.”
Long beats of silence pass before anyone speaks.
I stare blankly at Silvia even as my blood starts to boil. My hands clench into fists, and I feel my jaw tighten, my teeth grinding together as I try to contain the rage threatening to explode.
A date?
Did she say a fucking date?
Fucking hell, the idea of another man being with Emilia is enough to send my vision blurring with red. And the fact that she intends to stay away and come over tomorrow only adds fuel to the flames raging inside me.
Is she planning on sleeping with him? Is she in love with him?
Fuck, the thought of Emilia, all shy and flustered in front of another man, makes me want to climb off this bed and find them, bad leg be damned.
She’s mine, goddamnit, and off limits to other men! That kiss last night had to have meant something to her. It meant a whole lot to me, despite how much I tried to play it off like I didn’t remember it.
“What do you mean she has a date?” Luca hisses, voicing my concerns.
“Your sister is twenty-six, Luca. It’s about time she got herself a man and gave me some grandbabies. I’m not getting any younger, you know?”
I keep my mouth shut as Silvia helps dress my wound, and when I ask her to give Luca and me some space to talk, she doesn’t argue. I wait until she’s left and the door is shut behind her before turning to Luca. “Do you know the guy your sister is going out with?”
His eyes narrow on mine. “Why do you care?”
"You don't?" I ask, trying to keep my voice as level as possible. "The man who shot me yesterday hasn't been caught yet. If he were watching this house, he could have followed Emilia when she left this morning. It’s not safe for her to be out there with a shooter on the loose.”
I try to push down the guilt when the suspicion in his eyes disappears and is replaced by panic. There's worry for his twin sister, and I hate to use that against him. It makes me an asshole, the worst of the worst, but I need Emilia here with me.
I would search the goddamn city myself if I could get out of this fortress without someone stopping me. I wouldn’t put it past my father to try to cuff me to my bed if it meant keeping me under lock and key until I’ve healed. So I have to depend on someone else for this.
“Bring her back," I tell Luca, and he nods, already walking out of the room.
Emilia is off limits, and I'll be damned if I let another man get his dirty paws on her!