Chapter 33
Lorenzo
“You look stressed, fratello,” Cristian said, sounding way too jovial for the amount of frustration that was pumping through my veins. He and Elio had suggested the gun range this morning before we headed into the city to check on the casino.
“Fuck you.”
Cristian had the balls to laugh. “You really shouldn’t say that to a priest, Enzo.”
“You’re not a priest yet, dickhead.”
“Close enough.” He reached for the empty clip that I had thrown to the side and started loading it again. He held it out for me. “Here.”
I stared at him, and then at the clip. “Thanks.”
Before I could pull my ear protection back down, he asked, “You’re upset about Isabella, right?”
He knew more than what he was saying; that was clear in his tone. “Amalia told you that she’s pregnant.”
“She did,” Cristian admitted, “but she didn’t need to. It’s written all over your face.”
I snarled. “Did she also tell you that she wants to leave?”
Cristian raised an eyebrow. “Did she try to escape?”
“No.”
“So, she just said she wanted to leave?” he pressed. At my silence, he scoffed. “Did you expect her to want to be your prisoner, fratello?”
If Cristian were anyone else, I would have put a bullet between his fucking eyes.
I tightened my fingers around the butt of the handgun in my hands, glad that its clip was empty.
I might not have been able to resist the urge to splatter his brain against the wall.
“I expect her to hold up her end of our fucking deal,” I said.
“Did you expect her not to question her choices?”
“Why are you on her side?” I demanded.
Elio stepped in and put a hand on my arm. I shook him off, swinging to point the gun at him. It was empty, and they both knew it, but my cousin still froze. “I’ll get you another target,” he offered.
I forced the tension out of my shoulders and nodded. “Thanks, cugino.”
While Elio went to fetch new targets for both of us, I opened the second box of bullets and began loading my clips.
Cristian went to his own stall to do the same.
When Elio came back, he went to the end of the range to hang up the targets, and then we were back to blasting them apart.
Watching a paper target explode into pieces was satisfying—though maybe not as satisfying as it would be to ring Isabella’s neck—and by the time I turned two more targets into confetti, some of my anger had abated.
“Can I ask you one more question, Enzo?” Cristian asked as we began to pack things up. Elio and I needed to check on Damian.
I snorted. “You just did, but fine.”
“What’s your plan for Isabella?”
“Hey, stronzo, we just calmed him down,” Elio snapped. “Do you want him homicidal again?” He grabbed the case that he’d packed with his extra handgun and clips. “I need a fucking cup of coffee.”
There was a drip machine in the lobby of the gun range, but it varied between absolute swill and sewage water. Not that it would keep Elio from making a cup, but he was going to bitch the entire way home unless we stopped for something better.
“I didn’t mean to upset you,” Cristian said, watching our cousin as he walked away. “I’m curious.”
“You know the plan: she goes free once she delivers the baby.” The thought of her being anywhere but the estate, however, made my stomach burn.
Cristian raised his eyebrow. “Really? You’ll just let her walk away? After everything that she’s seen in the past few months?”
“I think she understands the consequences of running her mouth, Cris.”
“Maybe,” he said with a nod, “but what about the baby?”
“What about it?”
“You want to be a father?” he asked. “Really?”
That made me chuckle; it was a short, ugly sound, even to my own ears. “You know me, fratello,” I said.
“I know,” he countered. “That’s why I asked.”
“There is an abundance of aunts in New Jersey who would love to dote on my heir until it’s old enough to be sent to boarding school.”
I didn’t have to look at my brother to know he was disappointed in me. Our father had been active in our upbringing. He wanted to make sure that we were the men that he wanted us to be, and he couldn’t trust our education to places he didn’t have a direct hand in controlling.
“Maybe you should speak to Father David,” Cristian said. “He’s excited about coming for dinner; it would be a good time to discuss your impending fatherhood.”
Normally, I would have told Cristian no.
I kept Father David at a distance to avoid the scolding I knew I would get for becoming such a lay Catholic.
But the clenching, claustrophobic feeling in my chest that accompanied any and every thought about being a father, and Isabella in general, was weighing on me.
Eventually, it would make me sloppy, and I couldn’t afford any mistakes. Not at this point in my life.
“I’ll talk to him,” I promised my brother.
Cristian gave me a genuine smile, and it pushed some of that crushing weight off my shoulders. “I’m glad. He’ll be able to give you sound advice.” I didn’t quite believe that, but I wasn’t going to contradict him either. Not after we had spent so much of the last few months at odds.
“This is literal shit.” We both looked to where Elio was standing in the doorway between the lobby and the range. He was frowning down at a Styrofoam coffee cup. “Let’s go. I want—”
“Yeah, yeah,” Cristian cut him off. “We know what you want. You don’t have to cry over it, Christ.”
“I don’t think you’re supposed to take the Lord’s name in vain, fratello.”
My brother flipped me off, and I was able to take a deep breath again.