THIRTY-NINE #3
I pulled into my usual spot, but before I even killed the engine, a prickle of unease crawled up my spine. That ancient, animal instinct – the one that whispered when you weren’t alone, when eyes were on you – tightened around my throat like a noose.
It wasn’t just my imagination.
Matt’s face shifted in an instant, going from wary older brother to someone who looked as if he’d razed a city to the ground without blinking.
We exchanged glances, no words needed. Then, as one, we stepped out of the car.
I wished I’d brought a gun. But then again, I was more of a knife guy. Guns were neat. I liked it messy.
My eyes snapped to the spot where Travis had stood earlier. His spectre still lingered here – somewhere between memory and menace.
I scanned the pavement, searching for any proof he had been real, something tangible.
Rome’s street cleaners were relentless, scrubbing away the sins of the city before dawn. Maybe I was reaching. Maybe writing fiction had muddled my common sense—
Two cigarette butts. Black paper – they snagged in my gaze, laying on the concrete alongside the ashes of what was once my home.
Maybe luck didn’t hold a grudge, after all.
An image of Travis chucking the cigarette butt earlier flashed through my mind.
I crouched, pulling a tissue from my pocket before picking them up. The scent of burnt tobacco still clung to the filters, faint but there.
Matt watched me, his face unreadable except for the sharp lift of a brow – another DeLuca thing, I noted.
I pocketed the butts and turned towards the car again.
‘Your uncle might find a use for these,’ I muttered, tapping my jacket pocket.
It took Matteo a beat to catch on. But when it hit, he grinned – the exact kind of smile that made people cross the street.
Madmen and monsters.
That was the game now.
And not an entirely bad title for a book, either.
Back inside, he buckled up with a grunt. ‘You’re not checking your crib?’
‘It’s charred,’ I said flatly and slipped behind the wheel.
The engine growled awake, and the city moved for us, the road already smearing with the yellow glare of streetlamps.
‘Birdie asleep when you left?’
‘Who?’
He shot me a look as if I’d asked him to define gravity.
And suddenly it hit me – apart from Travis, her writing, and a few small titbits, I knew little about Paula.
The idea had me clenching my teeth tighter, feeling somewhat bad for punishing her for lying to me. Omitting the truth – a tiny voice in my head corrected.
Great, even my alter ego was on her side.
‘Paula. Dad used to call her Birdie – said she was always zipping around the house like a sparrow. Loud and lively.’
That detonated something wrong in me: her breath hitching, her body twisting beneath mine as my fingers gripped her wrists tight – that tattoo right beneath my palm.
‘Loud and lively,’ I echoed, though the version I was thinking of was much different than his.
Not even a beat passed before he opened his goddamn mouth again. ‘Who was that old bastard earlier?’
Nosy little shit.
‘The man who…’ I trailed off. The words hung somewhere between my throat and a question mark. Raised me wasn’t quite right. Owned me may have once been closer, but now?
I cleared my throat, but the words didn’t come. A fucking writer without words.
‘Someone I know.”
Matteo didn’t push. He felt the tangled web of the past and let it be.
He may have been nosy, but at least he knew when to stop poking the beast.
Before he could fire off another question, I yanked the wheel, skidding across two parking spots I technically owned, and killed the engine. Didn’t even wait. I was out of the car before the wheels stopped spinning in my head.
The building loomed ahead – dark where it shouldn’t be.
Fourth floor – lights out.
A cold breath slid over me.
The car door thudded shut behind me as Matteo rounded the hood, his jaw already set to thug on the premises that made neighbours draw curtains.
Good boys, I snorted to myself. But amusement died quickly when I didn’t see Vinnie’s car or his scooter – and my heart kicked into high gear.
I jabbed at my screen and hit call.
It rang once. Twice. Three times, but no answer.
Something twisted in my gut.
Guilt bled into me as cold sweat broke down my back.
Fuck…
I’d been so wrapped up in Paula that I’d shoved Vinnie to the back of my mind. I hadn’t liked how we’d parted at dinner, either. He was clearly upset about me playing the HR clauses.
He’d been fine when he’d followed Ezio out of the house to take him back to the hospice. It’d been a two-hour round trip, but he’d texted me – which had meant he was probably near the building.
I tried him again, thumb trembling slightly.
Still no answer.
Vinnie wasn’t a fighter. That had always been my role when we were little. I’d taken the kicks, the split lips, the busted ribs. He was softer. Sharper in other ways – the kind of kid who’d help his Nonna to church every Sunday and lit candles. A proper altar boy in designer shoes.
I was the one who’d grown up punching walls and memorising exits.
If something had happened to him—
Christ.
‘Vinnie’s supposed to be here,’ I murmured. Matteo crossed his arms, leather creaking as we glanced around.
‘Let’s wait a bit.’
And I hoped. Fucking hoped he would show.