Our eyes meet. “Only because of you. The polish helped. Thank you.”
She glances down at her own, bare nails, her fingers curling over until they’re hidden from view. “Then it was worth it.”
There’s more to say, and both of us know it. Perhaps both of us understand the other in a way none of the men around us possibly could, unless they experienced it themselves.
But today is not the day to rake up those thoughts. I join her in telling off an irritated Tony. He takes it with a scowl, but he doesn’t move his eyes away from Frankie. “I can still fight.”
“No,” I say firmly. “You can’t, Tony. You’d be a liability.”
Frankie rolls her eyes. “Grazie. Common sense, Antonio.”
I catch them both watching each other. “I’ll come by tomorrow.”
After saying goodbye to Vincent, I call Gio. He answers on the first ring. “Where are you?”
“Walking past the Courtyard. Why has Rocco been looking after Leo?”
He pauses. “Merda. Is he dead?”
I frown. “Rocco didn’t seem to think so. But he said something about him not having long.”
He blows out a breath. “I’ll meet you in the Courtyard.”
I only wait a few minutes before he appears at the edge. I feel his eyes on me as I walk in a slow circle.
“I always liked this spot.”
Our neutral place. “We’ve had some encounters here, Giovanni Fusco.”
He narrows his eyes at me, but a smile plays on his lips. “Like when you told me you’d stolen all of the Fusco money.”
“Or when you kidnapped me.” I snort. “And then carried me back across the campus because you thought I was dying.”
“I was so damn angry with you.” He takes a step. “I think I knew then, you know.”
I fold my arms. “Oh?”
“You were already taking up far too much space in my head, Corvo.” He pushes some hair away from my face. “And then you gave me a heart attack by bargaining with Matteo, and I finally pulled my head out of my ass.”
I look up at him, sliding my hands around his waist.
“I was a fool,” he murmurs. “You were always going to be inevitable, I think.”
Our lips brush. Once, twice, before I pull back. “I’m very curious about the Leo situation.”
He raises his eyebrow at me. “He’s a traitor.”
“So you cut off his tongue?”
“Not yet.” He takes my hand, heading off the path toward the trees. “I thought he was due some poetic justice first. And then I thought you deserved to have a say. So I’ve been… saving him?”
“And Rocco?” I ask curiously. “I didn’t know you were friends.”
“He’s a psychopath,” Gio mutters. “But… yes, I suppose. Acquaintances, anyway.”
“Male bonding over a little torture. How very traditionally Cosa Nostra of you.”
He laughs. We step into a clearing I recognise, and I turn, my eyes landing on a barren piece of grass. I recognise it instantly, although many others now litter the ground around us. “This is where they buried me.”
