She sat on the sofa, rocking back and forth, sobbing again. The gun she had pointed at Celeste’s friends belonged to Donato’s son. It was a plastic version of the real thing.
I picked her up in my arms, settling us both on the sofa once more. “It’s nothing,” I said. “Everyone’s okay.”
“No!” she wailed. “It was something! My brother. Elliott. Oh, Elliott. I miss my brother. Oh God, sometimes I miss him so much I can’t breathe.”
“I know,” I said, feeling pressure build behind my eyes.
Her hands came up—she was signing. Pleading for him to listen to her.If you would have only listened to me!“He can’t hear me, Brando. He can’t. And now he can’t see me either!”
I took her hands, forcing her to hold mine. “Look at me, Scarlett.”
It took her a few minutes, but finally, she did. Her green eyes were swollen and red, her nose matching. She was fucking breaking my heart.
“He can hear you, baby.”
She went to shake her head, to argue, but I stopped her.
“Trust me.”
A few moments passed. She nodded once. “I do.”
“Vabene,” I said, wrapping the blanket around her tighter. Then I pulled her closer so her head rested against my heart. “He can hear you. Better than I can now.”
* * *
We fell asleep on the sofa. Scarlett slept on my chest, both of us covered by the blanket. I slept on and off, my mind too chaotic to find peace in rest. The sun had broken through the clouds, snuffing out the steady fall of snow for a while.
At six, the door to our house creaked, and light footsteps tapped against the wooden floor.
Violet gasped, throwing her hand to her chest, turning in a circle before she found me again. “Jesus, Brando!” she whispered. “What the hell are you doing?”
I stuck the gun, barrel down, between the cushions again. “Protecting what’s mine.”
Her eyes narrowed. “Scarlett needs to get up.”
“Not yet.”
She scanned the house—broken dishes, flowers and clothes all over the floor. Cake was smeared in numerous places, including our hair.
“Eventful night?” She lifted a thick eyebrow. Then she dug in her messenger bag, coming out with her phone.
The blanket had fallen off of Scarlett’s shoulder some, her thin back exposed to the air. Her arms were firmly to my sides, her head tucked underneath my chin. Her long, thick hair fanned out.
Violet took a picture with her phone. I was more aware of her intrusions—thanks to her scheming—and I caught it.
“Tell me what she has today,” I said.
“Umm.” She lifted the phone closer to her face, scrolling. “A meeting with the girls at Maja’s dance school first thing. And a photo shoot in the afternoon.”
Scarlett’s mother had taken it upon herself to open a dance school for girls less fortunate in her mother’s name. Since Scarlett was the famous dancer who took Maja’s place in the family, and who pulled in more backers, she made regular visits.
I nodded. “Give her two hours—push back the first thing, if you can.”
“Shouldn’t be hard. It’s a surprise. The kids aren’t expecting her at a certain time.”
“Come back and help her get ready. Bring Mitch with you, when you do.”
Her eyes heated before they cooled. She nodded once. “I’ll have Mick tell him.”
