Fuck me.
They moved.
I couldn’t blame them. I wouldn’t fuck with my sister when she took that tone or got that look in her green eyes either.
The scorching day waned into a tepid evening, the orange Italian sun starting to set and turn the world a citrus color before darkness swallowed it whole.
At this point, this was the fifth artist, and she was crooning out a romantic love song. Sistine was still going strong. The hat was still on her head, but I could tell her hair was even wavier. Her skin had been touched by the sun, such a beautiful olive tint, and a thin sheen of sweat seemed to make her glow.
This song, she seemed to hold on to the pendant even tighter, swaying, singing the romantic ballad back to the artist.
I was so enthralled by her. So enraptured. Ensnared. I could’ve sworn I felt the heat of her skin, how she’d melt into me,making the apple, pear, rose, citrus and leather scent of her cling to me even harder, and a yearning that had started in my heart made it to my gut. Like I’d hit the biggest fucking dip in the road, and my heart was in my stomach. The feeling was so fucking strong, goosebumps scattered on my arms in the heat.
The only reason I tore my eyes away from her was because I felt a familiar pair of eyes on my face. My sister. She was watching me.
I lifted my eyebrows at her.
She lifted hers, too, but where mine were raised in questioning, hers were raised in knowing.
You know what they say?she signed to me. Our younger brother, Maestro, was hearing impaired, and we all knew sign language.
I’m sure you’re going to tell me, I signed back.
She laughed.The harder they play, the harder they fall. And you, my racing brother, have fallen. Hard.
I turned my face away from hers. We both knew the truth, even if I wasn’t ready to discuss it yet.
Rio squeezed my shoulder, then whistled when the singer announced that her next song would be the last. It was late. The stars had scattered over our heads. I wondered if Sistine was going to take the train back to Venice, or if she was going to stay with her friend. I started to think about the logistics and how this was all going to go down when my sister grabbed my arm and squeezed.
She had a far-off look in her eyes. The same look mamma sometimes got when something was about to happen.
“Mia,” I whispered.
I didn’t even wait for her to look at me. I started plowing my way through the crowd. A guy I didn’t fucking know had pushed his way through the crowd and was coming up behind Sistine. He went to wrap his arms around her. To attack her or dancewith her, either way—he was a dead man. But before I could reach him, a loud whistle rent the air. He must have heard it. He turned his body toward the noise, and when he did, an arrow went straight through his heart.
His eyes grew wide, and when he looked down, he did so in shock. His knees hit the ground before his body did. It took a few seconds for shock to roll through the crowd. When it did, pandemonium broke out. I reached Sistine just in time to stop her from being trampled.
She went to shove me off before she realized it was me. “Casanova,” she barely got out, her eyes frantic.
I said nothing as I checked her over, fucking frantic myself. She was whole. Not hurt. My breath came easier. My men and the men who belonged to her family surrounded us. Rio held my sister close to his side. No one was going to fuck with her. Marciano stood between Rio and my sister and me and Sistine, his face hard and his muscles straining against his shirt. He was ready to battle.
“We stay here,” Remo ordered. “Allow the crowd to break around us.”
“The arrow!” Sistine’s friend shouted toward Remo. “Someone is shooting arrows!”
The friend was panicked. Her eyes wide. Pupils dilated. Flight or fright, fright was her response. Sistine looked at me with pleading eyes. I nodded at the friend and then at Remo. Without hesitation, he took her by the waist and pulled her to his side.
“I will not allow any harm to come to you,” he spoke to her in Italian.
One of our men broke through the crowd and handed Remo a piece of paper. It had been pinned to the arrow and was saturated with the dead guy’s blood. Seemed Iggy was here too. He’d signed off on the note. He’d been watching and didn’t likethe guy coming up behind Sistine while she was dancing, or that was what we all deduced.
It had one word written on it with his name signed below it.
Mine.
“Does this mean…” Sistine took a deep breath. “The love letters are truly from him?”
I said nothing as my fingers dug into the fabric of her dress. She didn’t try to pull away from me. She only stared at my face.
