“No, itcan’twait,” Carlo says, trying to get around Nick, who holds him back with ease. “Nicky, I’m serious, this legal shit needs to get donetoday.”
Tara is nowhere around that I can see, but Conor O’Hara and his men are here, standing to the side in the waiting room, watchful as the scene unfolds. “Carlo, come on through,” I say, waving him towards me. Nick sighs, but lets Carlo go past him, while I stand myself in front of Frank and put a hand on his chest. “Cut it out, Frank. Things have changed, no matter what Vollero might have told you.”
Carlo slides by and makes his way to Luca’s door.
“The Boss never said it himself, about Fontana,” Vollero pipes up. “I never heard it from his lips that he wanted Fontana in charge.” He’s looking straight at me when he says it.
“Shut the fuck up,” I tell him. Vollero should know better than to talk so openly about Family business, especially with an Irishman in earshot. I glance over at O’Hara and his crew. At Murph, hanging on every word he hears.
And when Luca hears that Vollero’s been sharing Family news with Frank…
“This asshole’s a traitor and he should be dead already,” Frank spits out, his finger stabbing towards Nick in that aggressive way he has. The room guards are still holding him back, thankfully, as he pulls against them. “And what the hell could’ve changed so much—”
“Keep itdown,” I snap at him, jerking my head towards the three Donovans standing there like peanut crunchers. Conor gives me a slight smile, a small tip of the head, and then he shrugs, turns, and Rory and Murph fall in instantly behind him as he walks away. “Everything’schanged,” I say in a low voice to Frank, and then I look at Nick. “Show him.” Nick’s expression is clear to read; he doesn’t want to escalate. But: “He has a right to know, Nick. Show him.”
Even the three Donovan men can’t help pausing to glance back around as dead silence falls over everyone standing there. Nick holds up his hand slowly, looking Frank straight in the eye as he does, and Frank looks confused for a second until he realizes exactly what he’s seeing.
The Morelli ring.
The Morelli ring on Nick Fontana’s finger.
Frank’s neck suffuses with red. “You son of a bitch!” he screams, and throws himself forward at Nick.
Chapter Eleven
FINCH
Iflatten myself against the wall as Frank, with two room guards flapping off his arms like clothes on a washing line, flies down the hallway at Nick. Conor, Rory and Murph dart into the fray as well, but not before Frank’s hard fist crashes into Nick’s face. Vollero, standing well clear of the action, gives a shout of laughter.
The Donovans, along with the Morelli guards, crash-tackle Frank to the ground, and Nick, rubbing his jaw, watches with hard eyes.
“Nicky!” Carlo starts towards him, but I grab him back, hustle him with me into Luca’s room.
“Trust me,” I mutter. “Guys like you and me, we should just stay out of the way when guys like them are throwing down. They’ll figure it out.” Luca’s told me that enough times now that it’s stuck.
“They’re notanimals, for fuck’s sake,” Carlo says, scowling, but he stays with me and we both peer around the doorway together.
“Aren’t they?” I ask, as we watch the men get Frank to his feet. It still takes all five of them—two Morellis and three Donovans—to keep Frank under control, and hospital security has arrived as well, which is just going to make things worse. “Come on,” I sigh, withdrawing into the room and pulling Carlo with me. “You can go kiss your boyfriend all better after they’ve explained themselves to security. In the meantime, what do I need to sign?”
Carlo takes one more glance at the door, and then he turns his mind to business. Since Luca has been in the hospital, I’ve had to sign paper after paper, document after document from insurance, from the bank, and of course, from the Bianchi and Associates law firm as our representative to law enforcement. Carlo has been working his ass off to keep the cops away from me and from Luca—from the Morelli Family as a whole—and I’m very grateful, of course.
But I’m also exhausted and sick with worry and all these papers are meaningless in the end if Luca is not okay.
“Lay them on me,” I yawn, and Carlo starts putting down page after page for me to check and sign. Or rather, I don’t check; I just sign.
“You need to read these,” he says after the third one. His voice is gentle, but still business-like. “At least to understand what you’re signing.”
“Are you fucking me over?” I cock an eyebrow at him. “No? Then I don’t care. Tell me what to sign and I’ll sign. I gotta trust someone, Carlo, and right now, you’re it.”
He tightens his mouth, but keeps feeding me papers. I sign them as fast as I can, my signature becoming an illiterate scrawl by the end, and then I throw the pen back at Carlo, even though this whole mess isn’t his fault.
Or so I keep reminding myself. Because there’s a dark part of my heart that sometimes follows a particular chain of cause and effect, in which us being caught by surprise at the townhouse is linked back in an arrow-straight line to Luca being so pissed off at Nick Fontana…
And Carlo Bianchi.
Carlo sees the hint of it in my face, I think, because he shuffles the papers together and shoves them back in his briefcase. “Listen,” he says, and hesitates, glancing at Luca. “I wanted to tell you, Nicky and I are so sorry about the Boss. I mean—about Luca.”
“Are you?”
