It comes out savagely, a challenge, and I expect Carlo to scuttle out of the room, back to the hard protective shell of his boyfriend, the man who took over the Morelli Family from the man lying there in the bed. I can understand why Frank took a swing at Nick. I can even endorse it on some level.
But Carlo’s expression softens, and he reaches out his hand to put it on my shoulder. “Yeah,” he says simply. “We are.”
I pull away and sit up on the bed next to Luca, taking his cool, dry hand in mine again. But Carlo just doesn’t take the hint.
“I want you to know, Finch, youcantrust me. And Nicky, too. I know he regrets everything that went down with Luca—”
“Not everything, surely,” I say coldly, without looking at him. I squeeze Luca’s fingers tight, fighting to keep my emotions under control. “You can’t regret his decision to keep you both alive.”
“Obviously we’re both very glad to still be breathing,” Carlo says, and that does make me look at him. He’s wearing a pained half-smirk and I give a surprised laugh.
“I guess you would be,” I say. With the hand not holding Luca’s I rub my fingers across my eyelids. My eyeballs feel scratchy and dry. The air in the hospital is almost arid, despite the small humidifier Aidan set up in a corner after I complained about it. “I’m sorry if I’m…not myself.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” Carlo says at once, and nowhesounds surprised.
“Yeah, I do. I made you stay in here with me when you must be worried about Nick.”
“Nicky’s a big boy. Averybig boy, just as big as Frank D’Amato. He can look after himself, like you said. I’m just sorry we rolled up at the wrong time. Frank seemed to think…” He trails off.
“I should’ve told Frank about Nick taking over. It just wasn’t…” I squeeze Luca’s fingers again, fighting down the bubbling waters of fear and regret and anguish that I’ve been negotiating these last few days. “It wasn’t the first thing on my mind, to talk to him about who was leading the Family. I was more worried about, well,ourfamily.”
“Yeah. You’ve had a shitty run, these last few years.”
Coming from anyone else, it would lack tact. It could sound brutal, even, given my state of mind. I can’t imagine Aidan ever saying something like that. But from Carlo, it’s just a statement of fact, and it’s exactly what I need to hear. It’s just…acknowledgment.
“I sure have,” I say. “I sure fucking have.”
Carlo comes closer and puts a warm hand on my shoulder again. “And on top of all that, you had to play kingmaker while your husband was in emergency surgery. I’m so sorry, Finch. About all of it.”
“Me, too.”
He steps back then, and I’m relieved, because no matter how hard I’m squeezing Luca’s fingers, I’m going to cry. I thought I was done with that, a dried-up husk who was more likely to bleed from my eyeballs than tear up again, but no.
No, I still have more tears.
I lean over Luca, pretending that I’m just observing him, but I’m crying. I can’t help it. The tears are dripping down my face, off my chin, splatting onto Luca’s pale white skin.
I hear the door close behind Carlo. It’s safe to let go, and I tighten my grip on Luca’s hand, suck in a deep breath in preparation for the coming storm—and hold it. My heart stops too, just for a second.
Because Luca is squeezing back, his fingers curling around mine.
Weak. But unmissable.
I lean over and hit the call button, bashing it several times with my fist, before I turn my attention back to Luca and see his lashes stirring, the unmistakable flash of ice blue as his eyes crack open.
Chapter Twelve
LUCA
There is a hard pressure on my hand.
I grab back at it, hopeful for the comforting weight of my gun. As long as I have my gun, as long as I can hold it, as long as I can use it, I will be alright.
Finch will be alright.
But it’s not my gun—it’s something warm and moving, gripping me back—I try to open my eyes—there’s something wet on my face, something dripping on me—
“Luca.”
