But despite all these incontrovertible facts, I think I may be in love with him.
Fuck my life. How can it happen that suddenly, without any warning?
“Isla?” Lucky’s worried voice interrupts my impending crash out. “You’re not having a panic attack, are you?”
“I’m not,” I say quickly. “Or at least, I don’t think I am. But how did you know?”
“Saint told me. The abridged version. I hope you don’t mind—he wouldn’t have unless he felt it was absolutely necessary. He was worried I wouldn’t know how to handle it if something went down.” Lucky pauses, the same expression I’ve seen on other faces entering his. “Sorry about what happened to your family.”
People usually don’t know how to deal with approaching the fact that my life was upended by an unimaginable tragedy. I’m not even sure I know how to deal with it. I’ve been trying ever since that day.
So I tell him what I’ve been telling everyone, giving him the best smile I can manage because my emotions can currently best be described as a tornado battling a hurricane.
“It’s okay.”
Suddenly, Lucky’s phone buzzes, and he pulls it out of his pocket, frowning down at the screen and tapping out a response.
“I don’t mean to pry,” Antonella says quietly, “and I have no idea what Lucky is talking about, but I’m sorry too, Isla.”
“Thank you.” Feeling like I might burst into tears at any second, I distract myself by taking a sip of my lemonade.
I really, really don’t want to talk about Lily and my parents. Not when I’m already so raw and worried about Alessio. So I concentrate on the flavors playing over my taste buds.
I have no idea what Antonella puts in this, although I think I saw her squeezing oranges earlier. Whatever this ambrosia is, it’s got to be made from kittens, puppies, and rainbows because it’s the best lemonade I’ve ever tasted.
“When I first left Alessio’s father, I had panic attacks every time someone came to the door,” Antonella tells me. “Most of the time, it was just the mail lady sliding junk mail into the letter slot. Once, it was a neighbor who’d lost her dog.”
It’s clear that she was terrified of the man. Antonella had believed him when he’d said he was going to kill her. She was scared enough that she went into hiding and didn’t emerge untilnow. But why? The former don has been dead for a few years. Did she think one of her sons would harm her in his place? Was she hiding from the Andriani brothers? From Alessio?
A chill goes down my spine at the thought, but it’s not my place to ask, and I doubt she’d give me an honest answer in front of Lucky even if it was.
“How long did it take for them to subside?” I ask gently instead.
“A good ten years,” she says bitterly. “And even then, I was always looking over my shoulder. Every strange car in the rearview was one of his men, coming to finally put a bullet in my skull.” She turns away abruptly and returns the lemonade pitcher to the refrigerator. “But enough of that. I stayed away far too long. If I could do it over again, I’d change almost everything.”
Lucky finishes tapping on his phone and slides it back into his pocket. “Hey, Mom. None of that now. We’re making up for lost time. Speaking of which…”
As his words trail off, a voice I recognize filters into the kitchen. It’s a voice I definitely shouldn’t be hearing right now.
I wander out of the kitchen area, still holding my lemonade and convincing myself I’m imagining things. It’s been a hell of a day, and it’s entirely possible that I’m hallucinating my best friend in the world strolling across the safe house, looking tanned and effortlessly beautiful in a tropical dress that stops just above her knees and matching sandals. She’s got Cid in her arms, who looks overjoyed to be reunited with his mama.
“Luna?” I’m baffled, standing here with a cold glass of lemonade in my right hand.
What’s she doing in the safe house? Her honeymoon shouldn’t be over for another week.
She catches sight of me, and her expression shifts. “Is? Oh my God, I’m so sorry about everything that’s happened. Are you okay?”
She sets Cid down on all four paws and then launches herself at me. I catch her in an embrace, narrowly avoiding spilling my drink down her back.
“Never mind me. I’m fine. What are you doing here?” I demand. “You should still be in paradise, floating in the gorgeous water and drinking up umbrella drinks in the sunshine.”
“Saint called Priest and gave him a rundown of everything,” she says, squeezing me so tightly, I think she might legit crack a rib. “Are you sure you’re fine? I can’t believe the Bratva was trailing you around and then broke into Saint’s apartment to get to you. I never would have asked you to cat-sit Cid if I had known what was going to happen.”
“You didn’t ask me,” I remind her. “I volunteered because you’re my bestie and I wanted you to enjoy your honeymoon. Plus, Cid’s a sweetie. I can’t resist his face.”
“I know, right? You just want to kiss it.” She’s sniffling a little, and I can tell she’s crying.
Which is very unlike Luna, who’s tough as nails.
