I give her a squeeze back, trying not to be as hard on her ribs. “Areyouokay?”
“As okay as I’m going to be. They blew up a restaurant too?” She withdraws and looks at me, searching my face. “This is so unexpected. Are you sure you’re all right? Saint said one of those Bratva bastards handcuffed you to your bed. Did he do anything else?”
I notice he didn’t mention it was actually Alessio’s bed I was handcuffed to, or that I was naked when the Russian left me there. She’d be even more shocked if she knew the real story,that I’ve been having wild sex with her brother-in-law ever since before the wedding.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “I’m all good.”
As good as I’m going to be anyway.
“Thank God.”
My mind is whirling with more questions, so I just blurt them. “Where’s Priest? What’s going on?”
“He’s with Saint,” she says. “He forced me to come here against my will. Said it wasn’t safe for me until they know what they’re dealing with.”
And at the worry lacing her voice, my heart drops. This isn’t over. We finally release each other, and that’s when Antonella emerges from the kitchen with Lucky.
“You must be Priest’s wife,” she says.
I’m standing between them, holding the lemonade she squeezed, wondering how I’m going to introduce my best friend to the mother-in-law and the two half sisters she didn’t know she had.
This family reunion just got a whole lot weirder.
Luna sends me a searching glance. “Yes, I am. And you are?”
“Antonella Rossi.” She holds out her hand. “I’m Matteo, Alessio, Lorenzo, and Luca’s mother.”
On cue, Camilla and Bianca show up, lured away from their cooking show binge by the drama about to unfold.
“And these are my daughters,” Antonella adds softly. “Their father was Tomasso Revello.”
“Holy shit,” Luna breathes, looking shell-shocked.
“Here.” I press my glass of lemonade into her hand. “Take a sip.”
She looks down at my offering. “Is there vodka in that?”
“No.”
“Tequila?”
“Nope.”
“Gin?” she asks hopefully.
I wince. “Just straight up lemonade. Antonella made it fresh, and it’s incredible.”
“This is a nightmare, right?” Luna asks hopefully. “I’ll pinch my arm and wake up in a king-size bed in St. Thomas with the moon glistening off the ocean, and none of this will be real. No psycho Russians, no bombs, no surprise family members.”
And she’s just beginning to scratch the surface.
“Not a nightmare,” I confirm. “Need to sit down?”
She gulps the lemonade like she’s been wandering in the desert and is desperately parched. “I think I need more than that, but it’s a start.”
“Sorry to spring this on you,” Bianca says.
“It’s been a shock to us too,” Camilla adds.
