He’s the complete opposite of his twin.
He’s sturdy and solid where she’s delicate, with Dad’s dark hair and those piercing blue-gray eyes that mark him as unmistakably DeLuca.
Even at eighteen months, there’s something about his expression that reminds me of the old family photos of Dad at that age.
“Gio knock down!” Arianna tells me, pointing accusingly at her brother.
Giovanni just grins and goes back to crashing his toy cars, completely unrepentant.
“Giovanni,” Bella scolds, but she’s smiling. “Be nice to your sister.”
I settle onto the couch with Arianna still in my arms, trying to shake off that weird feeling of displacement.
This is my family. This is where I belong.
So why do I suddenly feel like an outsider looking in?
“How was school?” Dad asks, but there’s something forced about his casual tone.
“Fine.” I study his face, looking for clues. “Alessandro said there was some kind of situation with the Giuseppe story. How bad is it?”
Dad and Bella exchange a quick look—the kind of silent communication that happens between two disgustingly in love married people who can read each other’s minds.
It’s the look that confirms they definitely know something I don’t.
“We’re handling it,” Dad says, which is basically a non-answer. “Nothing for you to worry about.”
Nothing for me to worry about.
Right.
Because Giuseppe was just my grandfather, and leaked FBI files about his criminal activities couldn’t possibly affect me.
I mentally count to five. “Dad, I’m nineteen, not nine. If this affects the family, it affects me too.”
“Bianca.” His voice carries that tone that used to end arguments when I was younger—the “because I said so” voice that meant the discussion was over.
Except I’m not younger anymore, and I’m getting really goddamn tired of being treated like I need protection from information that’s probably already all over the news.
“The story’s everywhere,” I point out. “My classmates are texting me screenshots. You can’t exactly keep this from me when it’s trending on Twitter.”
Bella shifts uncomfortably, adjusting Giovanni when he tries to climb over the back of the couch. “We just want to make sure you’re prepared for the media attention,” she says carefully. “This kind of exposure can be overwhelming.”
Which is true, but it’s not the whole truth.
I can tell by the way she’s not quite looking at me, how Dad’s lips are pressed into a thin line, that goes beyond just bad publicity.
“Is there something else?” I ask directly. “Something worse than what’s already public?”
“Bianca—” Dad starts.
Fuck this shit.
Dad starting off with my name means he’s going to give me some half-assed vague non-answer.
“Don’t.” I stand up, feeling my temper start to rise. I gently set Arianna down with her blocks. “Don’t lie to me. I can tell you’re both freaking out about something specific, so just tell me what it is.”
But Dad just shakes his head. “Let me handle this. That’s what I’m here for.”
