“I’ll see you tomorrow,” I clip, tired of this conversation.
“No, wait! I’m kidding around, Frankie. Who’s performing? Can I join you?”
Dammit, I’m not sure what to say. I don’t want to be rude, but I need to focus on finding a way to talk to Ronan.
And you need a distraction.
A plan springs to mind, a very stupid plan perhaps, but the best one I can come up with on the fly. “Sure. Listen, my driver is sort of my watchdog, too.” Harper’s eyes sparkle at the prospect of shared intrigue. “My husband is very protective, but there’s an old friend I wanted to see at the park…”
***
The crowd feels suffocating, crushing inward on all sides. It’s a warm autumn day, and the back of my neck is sweaty with my thick curls piled up under the baseball cap Harper loaned me. If I glance back, I can see Faro about fifteen feet behind us, looking royallypissed off at himself for agreeing to this. I don’t even know the name of the group performing, but Harper and I insisted we wanted to get closer to the stage.
“I’m going to tell him we want some water now,” my accomplice says. Harper takes a wide path around the crowd toward Faro, the plan being to distract him long enough for me to head for the shelter of those trees behind the stage and hope Ronan might find me.
Guilt rips through me watching her go. I shouldn’t have involved her. Faro will be in big trouble if I disappear on his watch. I shouldn’t be doing this. If I’m caught, Carlo would consider it betrayal.
A rough hand snatches mine through the crowd, tattooed between thumb and forefinger with a small black rose, the mark of the BRG. It’s Ronan. Does he still have his Trio tattoo over his heart? His beard is shaggy, and he’s wearing another hoodie to cover his reddish-brown hair. Even so, I worry my brother’s tall frame might be hard to miss.
“Drop your phone,” he commands out of the corner of his mouth.
“My phone? Why-”
“They’ll track you through it.”
I do as he says, and Ronan leads us straight toward where the jostling crowd is thickest. He savagely shoulders our way through to the other side of the stage and then through a maze of trailers that must hold stage equipment. Further and further, we go away from the crowd until we reach a hidden glade surrounded by evergreen bushes.
When he stops abruptly, I stumble into the back of him. “That was my heel you just stepped on, little warbler,” my brother says, wryly.
A flash of the day I met Carlo and stepped on his heel makes me pause. But the once-dreaded, bird-inspired nickname Ronan teased me with when we were younger and that familiar aftershave he startedwearing before he even needed to shave has tears gathering in my eyes. I can’t help reaching around his waist to hug him from behind. “I can’t believe you dragged me away from a man like Faro that easily.”
“I’m the same sort of man. It wasn’t hard in a crowd like this.” His eyes are alert, scanning the area while I cling to him, before he pulls me under his arm so I’m standing in front of him. Harper’s cap tumbles off, and my hair falls free. “I've been worried sick about you, Frankie,” Ronan says, the sudden warmth in his dark blue eyes making me even more emotional.
We share another hug then, our first real hug in years. Our encounters were too brief and public when we met in Reno to risk it. Hell, this is way too risky now, but I’ve missed him so much. “Mom is so happy knowing you're alive. You can’t risk your life this way, Ronan. It would kill her if-”
“When is she coming to New York again?”
“In a few days. For my wedding reception.”
Ronan’s upper lip curls into a sneer. “Goddamn Vicini.”
“Do you think we could work out a way for her to see you?” I ask, not wanting to argue about Carlo.
“Not until I have a course of action set. Be alert and be ready.”
“Ronan…”
“We belong together, Frankie. We’re a family. Da tried to destroy that, and the fucking Italians were more than happy to finish the job, but they didn’t. I’ll take care of you both now, better than Da ever did, you’ll see.”
“But I’m married-”
“That fucker should’ve been married to Sofia two months ago. I never should’ve agreed to that nonsense you concocted to help her. And you know how they are with their Seconda and their other fucked-up traditions. He’ll never make you a good husband.”
“I understand why you say that but-”
“Every fight, every threat, every second of pain I’ve endured, I’ve done it to be in a position to help you and Mom at last, Frankie. I’ve missed you, little warbler,” he says, cupping my face.
“I’ve missed you, too.” My heart squeezes with both love and anguish. Where do my loyalties truly lie? To the husband that has me right where he wants me, living in a golden cage, or the brother I’ve known all my life?
