I nod once. Not because I trust him but because I’m shite out of options.
Matteo steps back into the mouth of the block, already the kind of man the city parts around. “Two minutes, then we meet at the next street over. If I’m not there, you keep going.” His gaze tightens on my face. “Don’t be brave for me, Kitty Cat.” The flicker of a smirk.
I don’t answer. I can’t. I bend, reach under the sedan, and retrieve my gun by the grip. My hand is finally steady now.
“Matteo,” I blurt, before I can stop myself.
He turns.
“Thank you.”
His Adam’s apple bobs down the column of his throat and he gives me the smallest nod, like gratitude is a language he doesn’t deserve to speak. Then he’s gone.
CHAPTER 23
WHEN I RAN
Matteo
A trickle of sweat snakes down my spine as I stand pressed against the brick wall of a narrow alley off Amsterdam. My heart pounds an erratic beat while I count down the seconds for Cat to appear around the corner.
Two minutes since I left her. Ninety seconds since the sirens swarmed the block behind us. Forty since I lost sight of her hood.
My phone buzzes again in my pocket. I don’t need to yank it out to know who it is. Ale’s been calling nonstop. And I’ve been ignoring each text message, voicemail, even email.
What the fuck are you doing, coglione?Papà’s voice echoes in a furious chorus, bouncing across my skull. I’m going against everything I’ve ever been taught. Family before all else. Then Cat storms back into my life waving a gun at my face with a mouth that still tastes like nineteen on my tongue, and it all goes straight to hell. Never in my life have I felt so torn up about a decision—no, that’s not true.
That day in Sicily, when I ran out on her…
We sleep on the beach because the air is too hot for walls. Every morning tastes like salt and oranges. She rolls toward me with sand in her hair and a future in her eyes, and for a breath I pray the world will forgive my family’s sins one more time.
Last night someone tried to kill me.
It happens fast: a narrow street, the Vespa coughing under me, a car door opening where it shouldn’t. Two men. One with a nasty smile, the other with messages carved into his hands. “Your father sends greetings,” he sneers. Lie. It’s my father’s enemies reminding me that it doesn’t matter how far I run...
I fight because that’s what we do. I bleed because I’m nineteen and stupid and think old men’s wars can’t touch me if I keep to the edges. A knife slices across my ribs, pavement scrapes at my palms, and I see my name in tomorrow’s paper. But I’m fast and I don’t want to die today. So I run and somehow, I live.
Past midnight I stumble into her room with blood on my shirt and apologies on my tongue. Cat’s hands shake while she cleans me. She kisses the cut like I’m a precious thing to her.
“What happened?” Her eyes are filled with worry.
“Nothing,” I lie. “Just some low life trash trying to steal my wallet. They didn’t expect me to fight back.”
She nods, snagging her lower lip between her teeth. For some reason, I don’t think she buys it.
Once I’m all patched up, I curl into her side and press my hand to her belly. She’s pregnant. We’ve known for all of two weeks now and in that time, everything has changed.
Silence. Then I see it for an instant. The crooked house with a lemon tree we can’t keep alive. Her laugh in a kitchen that belongs to no one but us. A baby with her mouth and my temper. A life where bullets aren’t invited.
Then the cold breath of the night sits against my ribs again. Reality stands up in the corner.
I don’t sleep. I sit at the window and watch dawn turn the sea silver. I replay how those men found me and how easily they’d find us. You don’t build a crib in a room that doubles as a target.
She wakes and touches my face like she’s already forgiven me for the quiet.
“What are you thinking?” she whispers.
That I can’t keep you safe.
