My eyes bugged out.It was on the tip of my tongue to blurt out, “Did you do it?”
And he must have read it on my face.“I’d just landed at O’Hare this morning when Mario called me to let me know.He thought I would need that information.”Ringo licked his lips and resumed his vacant perusal of the food we’d both abandoned.
My brain worked overtime to process everything.It almost sounded like I should know who his father was, but the only person I knew who’d been shot was?—
Holy shit.
I must have muttered the words out loud because his eyes snapped up to trap mine.
“Yeah.I’m here on real business.Call it a hostile takeover, or something.”He frowned and picked up his food.
“Does his daughter…?”
God, my mind went blank.Dianora was in jail awaiting trial for shooting her father.Now it would be upgraded to murder.And since there was still the unsolved murder of her brother which she helped organize with the help of my ex?—
“That’s why.”It wasn’t just a lightbulb but one of those super-strong searchlight-type do-hickeys shooting off.
“Why what?”Ringo asked.
I wiggled my empty ring finger where he could see it.
His eyes went to it.An eyebrow went up.“Yeah.Eat… if you can.”
Food and gory memories didn’t mix.My head still felt fuzzy, and my body processed all these shocks after shocks with very littlecomfortbetween.
No sooner than I thought the word, I remembered how nice it felt to have Ringo’s arms around me.And it wasn’t just one memory, but multiple.From the cute hug he gave me in the airport in Venice, to the way he picked me up in the piazza, one very long night of touches, and a heartfelt hug in the Galleria of Vittorio Emanuele II right after I finished my third twirl on top of the mosaic bull.Lastly, waking up in his arms as he ran out of a Tuscan fortress with guns blazing and…
His father.Damn.
“You really shouldn’t be here.”Once word got out that Don Conti was his father, the sharks would circle.Not just law enforcement, but other factions.Don Conti’s family would also be gunning for him since he was an outsider.Worse?He was sitting right here at my little two-person cafe-style dining table, eating tacos with his half-brother’s killer’s ex.
It was a complete cluster fuck.
“Aiaiu wants me here.Right here.”His finger pressed on the table, pinning him in place.
How does it feel to be one of those paper shooting targets?The words remained behind the secrecy of my thoughts.“Aiaiu” meant grandfather.A term of affection in Sardinia, but also the title of the patriarch of the familial organization Ringo was adopted into.No one called Don Manca that unless they were family.Shit.Family, capital F.My sister taught me that.She was allowed to call him that, and I wasn’t.
But Ringo was, and worse?He uttered it in front of me, who wasn’t Family.
My foolish heart whispered vain hopes.I stabbed that bitch with a flaming chopstick…mentally.
“I guess you’ll have to let him know I don’t want you here.”
Ringo laughed silently.His shoulders shook even after his mouth closed and his face twisted into a mix of amusement and pain.“Nice try.I’m going to sleep on your couch tonight.”
“No, you’re not.”I knew him better.He’d pretend to sleep, and instead stare through the plate glass watching the shadows until the sun rose.Even then, he wouldn’t sleep.
“Your bed then.With you.”
“Hell no.”
“You say that now.”
“I’ll keep saying it.”
This time his face didn’t fall before the laughter died.But in the slow creep into seriousness, something shifted.
Longing.
