I could have told him.
I could have knocked on the door of whatever terrifying mansion mafia kings live in and said,Hey, remember that girl from the club? Surprise.
Instead, I vanished.
And when he walked into Notte Bianca a year ago and didn’t react, I had been relieved.
Relieved he didn’t recognize me.
Except now, I know that was a lie I told myself to sleep at night.
Because Nico had recognized me.
And one look at my son had told him the rest.
The car turns onto my street. For a brief moment, something dangerously close to understanding flickers through my mind.
Maybe, he wasn’t pushing us away because he didn’t want us. Maybe, he was doing exactly what I did. Trying to protect something fragile by pretending it didn’t exist.
I open my mouth to say something?—
And Leone suddenly shouts.
“Get down!”
I drop instinctively.
Gunfire explodes around the car.
The sound is deafening, sharp cracks that shatter the quiet street. Glass sprays across the dashboard as a bullet punches through the rear window.
“Oh my God?—”
“Stay down!” Leone barks.
The car jerks violently as he slams the accelerator. Tires scream against the asphalt.
Another burst of gunfire rattles against the metal frame.
I curl into the seat, hands over my head, heart hammering so hard it feels like it might crack my ribs open.
“Leone—!”
“Still here,” he grunts.
Something wet splashes across the center console.
For a second, my brain doesn’t process it.
Then, I see the blood.
“You’re hit!”
“What, this?” he says through clenched teeth. “‘Tis but a flesh wound.”
I nearly punch him. “You’re quoting Monty Python at me with a bullet in your arm?!”
“Nope. Think it went clean through.”
