“And you.” Giacomo glances at Falco then takes in his arm. “Holy shit, dude. You got fucked up. I’m impressed you’re still walking.”
Falco clears his throat. “Your sister is talented.”
“And you never called us for help?” His attention slides back to me. “Do you have any idea how scared I was to hear people raid the cabin and nearly kill you? And you were all alone up there with no one to help you.”
The pain in his voice makes me surge forward, eager to soothe his worries. “It’s okay! I’m really okay and Falco saved me. He killed everyone and I was okay. And we were kept safe by a frie?—”
“Aerin,” Falco cuts me off with a sharp bark. “Sorry to interrupt but we really should get you back to your mother.”
I frown, but before I can say anything else Falco sweeps an arm around me and practically drags me out of the garage. “What the hell are you doing?”
“You were about to spill things that are better kept secret,” he replies sternly.
“But it’s Giacomo! He’s the only one here who gives a shit.”
“Listen…” Falco hurries me up the path then stops once we’re a good distance away from the garage. “I’m just saying that the fewer who know about what happened, the better. Until weknow how people keep finding and targeting you… It’s safer. I don’t want you hurt again, Aerin. Please, trust me.”
The intensity of his eyes is enough to quell the argument rising in my chest. “Okay. I’m sorry. I won’t say a word to anyone, not even Giacomo.”
“Promise?”
Instantly reminded of our moment back in the cabin, I smile softly and nod. “I promise.”
29
FALCO
With Aerin safe in her room, my suspicions about Giacomo sent in a coded text to Pidge along with a request for him to call with the info he found, and Guido singing my praises for once again protecting his daughter from unknown assassins, things finally begin to settle.
Except Pidge doesn’t text me back.
He doesn’t text me back the next day either. I call once from a payphone outside the boutique that Allegra drags Aerin to buy new shoes.
Pidge doesn’t answer.
This isn’t like him.
While communication between us is limited, the coded text I sent last night should elicit an equally coded response. By the time night rolls around and I escort Aerin to her room for the night, worry has formed a heavy lump in my gut. It remains all the way back to my own room after ordering the night guard to wake me in four hours.
I call him again, this time from my private phone.
It rings out, and the weight in my gut increases.
Sleep escapes me.
Should I be worried? Pidge is a smart man and he can take care of himself, but the attack at the cabin showed that we’re dealing with someone willing and capable of going to extreme lengths. Could that someone have traced the cabin back to Pidge? Or worse, has one of the families that Bullet or Rex work for discovered that they helped a family outside of their circle?
What on earth did he find?
My thumb hovers over the ring button for the third time after pacing a faded line into my carpet. I can’t call him. I have to see him.
Something isn’t right.
As I grab a fresh shirt from my closet, knuckles rap softly against my door, and the nerves across my shoulder jump as if it were a gunshot. Approaching the door cautiously, I open it slowly to find the night guard standing there, yawning.
“What is it?”
He rubs his eye as he looks at me. “You said to come get you after four hours,” he says with his brows creasing. “It’s been four and a half.”
