“His years in the mafia have taught him many things, but this is the third attempt on your life, if I’m not mistaken. After what happened to you when you were taken from the bar, Falco made his suspicions clear to me. Either your family has a traitor or someone on the inside wants you dead. Either way, he not so subtly asked us to remain nearby when he traveled up here.”
“I never saw him call anyone?”
Pidge removes his phone from his pocket and taps the screen, then he slides it toward me where a text from Falco shines up at me. “What? Falco doesn’t have a dog, does he?”
With a humorless smirk, Pidge takes his phone back. “You learn to say a lot by saying nothing,” Pidge says. “He has his suspicions and wanted some backup. We were just…” His hand curls into a fist and presses against the table as if something has overcome Pidge with such ferocity that he can no longer speak.
“There was a pile-up on the highway,” Rex interjects. “We would have been here and in position hours ago except we had to take a ridiculous detour. If we’d been here then…” He half glances over his shoulder as if he’s able to see through the wall and into the room Falco’s in.
“Do you really think you could have stopped this?” I ask softly. “I’ve seen Falco fight. To end up like…” The words catch in my throat. “You know how the mafia works.”
“I do,” Rex replies. “But Falco wouldn’t have been alone.”
I focus on my drink. By the time it’s finished, I’ve detailed everything that happened from when I woke up to that stranger over me to when Pidge and his friends arrived and broke down the front door.
“You did good.” Rex reaches forward and very briefly touches my forearm. “Not many people could have done what you did, even with training.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I murmur, trying to fight the swell of sadness that rises in my chest. Every time I close my eyes, all I see is Falco lying bleeding on my bedroom floor and his skin pale.
“You saved his life,” comes Bullet’s voice from the doorway.
All three of us turn immediately.
Bullet’s eyes are tired. Blood streaks his hands and his grey tank top, and he stands there while clutching his elbow.
Pidge rises from his seat and steps forward as if eager but unsure how to help. “How is he?”
“Alive,” Bullet replies. “I’ve given him a few pints of my blood, stitched up what I can. If he makes it through the next couple of hours, then he’ll be fine.”
“Oh my god,” I whisper, tightening my hands around my mug. “Maybe I should call my dad.”
“No,” Pidge snaps, then he catches himself and hesitates. “Aerin…who knew you were coming here?”
Our eyes meet as Bullet moves to the table and Rex exchanges seats with him. As Bullet sits, his hand falls from his elbow revealing the bandage covering where he’d taken his own blood.
“I…don’t know. My whole family and whoever they told I’d guess.”
“Exactly. Which means the moment you make that call, you’re telling whoever tried to kill you that you’re alone up here and your bodyguard is down. What do you think they will do with that information?”
“I’m not alone though.” My attention slides through all three of them. “You’re here.”
“No, we’re not,” Rex says. “We’ve all got our own ties to families that aren’t yours. And Falco calling in outside help? If anyone finds out we’re here, we’re all dead. Falco included.”
“And you just saved his life,” Bullet remarks. “So I don’t think you would risk it, would you?”
I shake my head slowly, slumping down in my seat. “Is he really going to be okay?”
Pidge slowly retakes his seat as Bullet nods. “I hope so. You did an amazing job, which I know won’t feel like much right now, but without you he would have bled out on that floor.”
Tired sadness stings at the back of my eyes and I can’t hold Bullet’s gaze. “But it’s also my fault this happened.”
Rex scoffs slightly on his way through the archway and into the kitchen. “It’s a dangerous slope if you start blaming yourself. Is it your fault for being the target or his fault for accepting the position in the first place?”
“Rex is right. Blame is squarely on the bastard who caused this. No one else.” Bullet’s hands clasp together, his eyes screwing up. “He’s clearly just a fucking self-sacrificing prick.”
“Bullshit,” Pidge remarks tiredly. “He’s got a death wish, plain and simple. Always has done since Gina.”
Despite the exhaustion throbbing through my skull, that catches my attention. “Gina? Who’s Gina?”
