Why?
You said it was just a meeting. To talk.He shouldn’t be coming home like this after a simple, friendly talk.
“What the fuck does it look like?” Oleg snapped at me. “He was?—”
Andre stopped short to turn and scowl at him. “Don’t talk to her like that. Go. Go clean yourself up,” he ordered sharply before coming toward me.
“Maybe you should come to the bathroom instead,” I suggested, guiding him there. “I didn’t mean to ask such a stupid question,” I said apologetically. “I can tell you were hurt. I only wanted to know if you were shot. Stabbed. Where you’re bleeding…”
He took my hand and squeezed it as I spotted him on the way to his room. He was walking. Breathing without too much distress. Internal injuries were always a concern, hence why I wanted to assesshowhe’d been wounded.
“I went to Giardino’s to speak with the Rossis. As soon as we arrived, the fucking cops showed up.”
I furrowed my brow, picking apart what he’d shared. I never asked for details. The less I knew, the safer I felt. It seemed a lot like cowardly ignorance, a bliss of ignorance that I wanted to hide behind. If I didn’t know anything that my uncle would want as intel, then I wouldn’t have anything to share with him and Andre wouldn’t be hurt.
But hehadbeen hurt.
And I was a fool if I thought I could maintain this imbalance—half-assing this spy assignment to spare Andre, all so I could stay near him.
“I don’t need to know. I don’twantto know about all that you… do.” I cringed as he entered his room with me, worried. “I only wanted to knowhowyou were hurt. If we’re looking at a through-and-through or?—”
“No.” He slumped onto the same chair in his master bathroom, leaning back as he tried to pry off his torn jacket. “I wasn’t hit like that. I don’t think they were targeting me.” He grunted as I joined him in pulling off his clothes to find the wounds. “They swarmed and showed up for the Rossis, but we were stuck there in the crossfire.”
“The Rossi Family?” I asked as I focused on grabbing towels and wetting them to cover his wounds. He was right. He didn’t bear evidence of direct gunshot wounds, but he’d suffered enough. Grazings marked his skin. None looked deep, but I had to make sure he wasn’t covering up a worse injury, being the overly tough guy he was.
“Yeah.” He closed his eyes, resting his head back against the wall. “It’s their place that was targeted.”
“I didn’t realize the Rossis owned that restaurant.” Uncle Roberto never treated me like a soldier. I didn’t know much, but I was aware of the name. Rossis and Giovannis didnotmix. If a sting was arranged or anyone was ambushed at a Rossi property, my first guess was that my uncle was involved. His hatred for the rival Italian syndicate was almost as hot as the hatred he held for the Orlovs. Uncle Roberto didn’t like anyone and never cared to try to be friendly or cooperative.
“Yeah,” Andre grunted as I wiped at his wounds.
“Someone had to have known about this fucking meeting, but I don’t know how.” He opened his eyes to slits, watching me as I cleaned off his cuts and compressed the ones that bled yet.
Ignoring the intensity of his gaze on me, I knew this wasn’t the time to relish his attention like usual. Clinical and referring to the training I’d had so far, I concentrated on making sure nothing serious was going on here. He’d been in a fight, obviously, as he was prone to. But my unofficial prognosis was that he’d live.
“Oleg thinks we still have a fucking mole here. That someone from our end knew about this meeting.” He exhaled a long breath, exhausted.
“A mole?” Fear squeezed my heart. It was already battered enough. Between the anger at my uncle, the sadness for my cousin, and now this worry about Andre being targeted by anyone, I felt like I was breaking apart. I’d hold on. I’d keep it together for this man. But the wear and tear of this dilemma weighed on me more acutely than ever before.
I didn’t want him hurt. I wanted to spare his life, spare his father and trouble, and spare his friends and brothers any danger. I didn’t wish any hell on Claire, Natalie, or Anya.
Dammit.
Damn it all.
My bleeding heart would forever be my curse, but I didn’t know how else to be. This was who I was, wanting everyone to get along and thrive even though I’d been raised to expect the opposite under my uncle’s guidance.
“You killed that man, though,” I said, referring to the night we’d met.
“Yes. And before him, another spy was killed. Someone who was hacking into my systems.”
Emilio. He must be talking about Emilio.No guilt or remorse came to me. That was how clearly I wanted to choose Andre, not the Giovanni name. This was how far I’d fallen for him and how deeply I was a traitor to my own blood.
But not Esmeralda.
I couldn’t forsake her, either. She was an innocent in this messy life as much as I was.
Choosing Andre meant that I was dismissing her.
