In violence. In purpose.
In the way they are willing to die in front of a door because their families are behind it.
I swallow hard.
“Papà is going to lose his mind,” I say.
It comes out before I can stop it.
For some reason, that is the thing my brain chooses to say.
Lucia lets out a quiet, humorless breath. “That is one way to put it.”
“If we get through to him,” Vito says, “we tell him the house is breached, communications are jammed, and we’re in a safe room.”
“When,” Teresa says sharply. “When we get through.”
Vito looks at her, then his face softens just slightly. “When.”
I take a breath, then another.
“And no one tells him about Adrian and me.”
Every face turns toward me.
The timing is insane.
I know that.
We are locked in a bunker while armed intruders move through my house, and I have apparently decided this is the moment to discuss my romantic life.
But if Papà is coming here with reinforcements, if we are all alive at the end of this, if Adrian walks back through that door, this is going to become an issue fast. And I need to trust my siblings not to make it worse.
“I know it’s a shock to everyone,” I continue, my voice stiff because this is mortifying and I hate it, “but Papà cannot find out tonight. Not like this.”
Vito snorts.
He actually snorts.
I look at him. “Excuse me?”
Erica gives me a look from her chair.
A very pointed look.
I narrow my eyes. “What?”
Nico glances at Vito, then back at me. “Cat.”
“What?”
Teresa presses her lips together like she is fighting a smile at the worst possible moment.
That makes me turn on her. “You too?”
“I said nothing.”
“You are saying it with your face. Which, for a psychologist, is a terrible poker face.”
