“Shows you’re paying attention.” He nodded, not perturbed in the least at my assessment. “Anyway, I think she was enjoying the freedom of being away at school. The shit with Wren was unexpected.”
“Have you figured out who’s stalking her?” I asked with concern.
His gray eyes hardened. “Not yet. Max, her man, will have someone’s head over it. That’s for sure.”
“I hope she’s okay,” I murmured as our entrees were placed in front of us. My fajitas smelled amazing.
“She will be,” he stated with conviction. “The girls would like you,” he commented, his tone much lighter as he dug into his own meal.
I wasn’t so sure about that but nodded silently nonetheless.
“You don’t believe me.”
“I believe you believe it,” I conceded. “I just still think you’re living in a fantasy.”
He looked over at me, his eyes piercing. “Maybe I am. Maybe that’s okay. Far as I’m concerned, world’s what you make of it.”
That was a nice thought when the world worked in your favor.
“What?” he demanded when I remained silent.
I poised my fork over my food, unsure if I should share my thoughts.
“Francesca,” he prompted gently.
“Why do you call me that?” I demanded in frustration.
He cocked his head to the side, assessing me thoughtfully. “What, by your name?”
“Yeah, it’s my name, but no one calls me that.” I repeated what I’d told him the first time we’d met.
He nodded. “Except your uncle, I remember. If you really hate it, I won’t, but I think it’s a fucking shame—with how much you hate him, and for good reason, it doesn’t seem right to give him the gift of being the only one who can call you by your given name.”
Well damn, I’d never thought about it that way. He was right, but even still, I wasn’t sure I’d be able to get past the negative association of my uncle with my formal name.
“So the world being what you make of it, that didn’t sit well with you. Why?” he pressed.
I shrugged. “I just think that’s another fantasy, Maddox. The world can be made by those who have the means and support to make it so. Clearly, you’ve had that. And I’m glad for you. But it’s just not the world I live in.”
To his credit he didn’t argue my point. Instead he did something far more challenging. “I want to know you, Francesca. Will you tell me?”
I sighed. “I have a roof over my head, and my basic needs are met. I’d much rather spend tonight talking about lighter things and enjoy myself. Okay?”
He made a grumbling noise I was becoming familiar with. “Can’t wait for the day when your basic needs being met isn’t your fucking bar in life,” he growled. “But I get it—for tonight, I get it.”
He walked me to my car after a dinner that had taken a decidedly lighter turn toward the end. He’d shared some hilarious stories of him and his friends growing up, and I’d shared more about my nonna. I’d enjoyed myself just as much, if not more so than the last time I’d seen him.
“Francesca.” The sudden wariness of his tone caught me off guard as we walked through the now empty lot to my car. He waited for my eyes as I looked inquiringly up at him. “About that drop you told me about, the one you overheard your uncle talking about—you sure you got those facts straight?”
“Absolutely, why?” I asked, confused.
He ran a hand over his mouth in agitation. “Thing is, there was no drop. And while my brothers were there waiting on it, Max’s house was attacked. Wren was almost kidnapped.”
My stomach dropped as his skepticism reared its ugly head. “And you waited until now to tell me?”
He didn’t deny it. “I did.”
“Why?”
