My pulse drummed in my ears as my heart tripped up in what could only be called anticipation. My body’s unwilling reaction brought a rush of annoyance in. I didn’t like this man—heart fluttering or not—and I suddenly didn’t care how inappropriate it would be to talk back to him.
“Yours?” I asked smoothly. “Bummer.”
A tug on my ponytail. “Watch it.” His words were low and distracted.
Warmth spilled into my chest, like I’d just gotten away with playing with fire. I wanted to do it again. Was this how people became addicts?
“There are seven other televisions in this house, Russo.”
Another tug on my ponytail, but this time he pulled it all the way back so I was looking at him upside down. His eyes narrowed. “I’m beginning to wonder if this Sweet Abelli even exists.”
I swallowed. “You shot my brother.”
Was his fist . . .? It was wrapping around my ponytail. Once. Twice.
His gaze flicked to the TV. “He deserved worse.”
This man was going to watch the news with a fistful of my hair? My God. Maybe it was due to my head being at an awkward angle and my blood not circulating as well, but my brain wasn’t getting enough oxygen. And the fact that he smelled so good, like clean soap and man, made the corners of my vision hazy.
“You’re not a judge and jury,” I breathed.
His gaze came down to me. “He almost got you killed, yet you stick up for him?”
“He’s my brother.”
His expression hardened. “He’s an idiot.”
My mamma’s voice filtered into the room from down the hall, and slowly, he unwound his fist from my hair and took a step back.
A moment later, she entered the room.
“Nico, I didn’t know you were coming today.” Mamma’s tone was tight. She didn’t like that he’d shot Tony either, but she must have known it was coming and hid in her room all night. “Will you be staying for lunch?”
“I’m sure he’s got plenty of stuff to do, Mam—”
“That sounds great, Celia.”
“Great.” Mamma sounded like she meant the opposite. I was so glad to have her back on my side. “I’ll prepare a spot for you then.”
“Thank you.”
Her steps grew faint as she left the room.
“You know what pisses me off?” His tone was dark, but somehow it only awoke a thrill beneath my skin.
I knew the answer to this question.
“Assuming?”
I focused on the TV, pretending not to care about what he was doing, but my heart faltered when he moved close behind me. I held my breath as he slowly set the remote back in my lap, and then right at the hollow behind my ear, he whispered, “Smart girl.”
A shiver ran down my neck, but then he left with a parting word.
“Don’t fucking do it again.”
The sun burned hot and heavy. I imagined if I lay on the brick patio, I would be as well-done as my steak.
“Really, Celia,” Nonna complained. “It’s hotter than blue blazes out here and I can still see a bloodstain on the patio.”
I’d changed into high-waisted shorts and a short top that bared a sliver of my midriff, and a drop of sweat still ran down my back.
“Some fresh air is good for you,” Mamma replied.
“So is edible food,” Nonna muttered, pushing shrimp around with her fork like they were still alive.
I kept my eyes on my plate as I ate, mostly because Nicolas sat directly across from me. He wore no jacket, and he’d rolled up his white dress shirt. I was right. Black ink started at his wrist and disappeared into his shirt. It wasn’t often I’d met men with tattoos—at least, not ones so obvious. The only thing I could make out was the ace of spades tattooed on the inside of his forearm. I guessed he accepted the nickname “Ace,” which I’d heard he was called. I might have read a few articles on him myself.
He sat next to Adriana, and they both seemed like they’d always done it. She’d even given him a look because his leg was touching hers. It was strange to imagine them as a couple, yet I’d seen them exchange words, which I’d believed would be a difficult feat in itself. I thought Mr. Rabbit had even been brought up. I’d assumed they wouldn’t be good for each other at all, but I was beginning to wonder if I’d been wrong all along.
Papà and Mamma were discussing something between themselves and Nonna was picking at her food, when Adriana suddenly said, “It’s called manspreading.”