Seeing her so scared and vulnerable made my chest ache. There was no pretense to uphold when she was puking in the toilet, or when she woke up gasping in fear from her dreams. She came to me so easily. All of her hardness melted away, and I wanted nothing more than to take away her pain.
I give my head a slight shake.
It may have been easy to forget she’s engaged when we were back in Ibiza, but there will be no escaping that fact in New York.
I can’t let whatever the fuck is going on between Gemma and I interfere with the task Damiano gave me, which is figuring out what Garzolo and Messero might be hiding from us. I need to play everything very carefully. Garzolo thinks I’m coming here to get a better sense of their operations. At least that’s what Dem told him. He also dangled a carrot by suggesting I’m looking for other opportunities to do business together.
It’s a diplomatic mission.
The pilot makes an announcement over the PA to let us know we’re taxiing to the customs area, and Gemma stirs.
“Shit,” she mutters. “Why didn’t you move me?”
Because I fucking like you there.
Instead, I say, “Don’t worry about it.”
We get off the plane to show our documents to a miserable-looking agent and then make our way to area where they’re scanning our baggage.
She looks around, her expression tense. I can’t decide if it’s because she regrets what happened back in Ibiza, or because of something else.
“Happy to be home?” I ask once we’ve collected our suitcases.
Her response is a non-committal shrug. Given what I’ve observed of her parents, I doubt they have a particularly happy home life.
It was pretty shitty of them to leave her back in Ibiza. It might have only been three days, but that girl went through hell and back. Something strangely protective stirs inside of me. That bruise on her face was hard to look at.
And by hard, I mean it made me homicidal.
Who the fuck would raise a hand to her? Vale said it couldn’t have been their dad, but who else? Even if Garzolo didn’t do it himself, someone may have done it on his orders.
Or maybe there’s a made man with a death wish roaming around.
Well, no matter. I’ll find out who it was, and I’ll make them pay. Now that I’m here, no one’s going to touch a hair on her head.
“So where are you going?” she asks me as we walk toward the exit.
Oh, right. She doesn’t know I’m staying with them.
I grin at her. “A few rooms over, I suppose.”
Her steps slow. “You’re staying…in our house?”
“Where else would I stay but with family?”
Her eyes turn wide and worried. “You’re not my family.”
“I’m Dem’s cousin. He’s your brother-in-law. We’re family, Peaches.”
Although what I want to do to her is decidedly not familial in nature.
Her hand shoots out and wraps around my bare wrist. “Papà is letting you stay with us?”
My gaze drops to where she’s touching me. She immediately lets go, and a blush spreads over her cheeks. “Sorry. I’m just shocked.”
You never have to apologize for touching me. The words are on the tip of my tongue, but I bite them back. “Don’t worry. He’s expecting me.”
Garzolo’s driver is waiting for us just outside in a black Suburban. He introduces himself to me as Armando Vitale. Gemma appears to know him, but not well, judging by their curt greeting and the guarded expression on her face. I look for any hint of fear and find none.
Still, I dislike him immediately. No particular reason. Just his vibe.
“Your father wanted me to let you know that I’ll be your security detail until your wedding,” Armando says. I guess the two guys they brought to Ibiza got sacked for spending more time drinking from Damiano’s wine collection than keeping an eye on the girls.
“You’ve been working for Garzolo for a while?” I ask.
“About a year,” he says, patting his pockets for a lighter.
A year? That’s nothing. There’s no way he’s made. If I had to guess, he’s someone’s useless cousin who’s spent the last few decades failing at whatever he was doing, and he’s begged to be brought in.
We reach Manhattan, where despite the late hour, throngs of cars are stuck in slow-moving traffic. Everyone’s honking at each other as if it’ll make things go faster.
I drag my palm over my beard. It’s overdue for a trim. “This place is a zoo.”
“Have you spent a lot of time here?” Gemma asks.
“No. Just a few short trips.”
“So you don’t know anyone?”
“I have a few acquaintances.” Just one, actually.
I already have a meeting set up with him, courtesy of Kal Parasyris, a Greek that runs his own version of the Cosa Nostra up in a tiny village in Crete. Zoriana? Zoniana? I always get the name of that place wrong. Kal’s been one of our weapons suppliers for years, and he’s got a cousin, Orrin Petraki, out here in Brooklyn, running what they call “the Greek Crew.” Kal made him sound like small fish in a big pond, but if I know anything about the Greeks, it’s that they’re hustlers. I’m going to try and get Orrin to help me figure out what the fuck is really going on with Garzolo.
That’s as far as I’ve gotten in terms of having a plan to accomplish the mission Dem gave me. It’s not much, but it’s better than winging it.
Gemma doesn’t ask any more questions. She stares out the window for the rest of the long drive, her skin pale.
“You okay?” I ask when the car stops. We’re in New Jersey now, in a neighborhood right on the Hudson River. The streets are lined with dense rows of bare-branched trees and thick pines. Must look nice in the summer.
“Just tired,” she says, but it rings false. Her whole demeanor changed when we stepped off the plane. She’s smaller somehow, anxiety practically emanating off her.
It gives me pause.
We get out of the car, and holy fucking shit. It’s freezing cold out.
I pull my jacket tighter around me. Fucking February. This has got to be the worst possible month to be here.
My breaths come out in misty puffs as I take in the red-brick house in front of me. It’s enormous—three sprawling stories with an array of arched windows. It’s kind of traditional looking. There’s a separate garage to the right, big enough for at least six cars, and on the left is a tennis court.
The wind picks up, sending a shiver through me. “Jesus Christ.”
“Not used to this?”
I glance at Gemma, who’s come to stand by my side. The lamps on the front of the house send light scattering across her rosy cheeks. She seems to be dealing with this temperature far better than me despite only wearing a hoodie.
“Can we go inside?” I ask through chattering teeth.
Amusement flickers in her eyes. “Such a baby.”
“More like I want to have babies one day, but I won’t if my balls freeze off out here.”
This earns me a laugh. “Come on. I’ve got the key.”
As soon as we get inside, I sigh with relief. Much better. I’ve never been this grateful for central heat.