Filed to story: Beautiful Disaster: Falling for My Brother-in-Law
Crap, crap, crap.
“Benito!” I yelled.
“Why are you shouting?” Adriana asked as she breezed into the kitchen in galaxy leggings and a sports bra.
“Your fiancé shot Tony!”
“Dead?” She raised a brow, focused on picking the best apple out of the bowl on the counter.
“Where’s Mamma?” I asked.
She shrugged, peeling the sticker off a green apple.
I sighed. Fine. If they want to play this game . . . I nudged open the swinging door and shouted into the hallway, “I’m calling 911!”
On cue, Benito, Dominic, and my papà pushed their way into the kitchen.
Papà narrowed his eyes on me, but then noticed his only son lying on his back in a lot of red. He spoke quietly to Benito—he always spoke quietly unless he was mad—and then my cousins hauled Tony up, one under his arms and one by his ankles, and carried him out of the kitchen.
“Not Vito,” I told my papà. “The hospital.”
“Yeah, yeah, Elena. They’re taking him,” he said dismissively, his gaze coasting over the blood on the floor.
I eyed him, wondering if he was telling me the truth. My papà never took any of us to the hospital without a fight.
He glanced at me, noting my suspicious gaze. “It’s just as good as a hospital,” he snapped.
Ugh. I had no idea where they were taking my brother. Most likely a doctor Papà had on his payroll.
“Hey, has anyone seen my drawing pencils?” Adriana interrupted.
“Behind every great fortune, there is a crime.”
—Lucky Luciano
I MIGHT NOT HAVE HAD a good reason to dislike Nicolas Russo in the beginning, but after meeting him, after he shot too close to my head, and after he put a bullet through my brother’s hand, I now had substantial motive to immensely dislike him.
The whys of it all didn’t matter.
Tony had been gone all night. It wasn’t until I’d gotten back from dance practice twenty minutes ago that I learned he was going to be okay. He was given a 75 percent chance of having full function of his hand again.
Apparently, Jenny had volunteered to move into his apartment and help him out. My mamma told me this with a roll of her eyes. She really didn’t like Jenny. And after hearing she’d cheated on Tony with Nicolas, I wasn’t sure what to think about her either. Granted, I would have dumped Tony years ago if I was her, but I didn’t understand sticking around if you weren’t going to be faithful. It made me believe she was only around for one thing.
I sat cross-legged on the couch, watching a documentary on recent humanitarian crises, still dressed in my sweaty leggings and an off-the-shoulder top. It was one of the hottest days of the summer so far, and Benito had left the windows down the entire drive home. He’d said the wind did great things for his hair, and so I never got to cool off. I pressed a cold water bottle to my face.
The front door opened and my papà’s voice filled the foyer. A rush of awareness ran from my nape down the length of my spine. I realized Nicolas was here before I even heard his voice, deep and indifferent. A strange dance began in my stomach.
Even though I stared at the TV, I had no idea what was happening because I was hyperaware of every noise coming from the foyer.
As their ste
ps went by the living room’s double doors, a cell phone rang.
“Take it,” Papà said. “I’ll be in my office.”
Since it was silent, I imagined a nod from Nicolas. My papà’s footsteps drifted down the hall.
“Yeah?” Nicolas drawled. A couple of seconds passed before, “Motherfucker.”
I tensed. It sounded like he was going to kill someone, and his steps were coming straight for me. Before I knew it, he reached over my shoulder and stole my remote.
“Hey,” I protested.
He didn’t respond; he only changed the channel. Breaking News flashed on the bottom half of the screen, and the blonde newscaster went over the details of a large drug bust at the border.
Nicolas stood behind me, close enough my ponytail brushed his stomach. His hands gripped the back of the couch on either side of me as he leaned slightly over my head, his attention on the TV like I wasn’t even here. It was invasive and rude.
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.”