Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57205 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
The sound of the front door opening comes from downstairs. The woman doesn’t wait for me to answer, but charges out on the landing. “Junior, what the fuck?”
I charge out onto the landing, too, and do my best to kill him with a glare. He lets out a stream of angry Italian, sets the drink tray and Starbucks bag down on an end table and marches up the stairs, looking grim.
Ex-girlfriend, then. She must be an ex-girlfriend, because he doesn’t look guilty, he looks pissed. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“What in the hell happened to Gio?” she counters, and waves a hand at me. “And who is this? I can’t believe you dragged some random nurse into this.”
“How did you get in?” He looks past her at me. “Did you let her in?”
She’s definitely not welcome. The jealous twist below my ribs starts to ease. “She had a key.” I look at her more closely, and then it dawns on me with a hit of warm relief. “Alessia.” Junior’s little sister. I saw her in photographs when I took care of her mom, but she was away at college. She graduated in December, I think. Or she was supposed to.
She turns a surprised look at me.
“Desiree nursed Ma after her surgery,” Junior explains, as if I’m the biggest question in the room.
Alessia points at Gio. “When were you going to tell us?”
Junior’s eyes narrow. “Never. Why in the hell are you here?”
“Stefano and Nico stopped by yesterday. And Ma got worried because you haven’t been by, and she knew they were out here for some reason. Plus Paolo’s acting weird and Gio won’t answer his phone.” She waves a hand at Gio. “Obviously.”
Junior runs a hand through his hair, rumpling it. “So Ma sent you?”
“Well, I said I would find out.” Her eyes abruptly brim with tears. “Jesus, Junior, what the fuck? Is he going to be okay?”
“Yes,” Junior and I both answer at the same time. I don’t know why I feel like I need to back Junior up with his family. He’s the kingpin, after all. But they all act like he’s the bad guy, and it bugs the hell out of me.
She looks at me searchingly. I guess it makes sense—I’m the one dressed like a nurse. “The bullet went clean through,” I tell her. “No apparent damage to organs, not too much blood loss. The wounds will heal on their own with time and rest. He’s on painkillers, antibiotics and sedation, so he’s comfortable. There’s no reason to believe he won’t make a full recovery.”
A couple tears fall down her cheeks and she nods. “I won’t ask what happened,” she mumbled.
“Good,” Junior says. “And I don’t want you telling Ma, either.”
She throws her hands into the air. “I’m not going to lie! She knows something’s up, Junior. You’d better figure out what to tell her yourself, but don’t ask me to lie for you.”
“See, that’s why you shouldn’t be here, Lessa. And why do you have a fucking key to my place?”
“You had me house sit last year when you went to the Old Country, remember?”
“Oh yeah.”
She slides a glance at me. “Why is it okay for her to be here, but not your own sister?”
Junior gives her a withering look. “Are you a fucking nurse?”
“You know what I mean.”
Junior shakes his head. “Don’t ask me about business. You know better.”
She rolls her eyes. “You sound just like Pops.”
“And that’s exactly why I shouldn’t have to tell you this shit. Go home. Tell Ma everything’s fine. I’ll come see her next week. Don’t come back here without an invitation.”
Alessia shakes her head. “You’re such an ass, Junior.”
I bite my lips to keep from giving her a piece of my mind.
She turns and walks down the stairs, and Junior and I both follow. At the front door, she turns and offers her cheeks to Junior, who kisses both of them, like they weren’t just yelling at each other. Something about it warms my heart.
This family’s not that different from mine. From anyone’s. They have their squabbles and problems. But they love and care for each other just like the rest of us.
Junior mutters something in Italian. I can’t figure out the translation, but it seems like a normal goodbye thing.
“Grazie,” she answers. “Nice to meet you,” she says to me.
“Tell your mom I said hi,” I say, because I’m not feeling as warm and fuzzy toward her as I am toward her mom. “Or—I guess don’t—since you’re not telling her what’s going on,” I babble.
She gives a wave as Junior practically pushes her out the door.
“You are not the popular brother this week, are you?” I say when she’s gone, to lighten the mood.
“I consistently win most hated,” he says grimly. His face is back to the closed mask he usually wears, and it kinda breaks my heart to think that his family hates him. He pulls one of the coffee cups from the carrier and hands it to me.