Papà’s gaze hardened. “Who’s stupid enough to touch my daughter?”
Oscar Perez, and every time you invite him over . . .
“A nobody now, if he even made it out.”
“Good,” Papà snapped. “Let’s hope he didn’t.”
I didn’t know why I had even tried.
“Nico, we need to talk if you have some time. Elena, go check on Benito in the kitchen and make sure he’s still alive.”
My eyes widened. “What?”
“He was shot tonight. Though, maybe you aren’t so concerned about that as you are about who drives you home.”
I frowned.
Turning around, I was frustrated enough with his barb that I forgot Nicolas stood so close. I bumped into him, and then braced my hand on his stomach to steady myself. Heat burned through his white dress shirt and into my palm. God, he was a furnace. My fingers unwillingly curled into the muscle before I stepped back.
“I’m convinced they should call you the Clumsy Abelli instead,” he said, annoyance coating his tone.
My gaze sparked. “Cute.”
A hint of a humoring smile pulled on his lips, but he only grabbed my wrist, pulled me impolitely out of his way, and then shut my papà’s office door behind him.
I shook off the tingling warmth left behind from his grip and walked down the hall toward the kitchen. It didn’t take long to realize that Benito was going to live. Pushing the swinging door open, I stopped in my tracks, a blank gaze taking in the horror show.
Benito leaned against the counter with a hand towel pressed to his shoulder, while Gabriella—who wasn’t even supposed to be here this late—kissed a corner of his lips, cooing something too low to hear. I imagined something like, “Poor baby.”
It was a little cringe-worthy, but that wasn’t the reason I turned around and headed back to my room. That’s because her hand was in his pants. My cousin was getting a handjob in the kitchen, and while it was seriously unsanitary, I didn’t have the energy to tell them to get a room.
Later, I lay in my bed staring at the ceiling, at the lone glowing star left from years before. Because every time I closed my eyes, all I saw was fire reflected in an amber gaze.
Every time I closed my eyes, all I felt was the wrong man’s lips against mine.
“I told you we didn’t have to go, Benito.”
“I know, and I said it isn’t a big deal, Elena.”
I sighed and fell back in my seat. I’d been excited about the pool party, but after the night before, I wasn’t confident it was a good idea to spend any more time around Tyler. Especially now that I’d seen how easy it was for Nicolas Russo to destroy a man’s life in five minutes flat.
Urban development and eleven o’clock morning sun blurred through the car window as we sped uptown. Benito drove with his uninjured arm, his fingers tapping on the steering wheel to the beat, while singing along to How Deep Is Your Love by the Bee Gees. Typical behavior for him, but he’d been awfully quiet the whole drive . . . I watched him for a moment, a frown tugging at my lips.
“Are you on painkillers?”
His brows pulled together. “I only took three this morning.”
“You mean, like right before we got in the car. That this morning?”
“Yeah, with some orange juice.” He said it like that tidbit was important. I closed my eyes. Benito was high. He should’ve known those painkillers Vito supplied were in doses large enough for a horse, and he’d taken three.
I rubbed my temple. “You shouldn’t be driving.”
“And what?” he scoffed. “Let you drive? You don’t know how.”
“No, I was going to say we should have just stayed home.” I trailed off, staring in confusion when he took an exit off the expressway. “What are you doing, Benito? You can’t get off here.”
“Can now. The marriage, Elena.”