"You're the one on my ass all the fucking time about not being present enough. I come to help, and I get shit about it?" he asked, shoving a hand into my shoulder.
"You wouldn't get shit about it if you didn't fuck everything up when you came back."
"Maybe if you were thinking with your head and not your dick, you would see there are a lot of fucking holes in that woman's story. You can't be mad at me because you dropped the fucking ball, Luca."
I meant to keep it from getting more physical.
And, sure, maybe he had a point about my growing feelings for Romy.
But doubting my ability to do my job despite that? That was over the line.
And I had to show him that.
We'd always been fairly matched in a fight. I had better stamina, he had better bull strength.
I took a blow to my jaw. He took one to his chin.
Before I knew it, we were both on the ground.
Then there was a hand grabbing the back of my neck, strong, familiar, throwing me backward off my brother.
"If we're done acting like children," our father snapped, voice low and lethal like I remembered it from when we were pain in the ass kids, "we have a missing woman to find. Get up and get on it," he told us. "You, you need to watch your step," he told Matteo. "And you, you need to get some control over yourself."
Chastened, I pushed myself off the ground, went inside the house, took a two-minute shower, threw on some clothes, got in my car, and took off.
I should have been angry.
At the situation.
At the men.
At my brother.
At Romy for taking off instead of confronting me.
All I felt as I flew across town, though, was panic.
At the idea that I might not find her.
At the possibility that Matteo was right, that she was bullshitting us, that she was playing me, that I was losing my edge, that I wasn't the boss material I always thought I would be.
"Fuck," I hissed, slamming my fist on the steering wheel.
Her car, that we had taken and parked behind Famiglia, was still there.
She had some of her things, but she didn't have access to her money.
There was nowhere to go without some cash. You couldn't even drop down in an all-night diner to get your shit together, make a plan for your next move.
Then again, if Matteo was right, if she wasn't working alone, if all of this was just a ploy for something more nefarious, if this supposed sister of hers didn't actually exist, then she would've had people to come get her. Because she did have her phone.
I pulled over in the lot outside our family restaurant, watching the sun rise over the water.
No.
It couldn't have all been made up.
Because I had that damn picture.