He rolls them in exasperation. “Dad’s worried the Italians are about to strike. We’re just on high alert.”
“He thinks they could go after one of us?” After Calli, is what I really want to ask, but I swallow those words down.
“Nothing is confirmed. They want the businesses, but seeing as we made the first move by killing their men, Dad isn’t ruling it out. We’re just being cautious. Protecting those around us.”
“If that’s the case, I need fucking back in,” I growl. “You need to talk to Dad.”
“No,” he barks, determination that I don’t hear all that often, deepening his voice. “What you need is to pass these exams so you can reclaim your life. Let me help, let Theo help, hell, let Isla help if you want. But you have to do this.”
“And what if I can’t?”
“You already know the consequences. And if that is the case, then you could have no more part in this war.”
“Fuck,” I bark, scrubbing my hand down my face.
“You can do this, D. I’ve got faith in you. Just stop being so fucking hard-headed and accept that your friends are here for you. Even if you’re not always here for us,” he adds just to drive the knife in a little.
“When the fuck have I not had your back, A?”
The shoulder he’s not laying on lifts.
“I’m going to sleep. Go study, seeing as you probably won’t get any.”
“Why exactly are you still coming back here when you’ve got your own flat? Dad’s house is nice, but shit, man.”
“I like it,” he mutters sleepily. “The view is often pretty good.”
“Jesus Christ,” I mutter, pushing to my feet and walking through the bathroom to my old room.
I hate the weak and pathetic little boy this room represents, and no sooner have I walked in do I walk straight back out again, quickly leaving the house.
I don’t care how nice Dad’s new housekeeper is to look at, she’s not worth me hanging around—not that she’d be here gone midnight anyway. Or at least, I hope she’s not. Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve stumbled into one long before her shift started, wearing just one of Dad’s shirts, since Mum left a few years ago.