Dammit, why can’t I take these steps two at a time to go up?! I hustle back into the bedroom. I’m rounding the corner for the massive bathroom when I glance out the window. Lights flood all areas from down below. I step toward the glass to get a better look.
A hand clamps my mouth. “Shhhh, Ms. Galloway . . .”
58
Santino
Every time I completed a home invasion in the past, I understood the consequences. It’s a fucking class A felony. Then things changed. Mina died, Pop’s health was failing, and all the important shit had started to slip Ma’s mind by then. I stopped. Became the man that Ma and Antonia needed me to be.
Then Gina Galloway became my world, and we were living out our happily ever after. Having her in my arms was meant to last an eternity. It felt right. Gabriella, the Grinch Galloway, and her cronies ruined those plans.
I smile at the image in my mind of Gina, rushing up the stairs to grab her shoes. She was ready to keep running with me. I’d seen various lights from SWAT’s tactical gear. They swarmed over the land. The whirlwind love affair had come to a close, and she didn’t even know it yet.
“The fuck are you smiling about?” An Asian FBI agent narrows his scrutinizing eyes at me.
“Il lupo perde il pelo ma non il vizo,”I murmur.
He turns toward his Italian female counterpart.
She rolls her eyes. “But abducting women and taking them from their homes has never been your MO, Mr. Morelli.”
When her partner continues to be lost, she shares that the saying means how hard it is to erase bad habits. “So, you and your lady friend had a hard breakup? Witnesses on the scene at Triton Lounge stated how she was angry with you. Bad mouthing you for hurting her.”
“What’s a man like you doing with a woman like that?” the Asian asks. “Blackmailing her? Making her fall in love with you? You emptied your apartment right before the shit hit the fan. She broke things off. Your new lady killer scheme blew up in your face?”
“Or is this a new scheme?” the female inquires. “You had the perfect setup. Cleared your apartment. Prepared to run with her money? Enlighten us how things went wrong, Mr. Morelli?”
59
Gina
I’m wrapped beneath a thin, scratchy blanket. The SWAT guy who assumed he was saving my life had called me all sorts of crazy, just like Santino had on day one—but in English. He also dropped Stockholm syndrome, and I popped him. Now, I’m officially Gina the Grinch Galloway again. A rich bitch who believes she’s above the law.
The sun has yet to rise on Christmas morning. Officials walk past the corridor where they discarded me like days-old meat. I fold my arms and wait.
An hour later, I hear a good dose of bickering coming from the main clerical area.Do I hear Dad, Gabriella? Oh, God, they brought Little Stevie!A voice that sounds familiar, like Geraldine makes my eyebrows dip. No . . . She wouldn’t. She swore off Christmas’s in the States a few years back.
I edge off my snow boots, rising slowly as my entire dysfunctional family—Steven Double O’Asshole included—nears me.
“Oh, baby,” Mom sighs as she wraps me in a hug. Then Gabriella. While my middle sister offers a weary embrace, as if anticipating a fracas, I smile. Her lips push upward, satisfied that I’m unaware of her schemes.Bitch.
Geraldine flings her arms around me like a big warrior sister would if you were screaming about monsters at night. Zane hugs me next.
Dad clears his throat. “How dare you hug my child before . . .”
I tune out my father, as does Zane. His lean body shifts in a silent laugh.
“Thanks for coming,” I whisper, letting him go.
Zane peers seriously at me. “Please tell me this is a big misunderstanding?”
My Dad scoffs. “We can all hear you! Of course, it’s not a misunderstanding. I told the authorities exactly what happened! He was using you forourmoney! Did you see the footage of that barbarian with my daughter?!” Dad snarls. With the snap of his hard eyes from Zane to me, his demeanor changes. “Gina, sweetie.”
“Dad, it is a misunderstanding,” I assert as he wraps his arms around me.
“I beg to differ, sweetheart.” He’s still holding me, patting the top of my head.
“Please help me fix this,” I murmur. Quickly, I reach down to scoop Little Stevie on my hips because, why not? He awoke before the sun came up, on Christmas morning no less. Every Christmas morning, he awakens us, screaming at the top of his lungs to open gifts. This is some serious progress.