"Good," she flips her hair over her shoulder, "so we get married in seven days."
Half an hour later, Theresa has left. My brothers sprawl about the living room. I lean back in the sofa, glance toward the bar where Michael is pouring himself a drink. "Can I get a whiskey before you all start this interrogation?"
"Interrogation?" Seb drums his fingers on his chest, "Whatever gave you the idea that we are going to interrogate you?"
"Considering I revealed to you that I have begun to recall what happened before I was shot, it's not that far-fetched a conclusion,” I drawl.
"Has he always spoken like he's reading from a dictionary or is this the first time I noticed it?" Luca glowers at me.
"First time you noticed it," Adrian retorts.
"Didn't Michael ask you to fuck off?" I ask mildly and am rewarded when Luca's jaw hardens.
"Fuck you too, asshole!" he snaps.
"Beginning to sound like a broken record,Lucasshole," I retort.
Adrian chuckles then turns it into a snort. Luca glares at him and Adrian raises his hands, "You have to admit, that was inspired."
"Will the two of you cut it out?" Massimo scowls between us, "You're beginning to give me a headache with your bitching."
"He started it." Luca and I point at each other.
The fuck? Christian may be my surviving triplet, but Luca sounds a lot more like me. Probably why he can see through me. Unfortunately, we both have a lot in common when it comes to losing our cool. Only difference is that I have learned to rein in my anger, while Luca has very little filter. In a way, it means he says what he thinks so he wears his heart on his sleeve. Which makes him less of a threat, as compared to Seb, who watches me with a cool gaze. He's a cool customer, that one. Holds his cards close to his chest. It's clear, now, why Michael chose him to succeed him. He's a man who doesn't let his expression give away much.
"So, what happened on the day you gate-crashed Christian's wedding? Why did you point a gun at Aurora, and why is it that you stepped in front of Theresa when she was shot at?"
I rub my jaw, "Good questions—ones I have been asking myself, to be honest."
"So, you don’t remember what happened on that day?" Seb frowns.
"Not yet; the memories filter back when I least expect them."
"What is it that you remember, so far?"
"As I mentioned earlier, I know I was sent on an assignment. I know the man who called me was my partner. Or my boss, I’m not sure. But he and I worked out the details of the assignment. Initially, part of it was using Aurora to get more information on you guys, which is why I approached her in the first place."
"And Christian. Why did you shoot at him during the Christmas getaway?"
"Clearly, I don’t see the lot of you as friends." I rub the back of my neck. "The details are fuzzy in my head, but suffice to say, when I think of the Sovranos, I am not filled with love and sunshine."
"Surely, after that confession, you are going to shove this guy where the sun don't shine?" Luca growls.
Michael, who's been pouring his drink at the bar, turns to face the room, "How do you feel about us now?"
I stiffen. The scars on my forearm itch.
"Still want to take us out? Still want to put a bullet in each of us when you get a chance?" He places his glass on the counter, then prowls toward me. He stops in front of me, then pulls out his gun and holds it out to me with the handle facing me.
The room goes silent. Tension ripples off the other men.
Michael holds my gaze as I stay silent. A beat, then another. Then I reach out and take the gun. There's a slither of movement as every one of my brothers pulls out his gun and aims it at me. Only Michael doesn't move a muscle. I hold his gaze for a second longer, then snap open the cylinder. I pour out the bullets into the palm of my hand and hold the gun out to him.
Michael takes the gun, slides it into the back of his waistband. He holds out his palm and I drop the bullets into it. He pockets the bullets, then holds up his hand "Down boys," he says mildly.
The men put away their guns. Adrian relaxes back against the wall, Massimo sprawls back in the arm chair, Seb raises his glass and drinks from it. Only Luca stays where he is, every muscle in his body tightly wound.
"I still don't trust him," he rotates his neck and his joints pop.