“There’s no use in denying it. Unless you forgot, you took my fucking car, and I happen to have GPS in that baby.”
Oh, fuck me.
“Which brings me to the topic of why Antonio decided to fuck up the immaculate paint job by punching dents in my car.”
See, this was why I should have left Monday. I tried to. I was packed and everything, until my dad came into my bedroom and begged me to stay, saying they missed having me around. He was still busy giving me the speech he had probably prepared for a week when I started unpacking my suitcase again. I might not have seen eye to eye with my father, but I loved him.
I huffed in frustration and pulled my hair out of my face. “Dante, what do you want me to say?”
“I don’t want you to say anything. I just want you to stop moping around like you’ve been doing the last few days. Is it because of him?”
“Who?”
“The cop.”
Silence.
“Dante—”
“Did he hurt you?” He straightened like he was already readying himself to go on the warpath.
“Oh, my God!” I threw my hands in the air. “Why is everyone so worried about me getting hurt?”
“Because we care about you and don’t want to see you get hurt.”
I let out a maniacal laugh. “You and Antonio should start realizing I’m an adult, and I’m a woman. I’m bound to get hurt sometimes. Everyone gets hurt.”
Dante stared at me like he was trying to figure me out, trying to assess my mood.
I scowled at him. “Don’t do that.”
“What?”
I waved my hand in front of his face. “That whole trying to see right through me thing.”
He snorted. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Yeah, right.”
What felt like hours, but was probably seconds, passed without either of us saying a word. But I felt Dante’s gaze on me the entire time. It was burning a fucking hole in the side of my head.
“You told Antonio, didn’t you? About Enzio?”
I hung my head in defeat, starting to feel the effects of the alcohol I’d consumed for the last hour. “Yes, Dante. I told him.”
He turned back toward the bar. “Well, that explains the foul fucking mood he’s been in the last week. Last Saturday when you drove off withmycar,” he glared at me, “he got into his car and left.”
“Where did he go?”
Dante shrugged. “Beats me. He came back four hours later smelling like cheap whiskey and even cheaper women.”
As if I needed to feel any guiltier. Antonio’s bad mood was because of me, because of my damn problems.
I glanced around the restaurant. “Where is he now?”
“He went straight through to the back office. Didn’t even make his usual rounds greeting everyone.” Dante took a sip of his drink. “So, how did he take it?”
“He wants to kill Enzio.” I said it like it was no big deal.It’s a big fucking deal.