I scramble out of my chair and launch myself straight at him, just barely remembering to put the brakes on before I fling myself in his arms, since I’m not sure the extent of his injuries.
“Come here, baby.” He wraps me up in his strong embrace.
“Joey! Thank God. Oh Jesus, I thought you were dead.” Tears of relief spill down my cheeks.
“No, just bruised ribs, but Al, Carlo, and Bobby are still in there. Vito and Mario are dead.” He releases me to hug his mom. “Hi, Ma. I’m okay.” He sounds tired.
“Al?”
Joey shakes his head. “He’s alive, that’s all I know. They’re still evaluating.”
“Okay. Okay. You two talk. Sounds like you have some things to discuss.” To me, she mouths, “Congratulations.”
Of course, Joey sees it and turns a quizzical look back on me.
“Joey, I’m sorry. I made a huge mistake. I got scared, and I pushed you away.”
“It’s okay, baby. The miscarriage sent your hormones haywire, and–”
“I’m still pregnant,” I interrupt.
Joey goes still.
“I’m still pregnant. I lied about the miscarriage because I was freaking out about marrying you. I’m so sorry.” I hold my breath, hoping he won’t be angry. Hoping he can forgive me.
“You’re still pregnant,” he repeats with no inflection in his tone whatsoever. Nothing to tell me what he’s thinking. “You’re still pregnant!”
I laugh because this time I hear his joy.
“Aw, baby.” His eyes mist as he lifts me into a fierce embrace, then winces and sets me down.
“Oh, Joey.” My heart tumbles in my chest over his pain. I put my hands on his ribs, sending energy through my palms.
He cradles my face in both hands. “Sophie.Bella.I love you. You showing up here…” He blinks the moisture back from his eyes. “I’m glad,” he chokes. “I’m so glad.”
“Me too,” I whisper.
I pull away to look at him. “I’m so sorry,” I whisper.
Someone clears his throat nearby. “Mr. LaTorre? You have anything else to add to your story?” A police detective stands there with a notebook and pen.
Joey shoots a hard glance his way. “No.”
“I got one more question for you. Tell me, if Vito’s dead and your brother and Carlo don't make it, what does that make you? The new boss?”
My heart freezes. Is Joey the new boss? Wow. For one chaotic moment, I question whether I should reverse my decision again and run. But my heart has already chosen. It wants Joey. There’s no going back now.
Joey’s face is made of stone, his eyes dark as obsidian. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Detective.”
The detective frowns. “Yeah, I’ll bet. And I probably won’t hear about a pile of bodies turning up over in Little Italy tomorrow, right?”
“If you do” –Joey stares into the detective’s face with a direct challenge– “I won’t know anything about it.”
Cold prickles make the hairs on my arms stand up, though some other part of me triumphs at the formidable way my man takes care of business.
“Uh huh,” the detective says sarcastically and moves away.
I look up into Joey’s face, but I know better than to ask about business. Like what happened. Or whether he’s boss. If he’s ordered a hit on anyone over it.