I frown. “A trap? How?”
“Women don’t get over shit that fast. They say they do, pretend like everything’s fine, long forgotten and forgiven. Then one day you forget to put the damn toilet seat down, and all that long forgotten and forgiven crap comes back and pummels you to be the lowest piece of shit ever.”
“Oh, my God.” I drag my palms down my face. “Leandra’s not like that.”
“All women are like that.” He puts his cigarette in the ashtray and gets up, pouring himself a glass of whiskey. “You locked her up, for Christ’s sake, after you got her pregnant without her consent.” He drags out the T, putting more emphasis on it. “And then some other shit happened with our dearest younger brother.”
“It’s not—”
“No!” His hand shoots up. “I don’t want details. You tried rearranging our little brother’s face, but that’s as much as I want to know. The less I know, the less Mira will be up my ass wanting information out of me.”
“I wasn’t about to tell you.”
“Theeeen,” he starts pacing, “you disappear for fuck knows how long without as much as a note for your pregnant wife saying where you are, why you left, and most importantly when you’ll be back, because we all know women need a timestamp on everything. Date. Hour. Minute. To the fucking second.”
“Jesus,” I mutter. “What’s up your ass?”
He cranes his head and closes his eyes, breathing out a sigh. “Between the time I walked in here and the part where you said Leandra has supposedly forgiven you, I realized that it’s been too long since I had my dick stuffed in pussy.”
I roll my eyes and brush past him, pouring myself some whiskey. “Go to Myth, then. Or do everyone a favor and fuck Mira. Get it out of your system.”
Everything goes quiet. It’s the kind of silence that can crack bone, and I can practically feel Nicoli’s glare burning holes in my skull.
“If you weren’t my brother, my knife would be lodged in your jugular right now.” And if that doesn’t kill me, the poison laced in his voice will. It’s the one thing that rattles his cage. Mirabella.
I take a big gulp of whiskey, rolling it around with my tongue, letting it linger on my tastebuds before swallowing, feeling it sting as it settles in my stomach. “I fucked up,” I say without turning to face my brother. “Ireallyfucked up, and my wife wants to fix it. So, either she’s incredibly foolish and naive, or I’m just one lucky son of a bitch.” I’m speaking more to myself than I am to Nicoli, then chase my words with more whiskey.
Nicoli comes up behind me and places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. “If you’re the one who fucked up, and your wife seems to think it’s fixable,” he squeezes, “then you fucking fix it.”
I slam back the rest of my drink, sucking air through my teeth as the alcohol stings, then pour myself another. “Here’s another little piece of information I’m sure you’ll find amusing as fuck.”
“I can’t wait to hear it.”
I turn to face him as he sits back down, taking the last draw of his cigarette.
“I’m having a daughter.”
Nicoli freezes, his fingers hovering over the ashtray. “Say that again.”
I shake my head, already knowing he’s about to take a piss at me. “The doctor was able to see the sex of one of the babies, and it’s a girl.”
“So, you’re not only going to be a father, but you’re going to have a daughter?”
“Yes.”
“A girl?”
“We’re going in circles.”
“A girl?”
“Nicoli, snap out of it.”
And then he bursts out laughing. And it’s not just a chuckle or a snicker. It’s a full-belly laugh, and by the looks of it, it’s hurting his face.
“Holy shit,” he says through a fit of laughter. “You’re going to have a girl.”
I stare at him, deadpan. “I fail to see the joke in this.”