Page 35 of His Passerotta

“He—he knows my name,” I say, my voice low. “I gave him a fake one.”

Anthony stares out the window, but his faraway eyes tell me he isn’t seeing anything.

“Does he know about me?” I ask, even though it’s obvious. “Did you tell him?”

A shiver runs across the back of my neck as I take a step toward Anthony.

The men from last night wanted me dead. Would the Italians? Would Anthony let them hurt me?

“No, I didn’t tell him,” Anthony finally responds, still staring out the window. “But he knows.”

I try to search for clues in his voice as to how he feels about that, but all I hear is disappointment. For himself? For Lorenzo? For me?

“What does that mean for me?”

He doesn’t answer, which is a horrifying answer in itself. My shoulders fall, along with my heart.

“Anthony…?”

He turns to me with a look on his face that reminds me of a statue. Hard, but not angry. No sign of what he’s thinking.

“It means you need to go… It isn’t safe for you here.”

“Go?” My eyes widen. “Go where?”

“Home,” he says automatically. “Or not, I don’t really care, but you can’t be here. It’s unlikely that the men you saw last night will check your apartment, so just … go home. I’ll figure out the rest.”

“What about your brother?” I glance at the door like Lorenzo might be there. “He knows my name. He could find where I live.”

“He already knows where you live.”

My chest tightens as my breathing stops.

“He’ll probably have someone keep an eye on you, but you’ll be fine. Just don’t go to the police or do anything stupid. I can handle my brother, otherwise.”

He can handle his brother. The guy who looks like a walking threat. The guy with the nasty scar across his eye.

Anthony’s brother. How is that possible?

How can he be so sure?

Anthony must sense my uncertainty because he comes up to me and takes my face in his hands, his gaze lingering on my lips before meeting my eyes. “Trust me, okay? This is better than me hiding you in my apartment.”

“If it’s better, why didn’t you let me go last night?” I ask, not the least bit comforted.

“Because last night, I didn’t know what to do, and no one knew where you were or that you were even alive. Now, someone does, and I look indecisive, or worse, too weak to finish the job. None of this is good for either of us.”

Too weak to finish the job… Meaning too weak to kill me.

“What if…” I swallow. “Won’t they send someone else to finish the job?”

“No.”

“But how can you be sure? They could?—”

“Bailey.”

I close my mouth and try not to protest further as he sighs and slides his hands to my shoulders, taking an unsettling amount of time to speak.

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