Page 53 of His Passerotta

“Corey?” Bailey calls from the kitchen. A moment of anticipation passes. I don’t realize how intently I’m listening to their conversation until my ear turns their way.

“I love you.”

Three words. Three knives to the back.

Ouch.

“I love you too.”

Once the door shuts, I stand, shrugging on my shirt. Bailey walks to me with her arms wrapping around her midsection. I don’t meet her eyes. Don’t allow whatever pleading expression she’s wearing to affect me.

“Anthony…”

“You told him,” I grit, sticking my hands in my pockets when my fingers tap my thigh.

“Not really, I…” She walks the rest of the way to me. “I didn’t say what I heard or anything like that.”

I huff. “Oh, well, I guess it’s okay then.”

“It’s not.” Emotion clogs her voice, and it pulls my eyes to her, despite my best efforts to keep them anywhere else. “I know it’s not okay. I know that was stupid of me.”

“And yet, here we are.”

She bites her lip when it begins to tremble. “I was scared.”

“You were scared?” I laugh dryly. “You were scared, so you decided to endanger the life of your boyfriend as well as yourself. Smart.”

“He isn’t my boyfriend.”

“No? Sounded pretty serious to me.” I shake my head in disgust. “Real looker you got there, by the way. Love the face tats.”

Her eyes narrow. “Shut the fuck up. Now.”

“Do you suck his cock as good as you did mine?”

Her eyes widen only a split-second before she slaps her hand across my face. Somehow, I don’t see it coming, so my head jerks to the side. The sting doesn’t burn nearly as much as the lava running through my veins.

“He’s my brother, you asshole.”

My mouth is already open, ready to throw back another insult, but it hangs when her words register.

Brother?

I turn to look at the photo of the young boy with her. He’s blond. And… No, there’s no fucking way.

But I guess that makes more sense than him being her boyfriend. I don’t know what her usual type is, but I hope it isn’t that.

“I was scared,” she reiterates, her anger waning. “I didn’t tell him many details, but at the time, I didn’t see a better way to explain why I was hiding in his apartment. Or why I no longer had a phone. So I told him I walked in on what sounded like a mob meeting, and that one of the men smashed my phone. And that I was let go but still afraid someone would come after me. That’s what happened… I’m sorry.”

I rub my cheek, turning back to her.

“Forgive me,” she says, unwrapping her arms and coming closer, stopping mere inches from me. “Please.”

I say nothing. I don’t know what I can say. I don’t know what I feel.

She puts her hand on my arm, the touch so gentle, so comforting. It’s hard to be angry at her like this, when she looks so breakable. Frightened.

I would never hurt her. I don’t even think I’m capable of it.

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