Page 83 of His Passerotta

Neither of us say anything for several minutes as we listen to each other’s labored breathing. Gradually, my lungs slow, following my heart’s lead, and I close my eyes and press my forehead against his pec.

My scalp tingles when he plants a kiss into my hair, his fingers gliding up and down my back absently. I get the feeling that he’s thinking, and I wonder if he’s as afraid for this to end as I am.

“What does passerotta mean?” I ask, hoping to draw him from his thoughts. I don’t really need to ask. I looked it up online days ago, but I still want to. Just in case it means something different to him.

“It means little sparrow,” he tells me, reciting the definition I found. “It’s a term of endearment. It means I think you’re cute.”

“Cute?” I ask with an amused grin.

“That was my first impression… You reminded me of a kitten in a box on the side of the road. Irresistibly cute in a pathetic kind of way.”

“What?” I go to pull my head back to look at him, but he presses me against his chest while he chuckles.

“My mother used to call me passerotta when I was a child and she caught me doing something I wasn’t supposed to do. Like sneaking candy or staying up late with the TV muted.”

“Ah, so you see me as a kid with her hand in a cookie jar. Got it.” I laugh.

“No, not anymore. I now see you’re stealthier than that.”

My smile falls, and I pull back. He looks down at me with an expression that holds a touch of sadness to it. Like he’s about to deliver bad news. My shoulders slump, and I rest my head on his arm.

“I know you did what you felt you had to do, Bailey. I don’t know if you were really spying on me that night or how far you went with your lies, but I don’t care. I love you. I get you.”

“But?” I ask, my voice weak.

“But my family has been put in danger, and I have to fix it. You know that, right?”

Corey. He’s talking about Corey.

My stomach drops.

“I know how much your brother means to you, and the last thing I want to do is hurt you… If you can talk him into leaving Vegas, do it and do it soon. I can’t protect him if he’s here.”

“You mean you won’t protect him,” I whisper, my chest filling with dread. Not anger. I can’t make myself be angry at Anthony. I would do the same if it was my family being attacked.

“I’m sorry.” His lips tilt into a frown as he pushes hair back over my shoulder. Each second, we get a little farther apart. We’ve been crossing enemy lines, but that line is getting thicker.

I clear the emotion from my throat and try to be practical. Hard. Stoic. “How much time do we have?”

When seconds pass without him answering, goosebumps rise on my arms. I sit up, pulling the comforter with me to cover myself, suddenly feeling exposed.

“Hours, probably,” he says, sitting up with me.

“What?” My jaw drops. “Can’t you wait a day? It could take time to?—”

“It’s already done.”

What?

How could it…

“You knew,” I whisper, wrapping my arms around my stomach.

He nods. “I figured it out this morning.”

“And you didn’t warn me?” My voice cracks and reverberates through my chest.

His phone goes off, and he digs it from the pocket of his slacks before hitting ignore and tossing it onto the bed.

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