Page 45 of His Passerotta

I shake my head but have no idea what better excuse I could give. My mind is too frozen to think straight.

“Sorry,” is all I manage.

“Sorry?” He scoffs. “What if one of my associates was here? Do you want to get yourself killed?”

“N-no, I…” I look toward the door.

I need to go.

“I’ll go,” I say, turning and hurrying for the exit.

“Bailey.”

I push through the door and run toward a nearby dumpster, not even caring if somebody sees me. All I can think about is getting this fucking bomb off my shoulder. I lift the purse over the side and ease it on top of a pile of trash, crinkling my eyes shut as I do.

Once it hits something firm, I let go and jump back, pressing a hand to my heart and backpedaling away.

Nothing. I check my watch.

Seven fifty-nine.

I take off down the alley and wait at the end to warn anyone if they come by. Eight o’clock comes and goes, and twenty minutes go by with no explosion.

My cheeks puff out as a relieved sigh barrels out of me.

He wasn’t going to do it. Not while people were in the restaurant.

My little brother isn’t a murderer.

With my shoulders ten times lighter, I walk to the parking garage and find Rose, who for once, doesn’t give me hell when I start her up.

My lips lift into a tiny, grateful smile, and a laugh follows it. I’ve been so wound with tension, it feels incredible letting it go. Having my biggest fears put to the side, to face again on another day.

Then I hear the explosion.

11

ANTHONY

My knuckles lightly tap Bailey’s door.

I take a step back, ignoring the toothless drunk guy staring at me from his post down the hall. He sits slumped with his back against the wall and his legs splayed in a way that makes me wonder if he’s too drunk to stand.

“You sure you’re at the right place, pretty boy?” he slurs.

I knock harder on the door and sigh as I take another step back.

This day has been a shit show. I’m tired. Hungry. Stressed. Pissed. And a hundred other things I can’t designate a word to. It’s after midnight, and I just spent the last several hours locked into a debate with Settimo on what the best course of action is to deal with the bomb someone planted in a dumpster outside La Divina.

No one was hurt, and no damage was done to the building, so it’s obviously a message. I just don’t know what the message says or who it’s from. Settimo, on the other hand, has ideas. He believes it was the Russians, warning us to stay out of their dealings with the Irish.

I think it’s a possibility. A likely possibility. But retaliation until it’s verified who was responsible seems … rash. And potentially deadly. Settimo disagrees. He’s probably plotting our attack as I stand here, ignoring the drunk’s slurs and wondering why the hell I’m here to begin with.

I should go home. Eat something. Take a shower. Go to bed.

But I won’t because… Because I don’t want to be alone. And I can’t get Bailey off my mind. I’ve tried. Hard.

Finally, the door creaks open, revealing Bailey in sweats and a Nirvana T-shirt with her hair up in a messy bun. Her eyes are puffy and red like she’s been crying.

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