Page 73 of Last Hand

She shakes her head. “I just—” Her words jam up, and she wipes her nose with the back of her hand. “I thought I’d never see him again. Any of them.”

She looks at Rocco, watching the way he gently guides Nathan and the girls. “He won’t let anything happen to them, right?” she asks.

“Santos’s men,” I snort. “Definitely not.” Which is true, and the first real comfort I can offer.

She nods, still her eyes keep scanning like she is waiting for someone to come out guns blazing to take out her sisters.

“Where is she?” Fallon whispers. It’s not clear who she means until Leone crouches down and tilts her face up.

“Santos’s men will bring her home,” he says. “You’ll be able to bury her.” The words sound weirdly gentle, coming from a guy who’s snapped more necks than bottles of scotch.

Fallon nods slowly. “She never left us,” she croaks out. “I hated her all this time, thinking she abandoned us. She did it to keep us safe. I spent so long hating her, I forgot how much I loved and needed her.”

“She’s home now,” I say, because it’s the only thing that feels true.

Leone leads her toward the car, hand firm on her lower back, not forceful. I expect him to climb in the back with her, instead, he holds the rear door open and jerks his head for me to get in first.

I peer up at him. “You’re better with emotions,” he deadpans. “I’ll say the wrong thing.”

I stare at him like he’s gone mad. What part of me looks better equipped to deal with tears? “You sure about that?”

He just stares at me, so I slide in after her, her head on my shoulder before the door even shuts. Leone gets in front. Rocco comes over and slips behind the wheel.

Fallon’s quiet. Not the sullen kind, the empty kind. I want to tell her it gets easier. Nothing ever gets easier, not for people like us.

Out the window, I see Santos’s men dragging Igor, zip-tied and limp, toward a trunk. Fallon’s eyes lock on the scene, and something sharp and bright flickers back to life in her.

“Where are they taking him?” she asks as Rocco starts the car.

Leone glances at her over his shoulder. “What do you mean?”

She sits up, glaring at Santos’s men. “Igor. Where are they taking him?”

Leone looks at me, and I shrug again. I know my face must be identical to Leone’s, wanting to know what the fuck this man did to her for her to speak so coldly.

Leone turns slightly, considers her. “Where do you want us to take him?”

“I want his arms, and you won’t kill him,” Fallon says, like it’s a completely normal thing to request. Had it come from Leone’s mouth I wouldn’t bat an eye at it. However, coming from hers, though, seems harsher, unnatural?

I blink. “You want… his arms? That’s it?”

She just stares out the window at the car they’ve dragged him to.

Leone’s face is unreadable. He glances at me, then out the window, then back at Fallon. With a heavy sigh, he opens the door before the car even starts rolling.

He stalks over to Santos, who’s waiting by the sedan, and they speak for a moment. Both glance at our car, then Santos nods and peels off with two of his men. Leone returns, slamming the car door behind him. He doesn’t say a word for a minute, just watches the treeline as we drive.

“They’ll put him in our basement,” he finally says. It’s meant for Fallon, yet he’s looking at me.

I nod and Fallon leans into me. I wrap my arm around her. She’s not crying anymore, though I can tell she’s definitely not okay.

Leone watches her for a second, a strange look on his face, though it doesn’t seem like jealousy as I wrap my arm around her shoulders, tugging her closer. Ever since finding out she was pregnant, I’ve wondered how I fit into this relationship now. Worried Leone will warn me away; I’m half expecting him to, even though I know how unrealistic our relationship is now that a baby has come into the equation. So, for now, I enjoy herwarmth, knowing she is safe while bracing for the inevitable, assuming her baby is still okay.

The baby. Fuck. I haven’t even dared to ask. After Rebecca, the fire, the tree… it’s a miracle Fallon’s still standing, let alone carrying a life. If she lost it… I don’t even want to think about what that would do to her, to Leone. To us—whatever the hell ‘us’ is anymore.

Rocco drives smoothly and silently, even the radio is left off like everyone is worried noise breaking the silence will also break everyone in the car. The city lights start to bleed through the thinning trees, painting streaks across Fallon’s pale face. Her breathing’s evened out, a little. Still too shallow. She shifts against me, a small sound escaping her lips, not quite a whimper, not quite a word.

Leone’s shoulders are rigid in the front passenger seat. He hasn’t looked back since we started moving. The silence in the car is thick, heavy with unspoken shit. The kind of silence that usually ends with gunfire or someone screaming. Tonight, it just… hangs.

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