Page 32 of What's Left of Us

Except Xeno stopped having them tailing us since both Porscha and Alastair are behind bars. I distinctly remember he had suspicions about two men in particular, Jonathan and Dante, but Xeno never caught them doing anything out of the ordinary. He had evidence that we were being recorded, though he had no idea why. He’d never asked them or anyone to record us.

I’m off the couch immediately, moving towards the kitchen. That’s where I left the gun, and Jo chases after me. She’s wearing socks, and her steps are soft as she follows me. “What are you doing,” she whispers.

“No one is supposed to be watching us,” I tell her.

“That doesn’t mean it’s someone from the family,” she hisses, catching my wrist. I shake her hand off, and she huffs at me. “You don’t know if it’s the same person.”

“Same license plate,” I tell her, nodding to the door as I turn. “I’d prefer if you’d stay in here-”

“Fuck no-”

“-but since I know you aren’t going to,” I continue, shooting her a glance before I open the door. “At least staybehind me.” I tuck the gun into my waistband where it’s hidden by my loose shirt.

She huffs again, but there’s no protest as we slip on shoes and she follows me outside. The SUV doesn’t move, making me narrow my eyes as we approach. If the driver was worried they would tear off down the street.

And there’s definitely someone sitting in there.

Banging on the driver side window, it rolls down a moment later. I expect to see Jonathan, and I’m surprised to find Dante sitting there alone. “Hey, Vincenzo.”

“The hell are you doing out here?” I snap, and his eyebrows lift. He has a piercing through his left brow, a little silver hoop, and part of me wants to rip it out.

“Following orders. Watch you, ensure you both are safe.”

“Bull,” I say, leaning against the car. I can feel Jo behind me, and hopefully she stays back. I really don’t know what’s happening here, but I don’t like Dante being back when he doesn’t need to be out here. “Xeno sent you?”

His lip twitches, and I know I’m about to catch him in a lie. Every time I’ve spoken to my brother he repeats that he doesn’t have eyes on us in the street anymore. “Course-”

I reach into the car, grabbing the front of his shirt. “Liar.”

The calm facade shatters then, and Dante grips my wrist. “Let go.”

“You know,” I say leaning into the car. “You don’t belong out here watching us. And I don’t think we’re that interesting to you. So who are you reporting to?”

I feel Jo moving away from us as Dante spits at me, and I can’t help wondering why the hell he isn’t swinging. Then I see her circling the car, and my nerves stand on end.

One thing. I wanted her to just do one thing if she came out here with me.

“Non rispondo a un traditore,” Dante growls.

I don’t report to a traitor.“Then who the fuck do you report to?”

Dante throws his weight against my arm, and the awkward angle against my wrist has me loosening my grip. I reach through the car and grab his throat, the two of us struggling against each other.

I don’t want to shoot him. I just want answers about why he’s still here. I might be a little paranoid right now with everything else going on, but we don’t need someone watching us from the outside.

He swears in Italian, and I drag him closer to me. Fuck it, I’ll drag his ass out that open window. If Xeno doesn’t trust him, neither do I.

Releasing his shirt gives my arm a bit of wiggle room, and I uppercut towards his face. It sends his head snapping back at the same time that his first collides with my cheek.

I can hear Jo on the other side of the car scrambling around for something, but my focus is on him. He seems to be the only person here from the family, and he’s the only one I’m worried about.

Dante isn’t wearing a seatbelt, and I grab his shoulder and he tries to punch me again and start dragging him out of the car. He flails again, striking my chest, and I rip him halfway out before driving my elbow into his head.

It stings, but does enough damage to momentarily stun him. Grabbing his torso I yank him the rest of the way out of the SUV head first, but he manages to catch himself instead of landing on his skull.

He sweeps his legs out, knocking me off my feet. We go down together in the neighbor’s yard, and I manage to get on top of him before he can pin me.

Then I’m swinging, and I don’t care if he screams. The sting in my knuckles where they collide with his nose is awelcome sensation, and distantly I realize this might be a rash decision.

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