Page 69 of Gin & Trouble

I spent the ride to Tulane Medical Center glancing over my shoulder for my brother’s goons. It seemed like a muscular man, dressed in black, stood on every corner, peered through every window, walked down every sidewalk. I’d never noticed how many dark haired, Mediterranean complexioned men lived in the freaking city.

The streetcar came to a stop and my pulse shot into the stratosphere. The short walk to the entrance was the longest of my life. Not only was I looking over my shoulder for mafiosi, I couldn’t shake the feeling I was about to make a huge mistake.

What if it’s positive? What if I go to Enzo and he flips out? Tells Dante I stole his blood and forged his name on the lab docs? What if he refuses to help our sisters?

I walked into the lab nauseous and confused.

It took all of five minutes, a signature and flashing my fake driver’s license to receive the test results. A singular piece of paper with the potential to save and destroy countless lives.

I ducked into a rest room and opened the sealed envelope like my grandmother used to open Christmas presents—careful not to rip the paper.

The report itself was far more colorful than I’d anticipated. Pink, yellow, blue, and green rows with words like “Allele” and “Locus” and alphanumeric codes that were nothing but gibberish to me.

What the heck is a combined sibling index? Sixty-seven? That’s failing, right?

I blew out a breath, unsure if I was disappointed or relieved. And then I read the final paragraph.

DNA testing was done to determine siblingship of alleged siblings. Based on the testing results… blah blah blah…The probability of half-siblingship is 98.5%.

Holy crap.

The implications of what I’d discovered felt like concrete in my lungs. That’s it. The last few nails in mine and Dante’s relationship coffin. Not only had I kept my suspicions about Enzo from him, the information had the potential to implode his family.

And Enzo? How is he going to feel about this? What about the rest of the Marchionnis? His mother? The man he considers his father? What will this news do to a dying man?

I called Sophia, but as it had for days, her phone went straight to voicemail. I didn’t dare leave a message. If my fears were right, Tommaso had found her and taken her back to Sicily.

While I hated the thought of turning to Mia for advice, I had no choice. I dialed her number.

“Frankie!” Her shrill voice threatened to perforate my eardrum. “Where are you? Are you still with Dante? I’ve been worried sick! Tommaso knows you and Sophia are in New Orleans.”

Damn it.

I pressed my back against the bathroom wall. “Is that why he was here?”

“Yes, no thanks to that video of you and Dante Marchionni.” She made that tsking sound she was so fond of. “What were you thinking?”

I didn’t have the energy to get into the Danny-Dante thing with heragain. Nor did I want a lecture. “Does he have Sophia? I haven’t been able to reach her in days.”

“No. My informant would have told me if she’d returned.” She sighed. “But I’m worried too. I haven’t talked to her in over a week.”

“Let’s hope for the best. Sophia is more than capable of taking care of herself.” I’d tried for optimistic, but it felt more like a lie.

“Did you get the DNA results?”

My heart gave a weak thump like it had died a little. “Yes.”

Muffled male voices came over the line as if people had walked into the room with my sister.

Odd, considering she was in hiding.

“Well? What did they say?” Mia sounded as exasperated as I felt, but I suspected her reaction was for a very different reason.

Could she be working with our brother? Is that where her information is coming from?

I wanted to chalk my reaction up to my chronic catastrophizing of my problems, but my gut instinct told me otherwise.

“They were inconclusive. The tech said we should run them again and include one or both mothers in the samples.” I lied like a good little mob princess, with a freaking smile on my face.

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