Page 19 of The Woman with the Target on her Back (Grassi Family)

That was my mom in me.

Don’t let a man sweep you off your feet, honey. They’re only going to drop you on your ass. Sooner or later.

I wasn’t an idiot. I knew she was talking about my dad.

Should I call my mom? Did ex-wives who were jilted by their husbands for much younger women want to know that their ex was in the hospital, fighting for his life?

I guess I was just going to put a pin in that for the time being. Maybe ask August his opinion. The guy might have been a dick, but he had a much more stable family life than I did. He would be a decent person to ask about things like this.

“I guess I have to learn to watch my mouth now, huh? I don’t have you to protect me anymore,” I added. Because even if he did wake up from this, clearly someone had a target on his back. Which meant there was now one on mine as well.

A nurse came in to check on my father at one point as the awkward silence stretched on, giving me a small smile and kind eyes as she looked at the monitors, then quietly excused herself back out again.

“Listen,” I finally said some unknown time later. “I need you to wake up, okay? Summon that stubborn-ass spirit of yours that I may or may not have inherited, and wake up. I don’t think I’m going to handle it very well if I don’t know you are one phone call and shouting match away, okay?” I said, hearing the catch in my voice, and knowing it was time to go.

I wasn’t going to break down in the hospital.

“I’m going to go… try to figure some things out. But, ah, I’ll be back,” I told him, then walked back out of the room.

“Miss Moon?” the nurse from the desk called as I was about to head toward the stairwell.

“Yeah?” I asked, turning back.

“We’re not really supposed to do this, but since he’s unconscious, we can’t ask him. Your father’s wallet…” she said, producing a bag with it inside. “It’s just that… there’s a lot of money in it,” she said. “I saw it when I looked for his emergency contact. And, well, things do tend to disappear in a hospital.”

“Oh, right. Of course. Thank you so much,” I said, reaching for the bag. “I will hold onto it for him.”

“That’s the spirit,” she said, giving me an encouraging smile.

I didn’t stop to consider what that might mean as I turned and took myself into the stairwell. I didn’t open the wallet as I rushed down the stairs.

Whether I wanted to admit it or not, seeing my father like that—a strong, formidable man brought so low—yeah, it was scaring the shit out of me. If they could do that to him, they could do infinitely worse to me.

I wanted to get back down to August.

As much as I hated relying on anyone, least of all some random man, I had to accept that I was too weak to be alone in this. Physically, at least. Mentally, I could run circles around these assholes. Which was what I planned to do. To figure out who was the mind behind this attack on my father and the attempt on me.

Then, well, I don’t know.

Ask August how much it is to hire a hitman?

I don’t know.

I needed coffee. And some time to think.

I pushed open the door to the right floor, walking out in the opposite direction of the elevator that I should have been emerging from. The elevator that August was staring at, body tight.

What was more surprising was that there was another man beside him.

Tall, dark-haired, wearing a suit.

It didn’t take a genius to figure out that he was another mafia guy.

The crazy thing was, they all looked like that. Handsome and polished. I’d met dozens of them at a wedding a while back. Almost all of them had a name that ended in a vowel too. It was insane.

All except August.

Well, no, even him.

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