Sergio looked me up and down for a few more minutes his eyes hooding as his gaze settled on my lips. “Fine,” he snapped. “I’ll help you get to the kitchen.”
“Oh that’s okay I just—”
“Stop arguing Mo, I won’t bite you… not with his scent all over your skin. Not very sporting of me.”
I closed my eyes as heat spread across my body.
Sergio wrapped a muscled arm around me and then lifted me off the floor. I had no choice but to lean against him—he always smelled the same, like clean minty spice. It used to comfort me. But now? It made me sick. It reminded me of what I’d done with him. I blamed him when really I should have blamed myself. It was my fault not his.
When we reached the kitchen he placed me on the counter like a little kid and stalked over to the cupboard. “You want ice?”
“Please,” I whispered gripping the counter top with my hands like it was my only lifeline.
Sergio gripped the cup in his hands and went over to the freezer, the ice plunked into the glass, making the room feel that much more tense.
“He’s going to destroy us all.” Sergio’s back was to me as he filled the glass with water, his voice was so matter-of-fact and cold I wanted to shiver. “I hope you know that. He’s a Campisi, one doesn’t just stop being a Campisi.”
Deflated, I tried to ignore the truth of Sergio’s words. “You’re wrong.”
“Am I?” He turned around and his eyebrows shot up in surprise. “And what makes you the expert?”
“I just…” I chewed on my thumbnail. “I know his heart. He’s good, and what we’re doing…”
“What we’re doing…” Sergio threw his head back and laughed. “Had nothing to do with you seducing him then screwing with his head, Mo. Absolutely nothing. So what the hell are you doing? Because I’m pretty sure the others would like to know as well.”
“I’m making it real.” I swallowed the tightness in my throat and stretched my hand out for the water.
Sergio sighed and placed the cold glass against my fingertips, not removing his hand but keeping mine trapped against his. “Mo, regardless of how real you make it—you can’t save him.”
“But the plan was—”
“—marriage.” He shrugged simply. “And you still got shot.”
“But—”
“Mo.” Sergio released the glass and placed his hands on either side of my hips, pressing his body against mine so forcefully I gasped. “He will die.”
“No.” I shook my head forcefully. “I won’t let it happen. They said if we did it this way it would protect him.”
“You do realize…” He lifted his head and brushed his knuckles against my cheek. “I will save you before I save him.”
“Don’t.” My lips trembled. “I’m not worth it.”
“Let me decide your worth Monroe.” He took a protective stance in front of me. “And in the end, once this is over, I want you to remember, I was the one that was willing to forgive and forget whereas the one you claim to love—the one you want to save—is going to be dead in a month—for choosing blood.”
Cursing, Sergio backed away and stalked out of the kitchen leaving me alone with my thoughts. No longer thirsty, I placed the glass on the counter and tried to get off the countertop. Yeah, that wasn’t working very well. My leg wouldn’t let me maneuver.
After five minutes of trying not to kill myself. I slumped against my knees and waited for footsteps to come down the hall.
Wonder of all wonders, it wasn’t Tex that had come searching for me but Nixon.
“You weren’t in bed,” he snapped, his cold eyes fierce.
“Right.” I sighed. “I was trapped on the countertop.”
“Mind telling me how you got there?”
“I flew?”
Nixon grinned. “Smart ass.”
“Love you too, brother.”
His smile fell; he took a few tentative steps towards me. “Tell me you know it’s bad.”
I nodded.
“Tell me you know there will be death.”
I nodded again.
He cursed and wiped his face with his hands. “Tell me in the end—” His voice shook. “Tell me you’ll do what I say.”
“I can’t.” With trembling hands, I wiped away the tears already running down my face. “I still love him.”
“I know.” Nixon picked me up into his arms and carried me down the hall. “That’s the damn problem.”
I sighed against Nixon’s chest. His tattooed arms were hanging onto me so tight you would have thought I was the most precious thing in the world to him. Then again, we were all we had. Everyone else… dead.
“Mo.” Nixon’s voice cracked as he placed me on the bed and then sat down on the mattress, his weight causing it to creak. “The Commission, we weren’t born yet…”
“The first one.” I laid my head on his shoulder. “Did lots of people die?”
“Well.” Nixon chuckled. “It wasn’t exactly a fiesta.”
“Bite your tongue,” I scolded. “Sicilians do not have fiestas, we have parties, blood baths, you know, the cool kind.”
“Right.” He sucked in his lip ring and leaned against his legs. His right foot tapping against the floor, made him appear nervous which, if you knew my brother, was totally out of character.
“Are you okay?”
“That would be a giant-ass no.” Nixon’s laugh was hollow. “I think she may be pregnant.”
“Who?”
His foot stopped tapping. “Who else, genius? Trace.”
“Oh.” Well that was a bit of a shock. “Why do you think that?”
“Because I know her, know her body.” And there went that foot tapping again. “And it suddenly all makes sense, you know?”
“What does?”
“Blood.” Nixon whispered hoarsely. “It makes so much damn sense, Mo. I would do anything—anything for blood.”
“Like a vampire?” I joked, punching him in the arm.
“Like a vampire,” he echoed, his voice losing its edge. “Mo.” He grabbed my hands. “I will always protect you, I’ll always protect what’s mine, but the choice Tex is going to have to make.” He squeezed lightly. “I guess I just need you to understand the pull that blood has on someone’s loyalty.” His eyes filled with sadness. “Regardless of how he feels for you—you aren’t—”