Page 116 of Trapped

“Huh. You’re a lot more boring than I remember.”

“That’s my fault,” said Delilah from her seat beside Luca. “I’m sober now.”

Luca’s mouth twitched. “Makes one of us.”

He inhaled the rest of the water like a shot, then he set the glass on the coffee table. Delilah slid a coaster underneath the glass, her eyes glazed over and raw.

Having him back was supposed to be euphoric. This was a fucking miracle. And yet, it didn’tfeellike one. Maybe because I didn’t recognize the man sitting in front of me.

Sure, he looked like my cousin. I observed him from my leather armchair, cataloging the details. The oversized sweatshirt, baggy jeans, sneakers. Fade haircut. He had the hard look of a street thug, complete with the dead-eyed stare. His black eyes drilledholes into my head. His accent had changed from the working-class slang of Boston to a hint of Russian. My stomach hardened. What else had they changed about him?

I couldn’t stop staring at him. I hadn’t been able to tear my eyes off him since we got into my house, like he’d vanish into thin air if I blinked.

“Did you recognize me in the shop?”

“Obviously,” he said, drumming his fingers on the couch. “I tried to get you out of there. You had no idea what you walked into.”

Heat flushed my chest. “I didn’t believe her when she told me you were alive. I had to see you.”

Luca leaned back into the couch. “I figured you wouldn’t. Everyone thought I was dead.”

Why didn’t you tell us you weren’t?

The question lodged in my throat. I had so many questions, but I wasn’t sure what he’d been through. I didn’t want to grill him, but I needed to know.Now.

Delilah slid a hand over his shoulder. “You’re family, and Santino cares about you. Webothdo.”

Luca shrugged. “So now what?”

“I need to make some calls to Vinn. He needs to know what happened, but first, I have to figure out what I’m going to say to him. To everyone. My mom’s going to lose her fucking mind. She still cries every year on the anniversary of your death.”

His brows softened. “Does she still make espresso biscotti?”

“Yeah, she’s always in the kitchen. Though, now that Kill has a kid, she’s busy with babysitting.”

Luca blinked. “He had a kid?”

“Yeah, a boy. He has another one on the way.” I opened my phone to the shared gallery of Jack, showing him pictures. “Here.”

Luca leaned forward, gazing at them.

I pointed at a photo of father and son. “Jack looks just like Kill, doesn’t he?”

“The last time I saw Kill, he was about this big.” Luca held out a hand, miming the height of a child.

“Luca, I need you to tell me what happened. I want you to go back to the beginning. Give me every detail you can. Start by telling me what you remember about the fire.”

Luca sat back, the light leaving his eyes. His fingers restlessly drummed the armchair, mimicking the twitchy behavior during Delilah’s withdrawal. She’d mentioned they used to pass a bottle of vodka back and forth like it was soda. Was he an alcoholic like her, or something worse?

“I don’t remember much about that night,” he muttered.

Bullshit. “They weren’t my parents, and I still have that image of your house on fire seared in my brain.”

His sharp gaze met mine. “I said,I don’t remember.”

“Why are you dodging the question?”

“Santino is just trying to understand what happened,” Delilah said in a louder voice. “Just start with the things you do remember.”

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