Page 125 of Where Wild Hearts Dance
“Beppe’s dead.”
Benito
I feel like I’ve been rammed in the chest by a wrecking ball. The only things anchoring me are the feel of Tess’s shaking hand wrapped around my arm, and the guttural roar of Cristiano as he grips his head between two hands andgrowls. Then he strides directly across the dance floor, stepping over motionless bodies, with eyes trained on Trilby. Only when he’s scooped her into his arms and pulled her face into his chest does he turn his gaze to Beppe.
His expression contorts with each second that passes and I know, without a doubt, if the missing Marchesi were to walk in here now, he’ll be carved up and buried alive.
The room is silent but for the sound of Trilby’s cries. Her dress is stained withBeppe’s blood from where he protected her from the gunfire. If it weren’t for him, she’d be dead.
A hard shudder rolls down my spine at the thought of losing Tess. There is no law, no vow—not even a Cosa Nostra oath—that would stop me from mowing down every single person remotely connected.
When it becomes too uncomfortable to watch Cristiano and Trilby rocking together on the floor, I pan my gaze across the room. All the men are standing, apart from those lying motionless on the ground. Most of the women have staggered to their feet. Everyone looks stunned.
The man in the doorway hasn’t moved. The fact he is the one who killed Lorenzo doesn’t fully reassure me. He isn’t an invited guest, and therefore, he isn’t one of us. He isn’t to be trusted.
“Who are you?” I demand. With my girl in my arms, my voice rolls along the ground like an avalanche.
The stranger doesn’t reply. He just steps into the room, letting it bathe him in light like some Christ-like figure. My breath escapes me at the familiar features. There’s something about him that warms my blood, yet I know for a fact I’ve never met him before.
Through the deathly silence, one woman’s whisper rises through the haze.
“Andrew?”
My gaze whips to Sera. She’s risen to her feet and has one hand pressed to her chest. Her focus hovers unwaveringly on the stranger.
“Who the fuck are you?” Augie barks, his gun primed at his shoulder.
The man drags his gaze from Cristiano to Augie, bypassing Sera completely. “Andreas Corlioni.” His voice is deep and confident. I feel admiration and an unwelcome sense of camaraderie settle somewhere in my veins.
“That means nothing to me.” Augie’s gun doesn’t move.
“I just took New Haven,” the stranger says, like that explains everything. And actually, to me, the consigliere with an eye constantly on the next prize, it does.
“The Marchesi’s wanted that,” I say, rising to my feet.
“I know.” A corner of his lip curls when he looks at me and a strange warmth runs through my torso. I don’t like it.
“What does that have to do with us?” Augie says. The tension in his tone makes it clear to me he’s losing his patience.
Beats pass. Andreas doesn’t move his eyes from mine. It’s like he’s trying to communicate something without words. But I don’t speak gaze. I speak Tess, sex and bullets.
“I want Boston.”
My brows hitch and Augie inhales slowly.
The stranger continues before we can emphasize our stake in the ground.
“I know you do too.”
“You think killing Lorenzo means we’re just goingto hand the next phase of our growth over to you? A fucking stranger?” I bite out.
His pause drags until I’m almost so done I consider killinghim. Then his cryptic response sends waves down my spine.
“Ithinkblood is thick.”
“Depends whose blood you’re talking about.” Nicolò is back in play.
“Bernadiblood is thick,” the stranger drawls. Suddenly, the eyes of the Di Santo family are on me.
