Page 75 of Unrelenting
“Yes. What are you doing here?”
“That’s not important. Tell me what happened.”
I take a deep breath and tell him how Adriano barged in here and let me know his family are behind the new restaurant next door, that he got physical when I taunted him about Lorenzo.
“I shouldn’t have done that,” I say, wishing I hadn’t provoked Adriano’s temper.
Damiano shakes his head.
“Don’t blame yourself. No man should raise his hand to a woman like that.” He puts his arm around my shoulders. “Come on, let’s find some ice for your face.”
He takes me through to the kitchen and surprises me by grabbing my waist and lifting me onto the countertop. Then he finds the freezer and grabs some ice cubes which he wraps in a clean dish cloth. He comes back and holds it to my cheek before I take over.
“Don’t tell Lorenzo I touched you or I’ll be the one needing an ice pack.”
“Don’t worry, I’ve had enough violence for one day.”
Damiano studies me closely. His eyes are similar to Lorenzo’s but his hair is darker and his face more angular. They’re really not all that alike, but it’s clear they share a protective streak.
“I don’t want you to worry about Rossini,” he says. “He’ll be taken care of.”
I shake my head. “I don’t want any violence.”
Damiano nods but I don’t believe for one minute he intends to simply have a friendly chat with Adriano.
“Why are you here anyway?” I ask.
“I wanted to know what happened at your apartment.”
“Why don’t you ask Lorenzo?”
“I would but he’s taken the housekeeper for gelato.”
That’s unexpected. “Gelato?”
Damiano nods. “It’s his thing, I guess. If a woman seems upset or scared or whatever he takes her for gelato.”
I frown at that. “He’s never taken me for gelato.”
Damiano smiles. “Because he doesn’t think you need to be coddled. He respects you for your strength.”
That makes me grin. “What else does he think about me?”
“You’ll have to ask….” Damiano is cut off by the unmistakable sound of glass smashing.
“What was that?” I hope down from the counter, my heart racing.
“I don’t know. Stay here while I check it out.”
Damiano draws his gun and heads for the door. He pushes it open but doesn’t go any farther. “Fuck!”
He turns to me, his expression grave. I take a step toward the door, wanting to see for myself what’s happening, but he intercepts me, grabbing my arm and tugging me back along the corridor toward the side exit.
“Damiano!” I try to break free but of course I can’t escape his iron grip. “What’s going on?”
His words are like a knife to my heart. “The restaurant is on fire. We have to get out of here.”
TWENTY-TWO
