Page 175 of The Wicked
Wow—did we talk that long into the night? It hadn’t even seemed like an hour.
Elio picked up, placing the phone against his ear. “This better be important.”
I couldn’t hear what Angelo was saying, but it sure as hell made Elio grow tense, though his face gave nothing away.
“How,” he stated in question. Angelo’s response came, and it made Elio completely stiffen.
“Is he okay?” he asked.
I bit the inside of my tongue.
Elio shifted away from me, getting off the bed. “When did this happen?” he asked, moving to the dresser while I sat there… just watching.
“Share the location; I’ll be there.”
Then he hung up, dropped the phone on the flat surface of the dresser, and took off the white sweater hurriedly before quickly fishing out a black one.
I got off the bed. “What happened?”
Elio slipped on the sweater, turning to face me with furrowed brows. “Casmiro was shot.”
“What? When?” I asked, putting on a concerned frown.
“About thirty minutes ago. He’s here in Turin.” His phone vibrated on the table, and he picked it up from the surface, glancing at the screen, and then he started heading towards the door. “Angelo just shared the location—”
“Let me come with.”
He paused, turning to look at me. I spotted the hesitation in his stare.
“I won’t get in your way. I just—don’t want to be here alone.”
His jaw worked as he scanned me from head to toe and said, “Change.”
“On it.”
“I’ll wait outside; donottake your time.”
“Got it.” I was already heading to the dresser when he left the room.
I found a black sweater identical to the one Elio had put on and then slipped on one of the pairs of sweatpants I found in there, grabbed my phone, and left the room.
A few minutes later, Elio and I were driving to the location.
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
Zahra
He wasn’t taken to a hospital, but one of the Marino safe houses in the city. It was a penthouse in a hotel near Elio’s building. All through the ride here, Elio hadn’t said a word; the man had been deep in silence, probably buried in his thoughts. I wanted to assure him that all would be well. I had no idea why I felt the need to talk him out of his head; I didn’t give a shit about Casmiro, but I cared about Elio, so I guess that’s why.
When we entered the elevator, I glanced at him, noticing his tense shoulders; his face was etched in a frown that made him look unapproachable. He was worried, and even his strong front couldn’t hide it.
“I’m sure he’s fine since he wasn’t hospitalized?”
“The medical team is here.”
“Oh,” I said as the elevator rode up, the silence tense and deafening. “What was he doing here in Turin, anyway?”
“Business.”
