“Because you’re always lying.” And because that’s kind of the po
int of the game. If we wanted a game with actual rules, we’d play Scrabble. Bickering is what makes Pick-Up Sticks fun.
“Fine,” he says. “Do it over again.”
“Fine.” I slide the pink one back where I got it from. Of course this moves the sticks around it, but that’s okay since I’m putting it back.
Luca studies the position. Then nudges the green stick so it’s on top of the pink one. “There.”
Oh no no no. “Excuse me? No. The green one was not like that when I started.”
“Yes, it was.” He pauses. “And that’s why you moved it.”
I open my mouth to object but a knock at the door startles us both. Luca has his gun out of its holster in two seconds flat. He shoves me behind the couch with a rough, “Stay here.”
My heart pounds as I stare at the carpet, imagining Luca silently stalking closer to the door and looking out the peephole. Whatever he sees must not have freaked him out too much, because the lock turns. Then the second lock. And then the third lock, because Ivan is a paranoid motherfucker.
Then the door opens. “What?” Luca asks, harsh enough that whoever it is stammers.
“Uh…there’s a package for a Ms…Candace Rosalie Toussaint. She has to sign for it.”
A shiver runs through me. It’s been years since I heard that name spoken aloud. And I know neither Luca nor Ivan have ever heard it, because I never told them. I peek around the edge of the sofa to see Luca’s body blocking the doorway. I can only see a little of the terrified-looking post-office deliveryman outside.
“I’m Candace,” Luca says coldly.
“Uh…” The delivery man fidgets. Facing off with an ex-mob enforcer really isn’t part of his job description, but he doesn’t look ready to hand over whatever it is.
With a sigh, I stand up. “I’m Candace.”
Luca gives me a scathing look but doesn’t stop me from meeting them at the door. A quivering deliveryman hands me a black plastic box with a tiny screen. I sign and hand it back. Luca glowers like he might rip the guy’s head off for doing his job.
The delivery man can’t quite meet my eyes as he holds out a shaking envelope. Luca snatches the envelope from his hand and slams the door in his face.
I reach for it while he’s busy with the locks, but he just holds it higher. “Hey,” I say, “That’s mine.”
He doesn’t even acknowledge me while he peers through the peephole, presumably to watch the guy drive away. And he’s still holding the envelope up where I can’t reach it. What an ass.
I lean against the wall and cross my arms. May as well; there’s no way I can get the envelope unless he lets me have it. “You know what we should get? One of those guns that pops out of the wall when someone comes up. Then they’d have ten seconds to make their case before it shoots them.”
Luca glares. “Don’t think I won’t.”
“Ugh, it’s ridiculous how good of a guard dog you are. Does Ivan give you treats?”
He ignores that. “All I have to do is tell him that you’re in danger and he’ll pick up this entire house as is and move it to Iceland.”
It’s a pretty funny mental picture, I have to admit. My lips quirk. “Even people in Iceland are entitled to mail. Can I have my letter now?”
“No.” He scowls. “It could be dangerous.”
I eye the letter with more doubt than suspicion. It’s one of those document mailers made of thin cardboard—and definitely flat. “Is there a bomb in there? Ooh, I know. A rocket launcher.”
Luca is over six feet of brawn and tattoos and experienced malevolence. And he sticks his tongue out at me. “I’m calling Ivan. He’ll definitely want to open it first.”
“What. An. Ass.”
He returns to the living room to grab his phone off the floor. The entire time he holds the envelope over his head, knowing I’ll go for it if I get the chance.
“It’s me,” he says, his voice low and serious. “Some kind of letter showed up for Candy. Yeah, she had to sign for it.”