War of Hearts

I flushed hotter, anticipating that Mr. Russo would react similarly to my own father regarding my choice of major. After all, it wasn’t very practical.

“Art History,” I told him.

His brows rose with interest rather than condemnation. “And what do you want to do with that?”

His scrutiny was making me uncomfortable, and I was very aware of everyone’s eyes on me. My sweater was suddenly far too hot, and my palm grew clammy against Joseph’s.

“I thought I might work in a museum or a gallery for a while,” I replied.

My stomach twisted violently, and I stifled a gasp. I’d never had a nervous reaction this intense before. Then again, I’d never been surrounded by mobsters before. Maybe I was on the verge of a panic attack.

Whatever it was, I needed to excuse myself before I freaked out in front of everyone.

“You okay, angel?”

“Yeah,” I said shakily. “I um, I just need the restroom. Excuse me.”

My body burned with embarrassment. Sweat beaded on my brow, and I pushed up out of my chair.

I didn’t make it two steps before pain knifed through my gut, intense enough to knock the air from my lungs and make my knees weak. Joseph was with me in an instant, catching me before I collapsed.

“Sorry,” I said faintly. “I don’t know—”

I doubled over on a harsh cry as my stomach twisted again. Acid coated my

tongue, and a foamy substance dripped from my lips.

I was vaguely aware of Marco shouting for an ambulance, Joseph saying my name over and over again. My body convulsed, pain wracking my senses as everything faded to black.

Chapter Twenty

Joseph

I paced back and forth across the hospital waiting room, my gut twisting with fear I’d never known before.

Poison. Ashlyn had taken the poison meant for my father.

She could die.

I didn’t understand how Marco could bear sitting still in the tiny waiting room chair. His face was ashen, his eyes staring at something far away I couldn’t see.

Inexplicable rage surged. How could he sit there when Ashlyn’s life hung in the balance? How could he hunch his shoulders like he’d already given up on her?

“She’s going to be fine,” I growled at him, even though I didn’t fully believe it. I had to say it out loud, because Marco looked like he was already at her fucking funeral.

He scrubbed a hand over his face. “My fault,” he muttered, and I was certain he hadn’t meant to say the words aloud.

In my anger, I caught on to the admission. We weren’t sure who had slipped the poison into my father’s wine, but if Marco knew who was responsible, he’d better spill. If he was holding back on us for some reason, I’d kick his teeth in. My fury coursed through me, desperate for an outlet. Taking it out on the motherfucker who was responsible for this would be a good start.

“What do you mean?” I barked. “Do you know who did this?”

He finally looked at me, his black eyes drawn with anguish. “I did.”

I wasn’t sure what he was playing at or who he was trying to protect, but that simply couldn’t be true. “What do you know about this? Tell me right fucking now, Marco.”

His gaze shifted. His eyes met mine, but he was focused on something I couldn’t see again.

“I did this,” he rasped. “I took her. I brought her into our world.”