Her voice shook. “Ethan…”
Suddenly a voice boomed from the other side, deep and male. “Open the goddamn door, Willow.”
Ethan threw a glance back at her. “You recognize that voice?”
Practically vibrating with nerves, she shook her head, but without confidence. “I… I’m not sure.”
“Who is it?” Ethan called back.
“All right.” That time the voice was quiet, as if speaking an afterthought, and before Ethan could react the door flew open.
The man on the other side dropped something back into his left pocket. His right hand grasped a gun, which was quickly trained on Ethan’s face.
Willow gasped, throwing her body in front of Ethan’s, trying to cover all his vital parts with flailing limbs. “Salvatore, no!”
“If you’re armed, drop it,” the man stated, looking past Willow to Ethan.
“If I’m armed, there’s a goddamned hole in your chest and Willow isn’t trying to protect me,” Ethan snapped back, gently pushing her out of his way.
The intruder was tall and dark, lean but muscular—the kind of guy who’d be scrappy in a fight, but he didn’t have to fight, because he had a gun. He had short, jet black hair, a neatly maintained “scruffy” jaw line, and steely gray eyes. His complexion hinted at Italian heritage, and Willow knowing his name indicated he was from her side and not Delmonico’s.
Running through the roster he’d studied a year earlier, he narrowed it down to the obvious conclusion—Salvatore Castellanos, Willow’s half-brother.
He would’ve preferred her mothers. He was pretty sure they wouldn’t kill him. With Willow’s father, the odds were not similarly in his favor.
Smirking, gun still in the air, Salvatore stated, “I did assume that waking you from your little love nest lessened the chances.” Then, with a mockingly sympathetic glance in Willow’s direction, he added, “He’s painfully vanilla, isn’t he?”
Not in the mood, Willow glared. “Have you been spying on me? Are you Dad’s lapdog now?”
That ruffled his feathers and her brother’s gray eyes narrowed accordingly. “Even if I was, seems you should be a little bit nicer to me, unless you like your boyfriend better dead than alive.” Casting a bored look at Ethan, he added, “Though, I guess I couldn’t blame you there.”
There was a solemn look about him, a coldness that didn’t match the smug asshole’s demeanor. Ethan couldn’t get a clear read on him.
Lowering the gun to his side, Salvatore’s posture relaxed and he tossed the tiniest of smiles in Willow’s direction. “Relax, I’m not here on Dad’s behalf.” Gesturing to the two of them with an index finger back and forth, he stated, “I don’t care about this. I’m not interested in who you’re fucking,” then, with a dry, unimpressed look at Ethan, he added, “As long it’s consensual this time.”
“Jesus Christ, Sal,” Willow hissed, folding her arms across her chest.
Shrugging unapologetically, he said, “Hey, I guess you found a way to make it work. Your kink’s not my business.”
“I don’t have a kink,” she ground out, face flaming.
Raising both dark brows, he said, “Whatever you have to tell yourself. Again, don’t care.”
“Why are you here?” she demanded, ready to explode with agitation.
A guarded, tentative look transformed his face—that suited the look of him more, but did nothing to put Ethan at ease. “I need to talk to both of you.”
Willow’s eyebrows shot up, her surprise tentatively replacing her scowl. “Us? About what?”
Instead of immediately answering, he held Willow’s gaze for a moment before looking to Ethan. “You were on the inside of that whole operation, yeah?”
Tensing, Ethan gave a quick nod. “Not for real, but yeah, I was on the inside.”
Salvatore rolled his eyes. “Obviously. Who brought you on? Who told you you’d be working on Delmonico’s crew?”
By then Ethan’s scowl had come back. “Why?”
“Answer the question,” the other man said, patience not being a virtue he came equipped with.