My blood runs cold. Are they double-crossing Adrian?
“No,” I say, shaking my head and slowly moving toward the door, as if I can stop them. “No. You can’t shoot Adrian. I’ll go down and talk to him—he won’t hurt me.”
Ethan raises his eyebrows at Sal in a gesture that expresses “I told you so” without words. “This is why you should’ve explained things to her.” Then, to me, Ethan says, “I’m not going to shoot Adrian. I don’t have a death wish.”
“Will someone please tell me what’s going on?” I demand.
Ethan glances at me, but since I’m not his problem, he heads for the door. “I hope I don’t get killed, but if I do, make sure you tell Willow I love her.”
“You’ll be fine,” Sal says, like there’s no other way it could go. “You have Adrian Palmetto for back-up. If you get yourself killed with Adrian for back-up, you deserve to die.”
“You’re such an asshole,” Ethan informs him.
Nodding once, Sal says, “I’ll come down when it’s over.”
Ethan goes downstairs with the gun, and I’m completely lost. I don’t know who to trust right now—I was half-tempted to stop Ethan anyway, just in case they were lying to me. Forget Adrian practically being family; if they kill Adrian, my brother will incinerate everyone even remotely associated with Sal’s family to avenge him.
Sal sits back down on the bed. I continue pacing, occasionally casting worried glances at him because I have no idea what’s happening, but I feel like we need to be doing something.
“Who are they waiting for?” I ask, going on the little pieces of the puzzle I possess. “Who is Ethan shooting? I didn’t even think Ethan shot people. I thought he was Mr. Straight and Narrow.”
Nodding a bit vacantly, Sal says, “He is. There’s one exception. One person he considers so evil he can justify putting a bullet in his chest.”
My eyes widen, because when people refer to evil men, I automatically think of Mateo. Only Adrian is downstairs, and Adrian wouldn’t turn on Mateo.
“Who?” I ask.
“The person responsible for what happened to Willow.”
He hasn’t told me he figured out who was behind that, so that doesn’t help me. Delmonico is the only name I can even pull from all that, but my brother was long-cleared of having anything to do with Willow’s predicament.
I want to keep asking questions, but I see another car slow to a stop on the street and turn into our driveway.
“Come away from the window,” Sal says sharply.
Sal doesn’t usually use his authoritarian tone on me, so I’m surprised enough that I obey, moving away and taking a seat beside him on the bed.
“Are we in any danger?” I ask quietly.
“Not right now, no.” Falling back on the bed, Sal says, “I know you have a lot of questions, but please, just… I need some peace right now.”
I don’t know what he needs it for, but he’s clearly distressed. I respond to that, curling up beside him on the bed and draping an arm across his waist. He closes his eyes. I watch him, a million questions still running through my mind, but I leave him alone and let him have his peace.
The house is completely quiet and Ethan left our door cracked open. Despite their names, silencers don’t keep a gunshot completely quiet, and even though this level of violence never happens around me, I understand immediately what I’m hearing when it happens the first time. The thumping sound that follows is less subtle. Sal covers his face with his hands and my stomach sinks. I don’t know what’s happening, but I know it’s bad. I know someone’s been shot. I want to ask Sal if he’s okay, but I’m afraid to speak.
Then there’s another gunshot.
Sal drops his hands, stares at the ceiling for a moment, then pushes up off the bed. Now he’s the one who reaches beneath the bed for his gun case, throwing it open and fiddling with it for a moment. He shoves his gun in the waistband of his jeans and fear moves through me. He’s calm, methodical, emotionally vacant. I don’t know what to do. He stands and moves to the door, creeping out into the hall to look downstairs.
He comes back a moment later. He’s still vacant, but a touch more relaxed. Whatever threat he was momentarily worried about, I guess he isn’t anymore.
“All right,” he says, more to himself than me. He presses his hands against his face again, taking a breath and pushing it out. “All right.” Now he looks over at me. “You ready?”
“For what?” I ask, since he still hasn’t explained.
“To end this.”
That’s incredibly vague, but he’s still distant and I don’t know how to process it. Instead of bugging him with more questions, I push off the bed and follow him out into the hall. Instead of walking downstairs, he stops at the top. I’m feeling especially protective, so I wrap my around his waist. I hear Ethan’s voice, so I look up at Sal. Whatever he was feeling a moment ago, you can’t tell now. He’s cleared it all away and replaced it with his calm, cool, cocky demeanor.