His lips pressed to a thin line, and his eyes dropped so he was no longer looking at me. He was shutting down, shutting me out.
“Tell me what’s going on,” I demanded, frustrated. I was rarely so assertive with Joseph—he usually took the lead—but when he was trying to isolate himself from me, I couldn’t allow it. Especially when I needed to know what the hell was happening. He wasn’t really answering any of my questions.
“I don’t understand why you’re being such an angsty teenager, Joseph,” Marco said, his voice clipped with annoyance that mirrored my own. “If you won’t tell her, I will.”
Marco paused, giving him a moment to speak. Joseph swallowed hard and kept his gaze averted from mine. He still didn’t put an inch of space between us, as though he couldn’t stop touching me. I didn’t want him to. After a month of emptiness without him, I craved his nearness.
But that didn’t mean I didn’t want answers.
“Fine,” Marco sighed. His black eyes fixed on me, and I couldn’t look away. His expression was cool, detached. But there was something sharper in his eyes, a deeper emotion that I didn’t understand.
“We’re mafia, Ashlyn. Joseph and I are part of the Lombardi crime family. We were born into it. This is who we are.”
I shook my head, an absolute refusal to believe it. Joseph might have a bad boy sense of style and an intimidating physique, but he’d always treated me with tenderness. He was kind, good down to his core. He couldn’t be a criminal.
“You’re lying.”
“I’m not. Tell her, Joseph.”
His aquamarine gaze lifted to mine, his eyes tight with anguish.
“Tell me he’s lying,” I begged, but I could read the truth in the taut lines of his face.
“It’s true.” His admission was little more than a whisper.
I pulled away from him, my stomach turning. Everything we’d shared—trust, love—began to crumble in my chest. He’d never told me much about himself; we’d always talked about me. Well, we’d talked when we weren’t tangled in the sheets, communicating our feelings with our bodies.
I put more distance between us, realizing I didn’t know the man beside me at all.
He didn’t reach for me. He dropped his arms at his sides, his hands clenching to fists. He wasn’t looking at me anymore.
“Jesus, Joseph, what happened to your balls?” Marco asked, exasperated. “This whole Romeo and Juliet, star-crossed-lovers thing is stupid. Get over yourself and explain what’s happening. You owe her that much.”
Joseph glowered at him. “You’re the one who kidnapped her. You explain.”
“You’re acting like a child,” Marco drawled. “But fine. If I have to be the bad guy, I’ll be the bad guy. You can keep pretending to be noble, but that’s bullshit, and you know it. You want to keep her. Admit it.”
“Keep me?” I demanded. “I’m a human being. Stop talking about me like I’m an object.”
Marco fixed me in his implacable stare again, and I froze. “I can see that you’re going to be just as dramatic about this as Joseph. Calm down and listen.”
It was a clear order, and there was a subtle threat behind it. An unspoken or else.
I didn’t want to find out what the or else was. I didn’t think Joseph would let him hurt me, but then again, it seemed I didn’t know Joseph at all.
“I took you because you’re in danger, Ashlyn,” Marco explained away his crime as though he’d done me a favor. “Joseph was hiding out in Cambridge for a few months. I found him, though. And he was lucky I did. His father has enemies, and they were looking for him, too. Even after I dragged him back home, they kept digging. They found out he’d been dating you while he was living there. If I hadn’t taken you away, they might have gotten to you first and used you as leverage against us.”
“This is insane.” I shook my head, struggling with everything he was telling me. Yesterday, I’d been a normal college student, pining for my first love. Now, I was involved with the mafia? It was crazy. Absolutely nuts.
“This is reality,” Marco said harshly. “You led a charmed life at Harvard, with your fancy apartment and your fancy education. But you need to start living in the real world, little girl.”
I skipped past indignation at being called little girl. I went straight to royally pissed off. The way he described my life made me sound like a cosseted child. He didn’t know me at all.
“Take me back,” I seethed. “If you are who you say you are, I don’t want to be anywhere near you. Take me back to school.”
“No.” It was an unequivocal refusal. “If I take you back, you could get hurt. I won’t do that to Joseph.”
“You won’t do that to Joseph? What about what you’re doing to me?” I folded my arms over my chest, imitating his hard stance. “Take me back.” I enunciated each word, righteous anger giving me the courage to stand up to him.