Target on Our Backs (Monster in His Eyes 3)

He's starting to sweat.

I can see it.

It's building along his brow, but he doesn't let his stress otherwise show. His eyes scan us, slowly, like he's considering his options, trying to riddle out what to do here. His gaze settles on my feet eventually, and he lets out a dramatic sigh as he pushes away from the couch, standing up, muttering, "I'm not high enough for this."

He takes a measured step toward me, then another. The third step is too close for my comfort. I yank Leo back, away from his brother, the knife slicing into his neck. It's just a cut, just a small gash. A trickle of blood flows down the center of his throat. It's not much at all.

But they react.

They don't wait for permission anymore.

I guess blood gave them what they needed.

The men lunge, coming right for me, but Lorenzo stops it before anything can happen. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Down, boys! Did I say attack?"

He physically creates a barrier between us, and I pull Leo away from the doorway, away from his brother, before they can get their hands on him.

"Get out, all of you!" Lorenzo orders. "Leave Ignazio and I alone."

He doesn't have to say it twice. The men vacate the house, heading right out the front door. I stand there, watching as he shakes his head, before he turns to me. "You gonna let my brother go now?"

"Give me a reason why I should."

"Because I asked nicely."

"Not good enough."

"You want me to say please? I'm not really one to beg."

"I want you to tell me why you thought it was smart to attack my wife."

"I didn't attack her."

"Don't deny—"

"Again, not denying anything." Lorenzo runs his hands down his face. "Look, let my brother go, and you and I will talk about this. I'll tell you everything that happened. But it's kind of hard to focus when you've got a knife to his neck."

Slowly, I lower the knife, using my free hand to shove Leo right at his brother.

Lorenzo grabs him by the chin, lifting his face, checking out the boy's neck, making sure the cut isn't too deep. He shoots me a look as he does.

Clapping his brother on the back, he ruffles his hair, treating him like he's still a little kid. "You'll be just fine. No harm done. Look at it this way... you survived an attack by Vitale. Not many people are able to say that."

He laughs about it then. He laughs.

It's not often I'm caught off guard, but he's got me here.

Lorenzo turns my way then, walking right toward me. I tense, preparing to react, but he walks around me.

"Come on," he says, hitting me on the chest with the back of his hand as he passes. "I need a drink."

He heads for the kitchen.

Call it curiosity.

Call it stupidity.

Call it whatever you want.

I follow him.

Lorenzo swings the kitchen door open and hesitates before stepping over the guy I left in here. He's on the floor, in a puddle of blood, although he's still breathing. I tread carefully, slipping into the kitchen behind him, every inch of me still on guard.

I watch Lorenzo as he strolls over to the counter, grabbing a bottle of Cuban rum and unscrewing the lid. He takes a drink right out of the bottle and hisses as swallows.

Leaning back against the counter, he looks at me.

He looks disgruntled.

Disappointed.

"What is this?" I ask, using his earlier words on him. "What are you even doing?"

"Drinking," he says, holding out the bottle. "Do you want some?"

"I'll pass."

"Suit yourself," he says, taking another swig. "For whatever it's worth, and I don't know if it makes a difference, but I told them not to hurt her."

"You told them not to hurt her."

"Yeah."

"They didn't listen."

He ponders that before taking another drink. "I know."

Does that make a difference? No.

"Wrong place, wrong time," he says, shrugging it off. "You know how it is."

"I'm not interested in your excuses, Lorenzo."

"Aren't you?" he asks. "I know you, Ignazio. I know your methods. I know what makes you tick. And if you aren't interested in somebody's excuses, you don't give them the chance to speak. You didn't come here to kill me. You came here to get to the bottom of things."

He says that nonchalantly.

I don't like that he thinks he knows me.

And maybe he's right.

Maybe I didn't come here to kill him.

But that doesn't mean I'm buying his bullshit.

"So," he says, "did she tell you what happened?"

"She told me everything."

"Everything." Lorenzo says that with a laugh. "Did she tell you the name of the man driving the cab?"

"What does it matter? He's dead."

"Precisely," Lorenzo says, pointing the bottle of rum at me. "I told you, you should be thanking me."

I narrow my eyes at that. "What was his name?"

"Abele Abate," he says. "Ring a bell?"

It does.

He knows it does.

"He was one of Ray's guys."

He nods. "Did she tell you she's taken this particular cab a few times? That this wasn't the first time he drove her somewhere? That whenever she needed a ride, he just happened to be in the area? Did she tell you that?"

No, she didn't.

"I caught him sniffing around her a couple weeks ago," he continues. "It was entirely coincidental, you see, because I just happened to be sniffing around her, too."

"Why?"

"Why?" he asks incredulously. "Come on, I ask around when I get to town and the first thing I find out is you're married. Again. And to not just anybody. You're married to her. Never in my wildest dreams. So call me curious... I wanted to see the girl who finally thawed that frozen heart of yours."

He smiles, but I don't find it amusing.

"So, what... thought you'd hit two birds with one stone? Take out another one of Ray's men while going after her?"

"Never went after her." He sounds adamant. "And Abele? Seems he's been working for someone else these days, someone who took a special interest in your girl."

"Who?"

He hesitates. "Hard to say."

Hard to say.

Either he doesn't know or he doesn't want to tell me.