The Sweetest Oblivion (Made 1)

“I’ll call Vito.” I went for the cordless phone near the fridge.

Tony glanced at me with a remorseful expression. “I’m sorry, Elena. Didn’t know it’d go that way. Honest.”

My heart squeezed. “I forgive you.”

He laughed weakly. “You shouldn’t.”

Tony usually had a smug look on his face, but when he smiled—a real smile—it drifted away and he became pretty charming. This was the brother I loved, even if I didn’t get to see him often. Sometimes it felt like you needed to be the worst you could be to survive in this world.

I didn’t know why he’d killed whoever Piero was, but I would pretend it was self-defense. Tony had been thrown into this life as a young man, and while my chains were tight, so were his in a sense.

“Can’t help it,” I replied.

He shook his head when I began dialing. “Don’t call Vito. I’m fine.”

“You’re not fine. Tony, you really don’t look so good.” His tanned complexion was sweaty and pale.

“I’m fine, Elena.”

I sighed. It was just like Papà to leave Tony bleeding without calling for help. I hung the phone back on the hook because my brother had said it in that voice. Even if Vito came, Tony wouldn’t have anything to do with him. Too stubborn.

I crossed my arms and leaned against the counter with my hair still dripping water to the floor. “Why don’t you like Nicolas?”

He snorted and took another drink. “Lots of reasons.”

“Well, what’s the number one?”

“He fucked my girlfriend.”

My eyes widened. “Jenny?”

Another pull.

“Did she tell you?” I asked.

He shook his head. “He sent me a picture.”

Ouch.

“Are you sure it was her?”

“Butterfly. Lower back.”

“Oh . . . well, that was rude of him.”

Honestly, it was hard to feel sorry for Tony. He’d cheated on Jenny with that servant Gabriella and I wouldn’t doubt others. I didn’t take Nicolas as a man to sleep with other men’s girlfriends for the hell of it, though, and I had a feeling . . . “What did you do to him?”

A not-so-nice smile tugged at Tony’s lips.

And there it was. There were always two sides to every story.

He took another pull, and with a frown I watched the blood drip down the side of the island and collect into a small pool. Drinking was only going to make him bleed more. I pushed off the counter and pulled the bottle straight from his lips. Whiskey splashed down his chin and chest.

His eyes narrowed, but his next words were slurred. “Jesus, Elena.” He looked wasted, or really close to passing out.

I unwound the shirt from his hand and recoiled. “Oh my god! You have to go to the hospital, Tony!”

A bullet-shaped hole went straight through his hand like the barrel had been placed directly to it. I covered my mouth, the urge to gag rising in my throat. As I backed up to find Benito, Tony passed out. He fell sideways out of his chair, leaving a smear of red across the counter, and landed with a heavy thunk on the kitchen floor.