"Good, it's only a matter of time before one of the civilians loses their nerves and the BPD can only field so many calls before someone is obligated to come down and investigate," he says.
All the lights in the club are on now, and I'm not sure if it makes things better or worse, putting the dead body on full display.
Maximo walks away, picking up the man's dropped gun. He tucks it into the back of his waistband before making his way to the bar. He sits down on one of the barstools and I watch as he waves a shocked Dave over. A minute later, a bottle of liquor is placed in front of him and he pops the top, downing the bottle as if he didn't just kill a man.
I waver again and Enzo's grip tightens.
"Compose yourself, Winter," he murmurs as his eyes roam the room. His gaze flickers to the dead body and he lets out a curse. Some of his usual composure cracks as he lifts his gaze back to Maximo and down to the body again. The irony isn’t lost on me, neither is the concern in his voice.
I continue to watch him while trying to get my breathing under control. Later, I'll try to piece together the shards of his concern.
"I need to sit down," I tell him, rubbing my throat.
His touch leaves my arm and back. For a fleeting moment I wish they would return before I push the thought away. "The booth there," he says, pointing to a booth that's a couple of feet away from the body. "Don't go any further than that," he tells me.
I give him a nod and on shaky legs, I make my way over to the booth. I choose the side that allows me to keep my back to the body. Unfortunately, it means I have to stare at Maximo as he continues to lounge at the bar. One of his feet is now propped on the stool next to him as he continues to take swigs from the bottle in his hand. He tilts his head to the side, his gaze meeting mine and he smirks before giving me a wink.
I look away.
Only to stare right back at the mess on the ground.
Fucking hell.
I place my arms on the table and lay my head down on them as I take deeper breaths.
Look at it this way, Winter, the fact that it makes you sick means you aren't as numb as you thought.
It's not as much of a reprieve as I wish it was, but I let the thought flood my mind as I continue to focus on my breathing.
I'm not sure how much time passes before a hand touches my back. I nearly jump out of my skin. I scoot back into the booth, turning to find Vito looking at me with a frown on his face.
"Winter," he says calmly.
The panic weans slightly and I press a hand against my wrist, squeezing hard as I will my heart beat to calm. "Sorry," I apologize quickly before mentally berating myself for it.
What are you apologizing for? All you did was jump because he touched you.
"It's okay," he says, pulling at the lapels of his suit coat.
"It seems we have another mess," he says, and from his tone, I can't tell what he feels. But I don't miss the way his jaw clenches slightly. "It's always Maximo." He shakes his head before turning back to me.
"Are you hurt?" he asks, and when his green-flecked eyes roam over my body, I know he's checking for any visible injuries.
I shake my head. "I'm fine." I don't feel as shaken up as the last time Maximo shot someone right next to me, but I am not bathed in blood this time.
That has to be a win, I guess.
He doesn't reply, instead staring at my legs before he crouches down in front of me. His hands sweep along the back of my leg as he raises it slightly. He touches my knee lightly. "You’re scraped up here."
"It's nothing." I swallow. "I think... it happened when I hit the ground, but it's okay."
He frowns but rises to his feet. "We'll apply ointment and a band aid when we get home," he says, holding out a hand.
I look at it, a part of me wanting to take it.
Vito Bianchi is the most confusing of them all. Mostly gentle, but brutal when I least expect it. The same hand he's holding out to me is the one he used to execute a man in front of me. After he checked on my mental state.
The same hand that brought me pleasure as he made me climax that night.