Vendetta (Blood for Blood #1)(10)

“Sophie,” he said quietly, meeting my gaze. “I think we met the other night.”

My face fell. I folded my hands in front of my body as his eyes searched mine with an intensity I was completely unused to. His brother, who seemed completely disinterested in our exchange, was studying his menu in silence.

Shadow Boy smiled. “I was just trying to help you up, you know.”

“Ah,” I said, returning what I hoped was a nonchalant expression. “You mean from where you put me in the first place? How kind of you.”

If he was affronted, he didn’t show it. “You stopped running so quickly I didn’t have time to slow down … And I did try to apologize, but, if I recall, you ran away.”

I smiled awkwardly. “I may have overreacted …”

“No harm, no foul,” he offered, holding his hands in the air. “But are you always so defensive?”

“That depends, are you always so … assaulty?”

“Non lo so,” he said quietly, and across from him, his brother, who had been concentrating on his menu, released a low chuckle. I was struck by how effortlessly he moved between both languages, and slightly curious about whatever amusement was passing between them.

“That’s a loaded question,” Shadow Boy continued after a beat, as if sensing my annoyance. He furrowed his brows and leaned across the table. “I am sorry about the whole thing, Sophie. I just wanted to ask you something. But then you stopped running so abruptly and …” He trailed off, doing his best to look ashamed of himself.

“There was a cat, and I didn’t want to trample it.”

“Ah, I see.”

“But then you went ahead and tried to trample me, so I’m not sure it was worth it.”

“I told you,” he said conspiratorially, “I wanted to ask you something.”

“Do you always ask your questions so aggressively? I’m not sure you’d make an effective interrogator.”

“Perhaps you’re right,” he conceded with a small smile. “But I’m too impatient for that line of work anyway.”

I zeroed in on the golden flecks in his dark eyes, trying not to lose my train of thought. There was just something about them … “So what’s the question?”

“Well,” he said. “At first I wanted to know why you were spying on my house. And then I started to wonder why you suddenly decided not to stick around when I noticed you?”

He wasn’t smiling anymore; he was studying me and I understood what he meant — he knew I had been running away and he knew I was scared of him. But now, looking at him, I couldn’t remember why I had felt that way.

“Were you running away from me?”

I shook my head too hard, making my cheeks jiggle. “Nope, definitely not.”

“Oh, really?” he pressed, smiling broadly this time. It rearranged his face beautifully, raising his brows and softening his jaw.

“I prefer to think of it as casual hobbling.”

He pulled back from me and, slowly, I became aware of the rest of the world again. “I’d call it frantic sprinting.”

“Semantics.”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you,” he said. “I’m Nic, by the way, and this is my brother, Luca.”

Even though I was standing between the brothers, I had barely registered Luca. He had stopped studying his menu and was resting his interlocking fingers on top of it. I offered him a smile. “Welcome to Gracewell’s.”

“That was boring for me,” Luca replied. His voice was sharp with impatience, and scratchy, too, as though he had a sore throat. “But it’s nice to know you’re planning on being somewhat professional this evening, Sophie.”

I blanched. How rude was this guy?

He gestured back and forth with his index finger, first at Nic, and then at me, like our conversation was his business, too. “Are you ready to focus now, Nicoli?”

Nicoli. His full name suited him. It was beautiful.

Nic shifted in his seat so that he was closer to me, and the two of us were side by side, facing his brother. “Chill out, Luca.”

Luca’s eyebrows climbed. “My brother, l’ipocrita.”

Nic swatted his hand in Luca’s direction. “Stai zitto!”

“Have you worked here long, Sophie?” Luca cut to me again. He dragged a hand through his hair, settling the unruly black strands away from his face and behind his ears. I found myself entranced by his bright blue eyes, now that I could really see them. They were searing, and seemed to shine unnaturally from his tanned face. Is he the boy from the window? I wondered. No, he was too hard, too unyielding. It wasn’t him. I was almost sure of it.

“Well?” he pressed.

“Luca,” Nic rumbled. “Can you not do this — ”

“Let her answer.”

“No, I haven’t worked here for long,” I replied quickly, hoping it would ease whatever tension was mounting between them. Maybe they’d just had an argument before I turned up. Or maybe Luca didn’t get out much and this was his idea of socializing. “It’s just a stupid summer job.”

I felt guilty lying about the diner’s role in my life and my future, but suddenly I couldn’t stand the thought of them thinking I was as ordinary as I was; that my life was bound to a place that hadn’t been redecorated in nearly twenty years, a place owned by an incarcerated man, a place where nothing exciting ever happened to anyone.