The Sweetest Oblivion (Made, #1)(56)

Down.

Shouts broke out. Scendi, scendi, scendi, over and over again like a messed-up recording with a myriad of voices. Alarm came on the air so thick I could taste it on my tongue.

And then a lungful of air escaped me as I was taken to the floor. A heavy body covered mine as glass shattered in an unmistakable pattern. Gunfire. My heartbeat drummed in my ears, and I couldn’t discern it from the bullets flying above me.

I knew who lay on me, tried to match my breathing to his as the chaos played on. A feeling of safety enveloped me while the restaurant became a battleground for New York’s scorned criminals.

It felt like it went on forever, before a stillness fell over the room that carried an echo of gunfire.

“Stai bene?”

I heard the words, but my thoughts were focused on red. Blood dripped to the wooden floorboards in my line of vision.

Hands grasped my face, turning it.

“Are you okay?” Nico repeated.

I nodded, the ringing in my ears fading.

His hands and gaze ran down my body, checking anyway, but I didn’t feel it because all I saw was the drip, drip, drip of red. Anguish tore into my chest, cutting my consciousness down to only emotion. I pushed Nico’s hands away.

“Get off me!”

“Stop.” He gripped my wrists. “Everyone’s all right.”

I blinked numbly. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He ran a thumb across my cheek. “Breathe.”

I inhaled a steady breath, and it was then that I heard their voices. They were all checking in, and I hadn’t been able to hear it over the horror of that dripping blood.

Benito was the one bleeding. He groaned, “Son of a bitch,” while holding his arm. “The same fucking arm.”

Papà spit Italian over the phone and Mamma was crying. Adriana sat up, surrounded by broken glass and disorder. Just as sirens sounded in the distance, the restaurant fell into silence, as though the shift in the air touched everyone’s skin.

And then my sister stared ahead and muttered two little words that would change both of our lives forever.

“I’m pregnant.”





“The die is cast.”

—Julius Caesar





SOMETIMES THERE’S NOTHING TO SAY.

Sometimes words will only clutter a space already filled with an unpleasant truth.

I sat next to my sister on the couch while we both numbly watched an episode of The Office.

The funny moments, all the “That’s what she saids” passed without even a smile.

My mamma had taken a bottle of wine and a Xanax up to her room, and she hadn’t made an appearance below stairs in hours.

After we gave our vague statements to the police—we’d been schooled on how to talk to cops at age four—we came here and hadn’t left the living room since. Our Uncle Marco and Dominic, his son, were both in the house, but since the incident at Francesco’s, the rest of the males in the family had been absent.

Red.

It was now dripping somewhere other than my uncle’s restaurant.

And I felt no remorse about it, just numb.

It was two a.m. when they decided to show up. The light in the living room flicked on, and the sound of steps and voices filled the foyer. Weight pressed down on my chest.

Papà came around the couch. His shirtsleeves were rolled up and his suit jacket was off, which he was never seen without, even on sweltering days like today. Not a good sign. I swallowed when I noticed the blood splattered against his white dress shirt.

Marco, Dominic, Manuel, Tony, Benito—who must have discharged himself from the hospital—Luca, and finally Nicolas filled the room. My gaze followed Nico, but he didn’t give me a glance. He still wore the same outfit from lunch, and his expression was unreadable as he leaned against the TV stand.

His fiancée had been impregnated by another man. Any Made Man would take that as a personal and grave insult, but as he finally flicked a thoughtful gaze to me, for some reason I wondered if that was even what was on his mind.

Eight men stared at my sister. They were going to try to intimidate the name right out of her.

“Phone,” Papà barked.

Adriana sat cross-legged on the couch in the white dress she’d worn to lunch, while I’d changed into shorts and a tee. She didn’t even look at our papà or acknowledge his demand. That had him grinding his teeth.

I grabbed her phone that sat on the couch between us, stood, and handed it to my papà. We’d already deleted every speck of Ryan’s existence from it.

Papà handed it to Dominic, who began searching through it.

“We’ll find out who it is, Adriana, so you might as well tell us,” Marco said. He was starting with a softer approach, but my papà wasn’t going for it.

“You’ll tell us, Adriana. Now. Or I swear to God you won’t see daylight again.”

My sister crossed her arms, her eyes flashing with defiance. That strategy would never work with Adriana, and Papà knew it. I thought one day he believed she would magically become compliant.

“We won’t kill him,” Marco said. “There’s a baby involved, it’s different.” He didn’t say it, but we all heard it: Different than me. Different than my situation.

When hope flickered in Adriana’s gaze, my stomach twisted.