Damn Mafia… damn hearts for being so freaking fragile.
Chase
I SHOVED MY PHONE back into my pocket then slammed my hand onto the wall nearest me.
A few students jumped at the noise. I rolled my eyes and was just about to leave the classroom to find Trace when she came barreling in, her eyes wild, tears streaming down her cheeks.
I would kill him for hurting her — again.
And for having to be the one to pick up all the broken pieces. Damn if I would put her back together just so he could steal her once she was healed. Trace crumpled to the floor, sobs escaping between her lips like she couldn’t catch her breath.
I nodded to the students around us.
They shuffled out.
With a sigh, I knelt in front of her and brushed some of the wet hair away from her face. I’d kiss her if I knew where it hurt.
But you can’t kiss away this type of pain.
Just like you can’t be the stand-in for the guy her heart cries for.
Without a word, I picked her up into my arms and carried her out of the classroom and out of the building, not bothering to even curse in Italian as I’d used up my repertoire of horrible words concerning the Mafia.
I took her to our little hangout on campus and prayed to God that Nixon wasn’t already there, stewing over whatever the hell he’d just done.
After I opened the door and placed Trace on the couch, I paced in front of her for a good five minutes, firing questions at her to make sure she was actually coherent.
What I got?
Silence.
“Damn it, Trace, listen to me!” I gripped her face between my hands. Her head bobbed a little forward. Damn it, had he sent her over the edge? Seriously? Swear words poured out of my mouth. I had absolutely no control over what I was saying, lots of F-bombs, lots of Nixons. Yeah, lots of those two combined.
“What?” she finally said, licking her lips and averting her eyes like I was worse than him.
I grabbed her chin, forcing her to look at me. “Do you need to go to the hospital? Lie down? Need a drink of water? Want a sedative? These are all the things I asked you on the way over, and again when I plopped you on the couch. Shit.” I released her chin and ran my fingers through my hair. “What the hell was that? Are out of your freaking mind? You can’t just…” I pushed away from her and started pacing for the second time in five minutes.
“You can’t just break down at school like that. Can’t let people see weakness. You’re better than that. I don’t care if the freaking president of the United States waltzed in here and told everyone you were a terrorist. You’re an Alfero, for shit’s sake. Start acting like one!” I was yelling. Why the hell was I yelling? Because I was angry, but it was more than that. I was yelling because I was terrified of losing her.
Losing her to him.
Losing her to some sort of Mafia war.
Even losing her to some of the pricks that graced Elite.
Her mouth dropped open.
Shit, I’d taken tough love way too far, crossed the bridge, pounced on the other side and then laughed in her face. Great. Asshole-of-the-Year award has just been passed down from Nixon to Chase.
Rather than cry more, she flipped me off.
Had to admit it was a bit of a proud moment for me, rubbing off on her like that. Bringing out the Alfero tiger.
I smiled. “Better, Trace. You can do better than flipping me off and telling me to go screw myself. I know this blows. Believe me, I know. But it’s the only way.”
“The only way?” she repeated with confusion.
I nodded. “You and Nixon. You can’t happen. There’s too much history — too much drama, and with Phoenix lurking around campus, you can’t be the catalyst that brings this entire operation down. Believe me, you don’t want that, and you don’t want Nixon to be tempted to do that.”
“Nixon,” she spat, “He can do whatever the hell he wants.”
“Good to know,” Nixon said from behind me.
Oh look, shit. Meet fan.
I turned and leveled him with a glare, which he naturally ignored, because it was Nixon and he owned the world.
Nixon’s eyes were wide with worry as he approached Trace. “Are you okay?” Oh, hell no.
I was ready to attack, but instead, a brown head of hair pushed past me and tackled Nixon, pushing him against the wall. Trace banged her fists against his chest. My mouth dropped open in shock. Glued to my spot, I could only watch in horror as she hit him repeatedly with her tiny fists, all the while sobbing out his name. I jumped from the couch so I could grab her before she hurt herself. Nixon finally pried her away just as I was able to get over my shock and peel her from his body.
“I—” Nixon’s voice cracked.
“You’re making it worse, man,” I whispered. Trace trembled in my arms. “Just go. She doesn’t want to see you. Hell, I don’t even know if I want to see you. I know why… I just think this can’t be fixed by your badass Mafia mojo.”