Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Fell asleep?” I asked.
“Yeah. Go get the door. I’m fine,” he said.
“They can wait,” I insisted. “Do you want a pain pill?” I asked, reaching for the bottle without waiting for his answer. Of course he wanted a pill. If I was shot in the shoulder, I would want a whole handful of them.
So I slipped the pill into his mouth, then lifted the bottle of water to his lips, since both his arms were currently incapacitated.
I was still slipping the cap onto the bottle when, suddenly, the condo door burst open, making panic surge as I lunged toward my gun.
“It’s your mom,” Anthony said, tone soothing, seeming to sense my panic.
I turned and, sure enough, there was my mom, her keys still out, bags in her arms, her horrified gaze on my face and throat.
“You have a key, why did you buzz?” I asked.
“In case you two were doing things no innocent mother should have to witness. For a second time,” she added, trying to lighten the mood. Then, because she was a mom after all, her voice went low and sad, “Saylor…”
“I’m okay,” I told her, blinking back tears that always formed when confronted with my mother’s concern. “You should really be asking Anthony if he’s alright,” I added, waving toward him. “He was shot,” I added, watching her eyes go wide enough for the whites to be visible all the way around.
“What?” she asked, her voice a hushed sound as she rushed forward toward him.
“He took a bullet for me.”
“That’s… an exaggeration,” Anthony said.
“She’s serious? You’re shot?” my mom asked, sitting down next to him on the couch. “Where?”
Having woken it up, he lifted his arm to gesture toward his shoulder. “It’s fine, Sam. I’m alright,” he assured her, picking up on her motherly anxiety.
“Does your mom know?” she asked, her hand going to her heart.
“By now? Yeah, I imagine she knows.” Then, at my mother’s look of mortification that her son was shot, and she was not at his side, he added, “This isn’t the first time I’ve been shot. Right now, I imagine she’s making a lasagne to bring over with her. I’m sure my brother told her I was up all night and need some rest.”
“Oh, no. Did I wake you two up?” she asked.
“It’s okay. I think we would need to hire a masseuse to come in for our necks if we stayed that way another minute,” I said, still reaching back to rub at my sore muscles. Then, remembering how Ant had been asleep with his chin to his chest, I moved behind him to work at his tight muscles. “Did you bring food?” I asked.
“I sensed something being very… off last night,” she said. “I figured that I might bribe the truth out of you with food,” she added, reaching for the bags. “Are you guys hungry?”
“Starving,” I admitted. “And you need to eat, so you can have your antibiotics,” I reminded Anthony.
“Not gonna turn down food. Didn’t eat anything yesterday. Figure the moms and aunts are gonna fix that today, though,” he said, shooting my mom a smile.
“I’m sure your mom and aunts are going to bring home-cooked deliciousness,” my mom said, going into my cabinets for plates. “I brought store-bought egg and cheese on bagels.”
“Too much talking. Not enough putting food in front of me,” I said, getting the first genuine smile out of her as she reached into the bag, found a foil-wrapped bagel, and chucked it at me. Then carefully plated two bagels for Ant, and brought them over. “Do you have anything to drink in that fridge?” she asked.
“A carton of milk with a questionable expiration date,” I admitted.
“Okay. I’m going to run to the store to get you some essentials. Do you have any requests?”
“Gummy fish,” I told her.
“Like I’d forget that. Maybe ice pops?” she asked, glancing at my throat.
“Yeah, that’d be good,” I agreed. “And coffee creamer,” I said. “Brownie batter,” I added. “I’ve, ah, developed a taste for it,” I lied.
What’s more, this was my mom; she knew it was a lie.
Her lips pressed together. “Is that so?”
“Yep. Love that shit,” I said.
“Well, I better hop-to then,” she said. “Make sure you two eat and take your meds. I won’t be more than an hour.”
With that, we shoveled food in our mouths, barely even tasting any of it in an effort to fill our stomachs. My throat hurt with each swallow, but my stomach slowly stopped rumbling.
Anthony had just swallowed down his antibiotics and me my ibuprofen when the buzzer started up again.
“Here we go,” Anthony said, wincing.
Really, I think a part of me assumed he’d been exaggerating about his family.
But, nope.
If anything, he’d played it down.
Both of his sisters, Isabella and Mirabella, showed up, each bringing something to stick in the fridge or freezer. The men of the family—Emilio, Santi, Brio, Cesare, Cosimo, and Silvano—along with their wives—Avery, Alessa, Ezmeray, Mere, Halle, and Millie dropped by. As did Salvatore and his wife Whitney, and the Capo dei Capi, Lorenzo Costa, himself and his wife Giana.