Marco DeLuca’s hand stopped inches from mine.
For one terrible second, I thought he was going to take the card, push me aside, and let his men decide what happened next.
Instead, he turned his palm upward.
“Give me your hand,” he said.
I didn’t move.
Rain ran from his hair onto the collar of his charcoal coat.
Behind him, six men stood in perfect silence.
None of them looked at me now.
They watched Marco.
Carlo was still gripping the back of my uniform.
“Why?” I asked.
Marco’s eyes shifted toward his father.
“Because the woman shaking in front of me is the only person here who protected him tonight.”
He looked over his shoulder at the guards.
“And every man who aimed a weapon in her direction will lower his eyes.”
They did.
Not slowly.
Not reluctantly.
Immediately.
The pressure in my chest loosened, but I kept myself between Carlo and the SUVs.
Marco noticed.
“I am his son,” he said.
“Prove it.”
One of the guards inhaled sharply.
Marco stared at me for a long moment.
Then, to my surprise, he crouched beneath the awning instead of reaching for me.
“Papa,” he said quietly.
Carlo peeked around my shoulder.
Marco’s expression changed when their eyes met.
The feared man from the stories disappeared for half a second, replaced by an exhausted son who had been imagining the worst.
“The blue room,” Marco said.
“You used to hide my birthday gifts behind the curtains because you thought I never checked there.”
Carlo blinked.
A faint smile crossed his face.
“You always checked.”
“Every year.”
“And Martha pretended to be surprised.”
Marco nodded.
“Yes.”
Carlo released my uniform.
The relief that moved through Marco’s face was so brief I almost missed it.
He stood and removed his overcoat.
Without asking, he wrapped it around my shoulders, covering my wet diner uniform.
“I already gave him my coat,” I said.
“I can see that.”
“I’m not getting into one of those cars unless someone examines him.
His lips were blue.
He nearly got hit by a truck.”
Marco glanced toward the nearest guard.
“Our physician is waiting at the house.”
“The house with the lions?”
Carlo brightened.
“Yes.
That one.”
Marco’s mouth almost formed a smile.
“You remembered that, Papa.”
