Page 128 of Shadow Of Sin

“Yeah.”

“The meeting was a setup?”

“Yeah.”

“To get to me?”

“To get to me through you.”

He stares at me. Then he drops his head into his hands and lets out a sound that is somewhere between a laugh and a sob, and it’s the most gutting thing I’ve ever heard come out of my brother’s mouth.

“The debt,” he says into his hand. “The gambling debt. That was part of it, too?”

“Dmitri arranged it.” My shoulders slump forward. “To create leverage.”

“So my whole life for the past year has been a setup. The debt. The pressure. The collection guys coming around. All of it was because of you?”

The words hit me like a fist to the gut because he’s not wrong. All of it was because of me. Every threat to Sal’s livelihood, every sleepless night he spent worrying about losing the restaurant, every dollar he scraped together to pay back a debt that was manufactured to control his sister.

“I’m sorry.” My voice cracks. “I’m so sorry, Sal.”

“And Wolfe?” He lifts his head. “Where does he fit in?”

“He was helping me. Helping us. He’s the one who paid off your debt. He’s the one who figured out Dmitri’s endgame. He planned tonight—the whole thing. Taking down the network and organization so they’d never come after you again.”

“And the part where he took a bullet in my restaurant?”

My eyes drop to my hands. I clasp them together. “That was him saving my life.”

“Jesus, Eva.” Sal lets out a deep sigh and stares at me. “You love him, don’t you.”

But he doesn’t ask it as a question.

And my heart is so shredded right now, it hurts too much to agree.

“I don’t know what I feel right now.”

“Yeah, you do. You love him. And he almost bled out on my floor for you.” He shakes his head. “Whatever happened between you two, whatever fight you had, that man drove to my restaurant and stepped in front of a gun for you. People don’t do that for someone they’re planning to throw away.”

My throat seizes up. This started hours ago when Sal showed me that text. The one Wolfe sent from a spoofed number to keep my brother safe even after I drove away at midnight. The bullet just ripped open the doubt.

“I can’t talk about this right now,” I croak.

“Okay.”

“I need to clean up.”

“Leave it. I’ll deal with it tomorrow.”

“Sal, there’s blood on your⁠—”

“I said leave it.” His voice is firm but gentle. “Go clean yourself up. Use the bathroom in the back. I’ll wait.”

I wash my trembling hands in the bathroom sink. Wolfe’s blood swirls down the drain in pale pink ribbons. As I stand there watching it disappear, my chest cracks wide open and I have to grip the edges of the sink to keep myself upright.

He stepped between me and a gun. He didn’t hesitate. His body moved before his brain could stop it, the same way it moved the night of the Albanian fight, the same way it always moves when I’m in danger.

The man who built a relocation plan with my name on it drove across Boston and put his body in front of a bullet for me.