Page 101 of When She Falls (The Fallen)
“How was your trip?” I ask, taking advantage of the fact that her mother isn’t hovering around her.
“It was two days, but it felt like a week.”
“Tell me about it,” I say gruffly.
A small smile pulls at her lips. “I missed you too.”
My chest expands, but I manage to keep my expression straight. “Did you talk to Vince?”
Her face falls. “No. I’m so annoyed. I rang him dozens of times and left him a ton of messages. He only responded to one and said we’ll talk soon. I don’t know what to make of it.”
Neither do I. Vale hasn’t been able to get in touch with Vince either. It seems like he’s ignoring everyone who might be able to help him.
Suspicion tugs at the back of my mind, but I don’t voice it to Gemma, because I don’t want to risk upsetting her with speculation.
Still, I wonder if Garzolo is telling the truth… What if Vince is happy to have this responsibility taken from him?
Gemma lifts on her toes, trying to see above the crowd. “Anyway, I should go say hi to Nona. I think she’s somewhere over there.”
“Let’s go.”
As we weave through the crowd, I spot Rafaele across the room talking to a group of men. One of them, tall and dark haired, turns.
My steps halt.
It can’t be.
But then he smirks and waves at someone, and the scar on my wrist prickles.
My blood runs cold with recognition. It’s him. I’d recognize that smirk anywhere. I stared at it while I was sure I was about to bleed out.
Nunzio.
I’d heard he left Italy for America shortly after getting married to Sara, but I never would have guessed he’d link up with the mafia here. I always thought part of why he hated me so much was because he despised my family and the power they had over his own.
But it wouldn’t be the first time a man pretended to hate something he wanted deep down.
Gemma stops by a table, but I keep moving, as if in a trance.
I told myself that if I ever ran into him again, I’d kill him. My hand reaches for my gun, only for me to remember it was confiscated at the door. The only men allowed to have guns are the guards at the entrance. That’s fine. I don’t need a gun to kill a man, but this could get messy.
What the fuck is Nunzio doing here? Does he work for Messero?
As if I needed another reason to despise that fucker.
Nunzio starts moving along the edge of the room, and I speed up my steps to intercept him. I need to find out what position he occupies here before I can decide what exactly to do with him.
Our paths collide a few moments later. I stop in front of him, blocking his way. He flicks his gaze to me, his lips curled in an irritated sneer I know all too well. When he realizes who he’s looking at, the smirk melts away and blood leaves his face. His hand jerks to his waist, finding air.
Nunzio swallows. I wonder if he’s doing the same kind of math I’m doing in my head. We’ve always been about the same height, and ten years ago, he was far stronger than me, but time hasn’t been kind to him. His shoulders are slumped, his gut hangs over his belt, and his lips are dry and thin from what I suspect has been a lifetime smoking habit. At seventeen, he was already smoking a pack a day.
He must realize there’s a high probability he’ll be dead in under a minute because he takes a step back.
“Sorrentino,” he says, not using my nickname for once. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask the same thing. I always wondered what happened to you after you left Napoli.”
His narrowed eyes scan my face. “I heard you’re the underboss of the Casalesi now. Is that true?”
