Sacrificed To The Don They Now Regret novel · Chapter 3 of 24

Chapter 3: Take Me Instead

Livia disarms Paolo, refuses Fiorella's tearful offer to swap places and is pulled behind Lorenzo when a guard aims; at dinner he tastes her food first, then says her mother left a suitcase at the gate.

Lorenzo got out of the car and walked straight toward my brother's gun.

"Don't," I said, and caught his sleeve.

He looked down at my hand.

I let go.

Paolo's arm was shaking so hard the barrel jumped.

"Don't eat anything he gives you," he shouted again. "That's what she said. That's all she said."

"Your mother thinks I poison women," Lorenzo said.

"I didn't say that."

"You said it loud enough for the whole hill."

Six guards stepped closer.

I pushed past Lorenzo and walked up to my twin with my palms open.

"Paolo. Give me the gun."

"They'll kill you in there."

"They had all day to kill me and they didn't. Give it to me."

His eyes were wet.

He put the gun in my hand, handle first, the way we were taught at eight years old.

I passed it to the nearest guard without looking at him.

"Go home," I told Paolo. "Tell Mama I'm eating fine."

"Liv."

"Go home."

He went.

A taxi had pulled up behind him while we talked.

The back door flew open and Fiorella tumbled out in a white dress with her hair coming loose.

"Livia!" she screamed. "Livia, wait!"

Every gun on the hill swung toward her.

She did not stop.

She came across the gravel on her knees with her hands out and fell at my feet.

"I can't let you do it," she sobbed. "It was my hands. It was my fault. Let me go in your place. Please, please let me."

I stared at her.

Her curls were wet with tears, and the white dress was clean.

A guard stepped forward and raised his gun at her chest.

"Stand down," I said.

He did not hear me.

His finger moved.

An arm came around my waist and pulled me back against a hard chest.

Lorenzo had put himself between me and the barrel before I understood what was happening.

"Lower it," he said.

The guard lowered it.

I could feel Lorenzo's heartbeat through his shirt, steady and slow.

His hand was flat against my stomach, holding me behind him.

Neither of us moved for a long moment.

Then he let go.

"I don't touch hostages," he said, coldly, to nobody.

"You just did," I said.

"It won't happen again."

I looked at the place on my dress where his hand had been.

Fiorella was still kneeling in the gravel, looking up at both of us.

"Let me stay," she said. "Take me. I'll do whatever he wants."

"Get up," I told her.

"Livia."

"Get up, Fiorella. Nobody is trading. He asked for one hostage and he has one."

I hauled her to her feet.

She clung to me and cried hard against my neck.

"You're so brave," she said. "You've always been the brave one."

I patted her back, because that was what I knew how to do.

Then I walked her to the taxi and pressed my last twenty into the driver's hand.

"Take her home," I said.

Fiorella looked at me through the window until the taxi turned out of the gate.

I stood there with my arms crossed for longer than I needed to.

When I turned around, Lorenzo was watching me.

"You protect people who hurt you," he said.

"She's my sister."

"She's the hand that held the tray."

"She's twenty-three and she cried so hard she threw up on the ride over," I said. "I'm not putting her in your house."

He said nothing for a moment.

"Dinner is at eight," he said finally. "You'll eat at my table."

"Your table, with food I'm told not to touch."

"Do you always do as you're told?"

"No," I said.

"Good."

At eight I sat across from him at a table made for twenty.

There were two plates and one candle.

The cook brought out a pasta with clams, and before I could lift my fork he reached across and took my plate.

He ate a mouthful.

Then he set it down in front of me again.

"Now it's safe," he said.

"That's ridiculous."

"It's practical."

"You could have just told me it was safe."

"I could have." He kept his eyes on mine. "I didn't want to."

Heat went up the back of my neck, which was stupid.

I ate.

He watched me do it, and I felt every bite.

When I put the fork down, his gaze had dropped to my mouth.

I saw it.

He saw me see it.

"Eat your bread," he said, and his voice was rougher than before.

A man appeared in the doorway and murmured in his ear.

Lorenzo's face went smooth.

"Your mother sent a car," he said to me. "It left a suitcase at my gate an hour ago."

"My bag?"

"A black suitcase with your initials on the handle." He pushed his chair back. "You did not pack it, did you?"

"No," I said.

"Then who did?"

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