Page 70 of Bitter Queen (Advantage Play 4)

“It’ll be okay,” Dex adds. He tries to get comfortable on the roof of the abandoned brick building that’s opposite to the one Q just ventured in.

“And if it were Regina?” I counter, making him freeze.

His amusement disappears. “Then I’d be losing my damn mind. But I wouldn’t suggest this if I didn’t think it was our safest bet.”

“I know,” I mutter. “Doesn’t make it any easier.”

Lifting the scope of my rifle again, I watch Q order a drink then sit down on a barstool. She looks so timid. Like a little deer during hunting season. My jaw tightens before I tear my gaze away from her and scan the rest of the building.

“I don’t see Sei,” I growl.

“Neither do I. But give him a minute.”

“How are you with sharpshooting?”

His mouth curves up in amusement. “I’m not Stefan.”

“None of us are Stefan,” I laugh before checking out the building south of us. A little black speck mars the rooftop and confirms Stefan’s set up and ready to go if he’s needed.

“Thanks for coming with me, though,” I grudgingly remark as I squat next to him. We still haven’t really…talked. Especially one-on-one. And it feels weird to dissect the elephant in the room and whether or not we should acknowledge it. That we’re blood. That I’m sorry he was raised under the Allegretti name instead of where he belongs.

And even though he’s a Romano now, it still doesn’t change the past.

“No problem.” Dex glances over at me then stares off into the distance at nothing in particular. A heavy silence that’s tainted with awkwardness seeps onto the roof, but I don’t know what the hell I’m supposed to say.

“Ya know….” He clears his throat. “When I was in that shed getting my pinky cut off, I thought I was gonna die.”

“I wasn’t so sure you were gonna make it either,” I admit with a dry laugh.

He joins in for a second, then rubs the back of his neck, sobering right before my eyes. “One of my biggest regrets was not getting to know my big brother before it all went down.”

I exhale, then look over at him. He looks like our dad. Like me.

I think it’s the eyes. And maybe the nose. I can feel him studying me just as closely as I’m inspecting him before I admit, “It’s messed up, huh?”

“Yeah.”

“So…how do we do this?” I ask. “Do I just ask what your favorite color is and shit?”

He laughs. “No clue. What’s yours?”

I steal another glance through the scope. As Q tucks her hair behind her ear, I mutter, “Blue.”

“Favorite food?” Dex prods.

I picture Q licking her fingers after eating a French fry in Matteo’s basement all those nights ago. “Fries. You?”

“Regina makes a mean lasagna.”

“That’s because Mama Romano has a kick-ass recipe,” I explain with a grin.

“So I’ve been told. All I got from Burlone was shit leftovers.”

Burlone.

My expression sours before I say something that should’ve been said a long time ago. “I’m, uh,”—I glance over to him—“sorry our dad turned you away at first.”

He scoffs. “At first? Our dad was an asshole who abandoned his kid to be raised by a fucking human trafficker. Don’t sugar coat that shit, D.”