Page 115 of The Butcher's Wife

I realize with a choked gasp—Salvatore is making Aceto kill himself.

Dom turns toward me and presses my face to his chest. “Don’t look.”

“Stop.”

At first, I don’t recognize who’s talking. I’ve never heard his voice before, but I place the speaker—Nico.

I peek around Dom to see Aceto watching Nico with hope glimmering in his eyes.

Salvatore raises an eyebrow at his half-brother. Nico rises from his chair with an easy athletic grace and makes his way to Salvatore’s side, where he leans forward and whispers in his ear. Even though we’re at the same table, I can’t hear what he says. It must be shocking because both of Salvatore‘s eyebrows lift and then come crashing down.

“Are you sure?” Salvatore asks.

Nico stands and places a hand over his heart, but hisloose posture makes it clear he’s being unserious. “With every fiber of my being.”

Salvatore sighs. “Looks like it’s your lucky day, Aceto. You’re going to come with me instead. Stand up.”

Aceto’s eyes widen, and he scrambles for the steak knife he’d just dropped. Nico’s faster, striking out with almost inhuman speed to knock the knife from his hand. With a cruel smile on his lips, he grabs Aceto by the back of his neck and drags him kicking and screaming toward Salvatore.

Marisol casually reaches into her purse like there isn’t a man fighting for his life within arm’s reach and pulls out her phone. When she reads the message, the relaxed smile falls from her face. She shows the phone to Salvatore, and his eyes flick to Dom.

“Dom, take Barbara and Annetta to Knossos hospital,” he says. “Rafa’s been shot.”

27

DOM

By the timewe get to the hospital, Rafa’s in the operating room.

Barbara bounces his knee in the corner of the waiting room while Debbie paces back and forth with a rosary in her hands. Carlo’s tucked into his chair, sucking constantly from his vape until Debbie snaps at him to stop.

Annetta is pale, her arms trembling under my touch. She’s dropping hard from the adrenaline of that fucking bullshit with Aceto. I’ve rubbed her hands between mine to keep them warm, but she barely seems to register anything that’s going on around her.

I trace a fingertip along her face, tucking her silky hair behind her ear. She doesn’t react.

“Everything’s going to be okay,” I tell her gently.

Her eyes are dull as she glances toward me, and a stone drops into my stomach.

“I can’t lose another family member,” she says in a thin voice.

I press her against me so I don’t have to look at that face, the one I’ve seen countless times before.

It’s the way a person looks before they do something they’ll regret.

After hours of waiting, a short doctor in her fifties steps out. “Raffaele’s alive. He’s in stable condition now, but he’ll be disoriented and tired from the effects of the pain medication he’s on.” The efficient, professional look about her slips for a fraction of a second. “He was shot in the side of the knee. We removed the bullet, and your primary doctor will discuss options with you, but it’s likely he will need substantial physical treatment after today. He may not walk without an aid ever again. You all can see him now.”

Debbie cries out, “Thank God!”and throws herself behind the doctor.

Carlo pulls his vape out of his pocket and waves us off. “You go first. I’ll come after.”

Barbara doesn’t say anything, but he looks suspiciously close to crying. I politely ignore him as I help Annetta up and walk us down the long white hallway to Rafa’s room.

Silent tears track down Debbie’s face as she stands at the side of her broken son, who is rigged up to a half-dozen machines with medical bandages wrapped around his leg and chest. Despite what the doctor said, he’s alert, staring forward without any expression until Annetta and I enter the room

He catches my eye.

“How are you feeling?” Annetta asks tentatively as she moves to his other side, opposite to her mother.