By the time Julietta and Sawyer arrived with baby Gabby, they’d settled into a huge feast, with the sound of Italian music drifting in the background from the speakers. A new gift from Michael, she admitted, and though she preferred a good thinking silence, she said she was starting to get into listening to music more often. The baby was passed around, and Wolfe nuzzled her gently, the sweet baby scent of powder and innocence drifting in his nostrils and soothing him.
“My turn,” Gen demanded, holding out her arms. He completed the transfer, always the scariest part with infants, and watched her stare down at Gabby with complete adoration.
A wave of raw emotion slammed into him. His breath caught.
An image of Gen holding his baby—their baby—punched him in the gut. She kissed the top of her head, murmuring inane words that made Gabby coo, and the room spun around him like he was on a crazy bender.
What was going on? Yes, he’d enjoy watching his Gabby grow up. Loved being around big family gatherings with children running around. But children weren’t in his future. Never bothered him before. Hell, he never even thought about it. But looking at Gen, and how she fit so perfectly in Mama Conte’s kitchen with a baby in her arms, made his heart stutter a bit.
Why now? Why did he suddenly want, need, crave the idea of a future?
He pushed his plate away, no longer hungry. Touched the two leather wristbands that were now a part of his anatomy. And tried not to remember.
He was quiet for the rest of the meal. By the time the grappa, fruit, cheese, and pastries appeared, Gen groaned. “I don’t know if I can,” she whined. “I’m so full.”
Mama Conte shook her head in disapproval. “Why don’t you get some air and walk a bit? It will help you digest; you cannot miss the apple cake.”
Wolfe laughed as Gen rubbed her belly, trying to help it along. “Come on, I’ll show you the terrace.” They stood outside, overlooking the sloping hills and the endless blooming of green. The scent of earth and lemons drifted around them. He reached out to hold her, then suddenly realized he had no right. Not anymore. If he wanted to move the relationship back to friendship, he needed to stop touching her like a lover. Right now, it was too dangerous.
She stepped close, as if to wrap her arms around his waist, and he moved fast, heading toward the edge of the balcony. “Beautiful night.” He refused to look back, his heart pounding. Would it always be this hard? Would he ever be able to look at her, tug on those curls, gaze into her face without wanting her with a hunger that was never satisfied?
“Yes.”
“Are you having a good time so far?”
“How could I not? I’m in Italy, with you and your family. I’ve been fed, spoiled, and pampered. I adore Mama Conte and Gabby. I’ve shopped in some of the most exclusive shops in the world, ridden on a moped with you through the streets, and kissed you in the moonlight.”
“Gen—”
“I love watching you here. You’re different. More open. All this time, I thought I was part of that inner circle.”
“You were. You are. We’ve been friends for a long time.” The word spat from his tongue and sounded like a curse now. “I care about you.”
“Not enough to share your past. Not enough to take me into your bed without lying about what we really are.”
He flinched. She was going to kill him. Tear him into bloody pieces and scatter his ashes. Why did she have to demand so much now? He tried to keep things light. “I told you more than I have anyone else. You know about my druggie mother, the years spent on the streets, how Sawyer found me. What more do you want?”
“You know.”
He refused to glance back. Kept his gaze trained on the scenery and prayed she wouldn’t move close. She didn’t. The distance between them yawned like an endless expanse of space growing bigger every moment he remained quiet. Birds screeched. The low hum of chatter and laughter from the kitchen drifted through the window. Finally, he spoke.
“It wouldn’t make any difference.”
Her sigh hurt his ears. Hurt his heart. So sad, yet here she still stood, fighting for something he could never give her. “How about this question: What do you want, Wolfe?”
Her body, soul, heart. To be enough of a whole man to give her everything. The courage to step forward and try.
Instead, he lied. “This. Us. Friends forever. We decided to include sex as long as it didn’t affect our relationship. But let’s admit things are getting complicated. Backing off may be a good idea now.”
She never answered.
He never turned.
The doors opened and Mama Conte’s voice rang out strong and true. “Come in, children. We’re ready for the final course.”
When Wolfe finally had the guts to turn around, Gen had already disappeared inside.
THE MEN LEFT.
Vincent Soldano lay on the floor in the fetal position, cradling his broken body. The horror of what they had done to him, made him do, flickered over and over in his mind like a broken record. He dug his nails into his temples and tried to rake out the images, the memory, but he was steeped in filth so deep, he knew he’d never climb out.
It was over.
If only he had run. If only he hadn’t waited. Yesterday, he would’ve had a life to live. Today, there was nothing but shame and dirt and a nightmare so vivid he’d never sleep again.
He couldn’t live like this. Wouldn’t.
The low murmur of voices outside drifted through the thin walls. He turned his head, looking, his blurred gaze barely registering the items and familiarity of the room he’d grown up in. Vomit threatened when he caught the picture of his mother and him from years ago on the chipped mirror.