Page 91 of Never Say Never

"Gin, calm down, there's something we have to discuss," Benito said.

"That's the fucking understatement of the year, Benito. Why the fuck is there a Gianpaolo look-alike in this office?"

"I'm not a look-alike," I said.

"He's dead," Enzo pointed out.

I looked at my youngest brother. His facial expression showed nothing as he stayed away from me. Whereas, Giancarlo, I could read like a book. Devastation, confusion, and anger continued to show.

"Paolo?" Gin asked.

"Gin, Enzo, sit and we can catch you both up," Benito said.

Neither one of them moved. The reunion I'd imagined over and over again was nothing like this. They'd yell at me in my dreams, but Gin would inevitably drag me into a hug, and Enzo would greet me like he used to. None of that was happening. Giancarlo paced the length of the office, sending cautious glares my way like a caged animal. Enzo moved closer to the door as if being anywhere near me was too much for him to handle.

"Start fucking talking, Benito, because right now I’m about to beat the fuck out of this imposter," Gin threatened.

Fuck, was everyone pissed at me? It wasn't like I'd told them to tell Gin I was dead. In fact, I'd warned both Dad and Benito it was a horrible idea. Dad hadn't listened, and at that time, Benito had been his puppet.

"Gin, settle the fuck down," Benito barked out. He looked between all three of us and groaned. "Look, we are going to have this conversation. Enzo, you lose control, know I will be the one to lock you down. Same goes for you, Gin." Rolling his shoulders back, our eldest brother fixed us each with a glare. "Am I clear?"

"Fuck off, Benito," Gin shot back. He picked up a chair and smashed it against the wall. Wood splintered everywhere, littering the floor. Gin had one of the legs in his hand and aimed the jagged side at me. "Who the fuck are you?"

I locked eyes with my twin, and without me saying anything, Gin dropped the wood piece and took a few steps back. He clutched at his shirt, gasping for air. "You died."

"That was a lie that Dad came up with," I said.

Gin shook his head, and I wanted nothing more than to go to him. But I could feel it. Even after all this time, our twin connection was still there. He didn't want anyone touching him. Gin scratched at his neck, leaving behind angry red lines.

"Shit." Benito was up in seconds and over by Gin. He pulled at his hands trying to get him to stop.

Gin drew his head back and slammed it into Benito's face. Our older brother was fast to react; he drew his fist back and punched Gin. They traded blows. Even as Gin went down, Benito didn't let up. I turned to Enzo and made the mistake of moving too fast. His knife was out and sliced through my shirt, catching my flesh. White hot pain added to the searing ache inside of my chest.

"Enzo."

"No." Enzo took another step away from me, refusing to look my way.

"Gin," I called out.

He was panting on the ground, wiping at his mouth, but he, too, didn't look my way either.

"I was sent undercover in the FBI," I tried to explain. But it felt pointless. No one seemed to give a damn.

Benito spat blood on the floor and pushed his hair out of his face. "Give them time."

I clutched my arm where Enzo had cut me. Blood seeped between my fingers and dripped to the floor. Both of them were angry with me. It didn't matter that I'd sacrificed years to make sure they made it to the top, or that every day I was away from them felt like torture. They’d lost me at the same time I'd lost them. But in their eyes, I was no better than someone who’d abandoned them without cause.

All I could muster was a nod as I headed for the door. This wasn't how it was supposed to go.

How much longer did I have to be without my family?

Fatigue drained every ounce of my remaining strength. I stopped outside of the place I was sharing with York and the girls. My hand hovered over the keypad. I could go in there and be ignored or berated all over again. A part of me was hoping for the latter; at least then York would be talking to me. Even if his words hurt more than a knife to the arm. Blood still trickled from the wound, dripping to the carpeted floor and leaving behind a mess someone else was going to have to clean up.

I checked the cameras for what felt like the hundredth time. York wasn't in the living room or kitchen. The spare rooms were empty. I hadn't placed a camera in his room, although I'd wanted to. Respecting his privacy could only go so far. I stood there for a few more minutes, ignoring the men standing guard down the hall. Hope was all I had left, and even that felt fleeting. Nothing was working out the way that I'd hoped.

My phone buzzed, and I took the offered distraction for what it was.

Hunter: York took off. When are you coming back in?