Page 94 of Single Malt Drama

He hitched a shoulder. “It was a means to an end. You are needed in Sicily.”

“How did you treat them after you took them from the house?” A wave of nausea hit me out of nowhere. I pressed my hand to my belly and drew deep breaths.

“What do you mean, how did I treat them?”

“Did you lock them up in the cargo hold or shove them around like you did that flight attendant?” I’d told him I was on the plane for two reasons. I wanted to know he hadn’t hurt the Grassos, but more importantly, I needed him to know I had dirt on him. Our father didn’t tolerate mistakes, and Giancarlo had made a big one.

This time he didn’t bother to cover his shock.

Pushing past my sudden urge to vomit, I said, “Answer me.”

“No, I would never hurt them.” He sighed. “Maria was like a mother to us. How can you think I’d hurt her or Alessio? The man taught me to drive, for fuck’s sake.”

“Thank you for that, at least.” I turned and stared as the men carried Marco upstairs.

He hadn’t come around, and in the light, the blood on the side of his head seemed much worse.

I swayed and took a step back to remain upright.

Giancarlo moved to my side and wrapped his arm around my waist. “Relax. It’s just a little blood. He’ll live.”

“I’m going to—” Bending forward, I emptied the contents of my stomach onto the dock.

Holding me upright, my brother pulled my hair back with his free hand. “Jesus, Nico. You aren’t pregnant, are you?”

His words hit me like a bucket of ice water. I couldn’t deny it any longer. “I think so.”

Giancarlo tensed. “You’re full of surprises tonight, baby sister.”