“I’ll try,” I offer.
Mark takes a breath and pushes it out, like he’d dreading this as much as I am.
“Get the door,” he tells me. “Ask him if he’s alone.”
Mateo hasn’t pounded on it to alert us to his presence, but I don’t wait for that. I ease it open just in time to see him storming my way, expression stony. At the sight of me, his expression wavers, his eyes sweeping over me, taking inventory of how I look, if I’ve been harmed.
“Move,” he says.
“Wait,” I say, holding my arms out, barring the door. He scowls, but my gaze goes to the gun he already has at the ready. I glance back at Mark, making sure he isn’t doing anything stupid, but he’s not. He does have his gun out, but more like he wants to be able to defend himself than because he wants to use it.
“Let’s all take a second here,” I say. “Let’s leave the guns out of this. I’m not hurt. No one needs to get hurt.”
“He kidnapped you,” Mateo states.
“He was protecting me,” I point out.
“He hasn’t touched you?”
“Of course not,” I say, frowning.
He doesn’t put his gun away, but he comes at me in a way that lets me know if I don’t move, he’ll run right over me.
So I move.
Mark grabs my arm, pulling me in front of him—his human shield.
Mateo’s eyes narrow, like Mark’s an especially annoying bug that he can’t wait to smash against the wall. “Vince never liked you. I should’ve paid more attention to that.”
“I’m a friend, not a foe,” Mark assures him.
“Then let go of Mia,” Mateo responds, reasonably.
“I know it’s not much, but I’m sort of attached to my face the way it is, without a gaping bullet hole anywhere in this general vicinity,” Mark says, indicating his own head.
“The longer your hands are on Mia, the less chance it stays that way,” Mateo states.
Mark drops his hand from my arm, but I don’t move right away. I watch Mateo’s hand, the one on his gun, to make sure it doesn’t look like he’s about to use it.
“Get over here,” Mateo says, meeting my gaze.
My good intentions fly right out the window and I hustle my ass over to his side. “Is Adrian here?” I murmur, staying near him.
He shakes his head. “He’s busy with something else. Something I’d very much like to pursue the details of, but I’m doing this shit instead.”
I flush. “Sorry.”
He finally pulls his gaze from Mark long enough to flash me a dry look. “Yes, because this was clearly your fault.” Swinging his gaze back to Mark, he demands, “What’s this information you have for me?”
“Salvatore doesn’t want a war with you. He had no idea his father was going to try to kill you—he never would’ve supported that.”
“Like he never would’ve framed Meg?”
For a split second, Mark frowns, looking from Mateo to me, then back. “He knew war was coming, he didn’t want to get in the middle of it. He needed you distracted.”
“I don’t take well to that kind of manipulation from friends,” Mateo says. “And there wouldn’t have been a war if his father wouldn’t have nearly killed my fiancée.”
My heart sinks, hearing him call Meg his fiancée. I immediately feel so guilty and horrible about it that I want to die, but I can’t deny it happening.
Mark hesitates. “I don’t know what you know, and it doesn’t seem like you’re in the mood for any surprises right now.”
“I’m not in the habit of shooting the messenger,” Mateo tells him.
“You know Antonio sent Meg?”
My eyes widen in surprise, but Mateo merely nods. “I do.”
“Okay. Well… you’ve taken that better than Sal thought you would,” Mark says, looking a bit confused.
“His distraction worked a little too well. I was more focused on the affair,” Mateo states. “By the time that came out… bigger fish.”
“Okay. Well, considering your usual response to treachery, Sal was prepared for a bigger reaction than that. Anyway, his dad…” Mark pauses, watching Mateo, then says, “He understands that his dad’s gonna have to go.”
I can’t tell if this surprises Mateo. He keeps his expression guarded, but he does drawl, “Really?”
“Salvatore’s next in line. He wants to keep the peace, the way you have been until Antonio started screwing it all up. He wants… a marriage, of sorts, between the families. Not even of sorts, actually… he wants to marry your sister.”
My jaw falls open, hand flying to my chest. Since Mateo’s reaction is far less dramatic, Mark’s eyes drift to me. “Francesca?” I ask, floored. “Salvatore and Francesca? Oh my god!” Tugging on Mateo’s arm, I say, “You have to let them. Francesca would be so ha—Er, wait, does she want to marry him, or is this a Castellanos version of a Morelli trap?”
Nobody answers me.