Levi moves in beside me and grabs Marcus’s chair before spinning him around to face him. “Here,” he says, handing him the bottle of bourbon. “You’re gonna need this.”
Marcus takes the bottle and lifts it to his lips. “How the fuck did he know?” he questions, his eyes narrowed to slits as he gets lost in thought.
“I was wondering the same thing,” I tell him as Levi uses the table beside my ass to set up a surgical space. “It doesn’t make any sense. I doubt any of you guys happened to mention it in passing, and I sure as fuck haven’t spoken to him. So, how would he know? Does he have cameras? Has he been watching us?”
Roman shakes his head. “No, if that fucker had cameras in here, he would have killed us a long time ago.”
“Then what?” I question, glancing over my shoulder at Roman as Levi gets to work, bypassing the whole numbing thing.
Roman’s lips press into a hard line and for a moment, his eyes go jet-black. “The hooded bitch,” he says. “Who else?”
My gaze shuffles back to Marcus and his dark eyes tighten, knowing exactly what’s on my mind, but before he gets a chance to stop me, the words come spilling out of my mouth. “Marcus thinks it was Felicity but he’s too much of a bitch to tell you.”
Levi’s hand pauses over Marcus’ chest and Roman just stares, looking like a fucking avenging angel. Marcus sighs, realizing just how big the can of beans is that I just spilled all over the floor.
Roman stands, his eyes glued to mine as venom begins pulsing through his veins. “What the fuck did you just say?”
I turn on the table, angling myself between the three brothers. “Stop acting like I said it just to fuck with you. You heard what I said.”
“Felicity is dead,” he says, the anger bubbling in his tone. “I watched her die before my fucking eyes. I held her as she took her last breath and now you want to come to me with this shit, trying to tell me that the woman carrying my baby is the whore who shot my fucking brother?”
I shrug my shoulders and press my lips into a tight line. “What if she didn’t die?”
“She was dead, Shayne. I’ve killed more people than you could even imagine. I know the fucking difference between dead and alive. I’ve replayed that moment over and over again. She’s fucking dead.”
I swallow hard, glancing back at Marcus who’s gone awfully quiet. “The woman who shot Marcus had dirty blonde hair. I could see it peeking out from under the hood, so her hair was long. She was shorter than me, slim and I could tell by her voice that she’s been through some shit. She referred to you all as ‘mine’ like she had a personal relationship with each of you. She told me to run because she didn’t want what happened to her to happen to me. It just … you have to see it like I do. Who else could it be? Is there some other girl you’ve hidden away, someone else who you’ve not told me about?”
Levi shakes his head. “There was no one else. At least, no one else who we were all close with. There have been plenty of girls.”
“All of which are buried out in the woods,” Roman mutters, his mind clearly swarming with grief.
“What if it is, though? What if she’s been out there this whole time?”
Roman stands, leaning onto the table and shooting a hard glare at me. “You’re not fucking listening,” he says. “How could it be Felicity? I watched her die in my arms. Five fucking months ago. She bled out on the ground beneath me. My knees were soaked in her blood and I felt the very moment she went limp in my arms. She stopped breathing. Her heart stopped beating. SHE. FUCKING. DIED. It’s not her.”
I swallow hard and glance back at Marcus. He could have been wrong. It could have been some other girl who thought she’d been done wrong by the DeAngelis brothers, who thought she had some ridiculous claim over them, but my gut is telling me to trust my instincts, to believe the impossible.
Realizing that now is not the time to push the topic, I let out a sigh and look back at Levi, watching as he skillfully dips the small needle into Marcus’ chest and effortlessly makes the issue go away. “Who’s Gia Moretti?” I ask, my gaze shifting back to Roman, making sure that he’s doing alright after that bomb drop. “I thought the plan was to pin it all on Antonio.”
“It is,” he tells me, not taking his eyes off what he’s doing as Marcus drains the bottle of bourbon. “All roads will eventually lead back to Antonio, but why can’t we have a little fun before we get there?”