No one breathed a word. Cash couldn’t understand her involvement with Antilla Smooth and couldn’t bear breaking it to Roman that he’d seen her all over the warmonger. It tore his heart apart all over again, just like the day they’d lost her.

But they hadn’t lost her. She was alive and sitting in front of him.

Nicola spoke up again. “Who do you work for?”

What is she talking about?

Roman seemed to read his mind. “Nic, what are you talking about?”

“Why are you here?”

“You’re alive. Let’s start there.”

“Go away, Roman. It’s better this way. If you’re not here to—”

“What are you talking about? You’re alive. You’re coming home. Mom and Dad… they, we buried you. We—”

“You have to leave. Now. If I can’t have the car—” She tried to get past him, but he locked her against his chest. “Let go. Damn you, Roman. You don’t understand. We can’t be here.”

“You’re in trouble. We can help. We can fix this.”

She moved before either Roman or Cash could react. Gun in hand, pressed against her brother’s chest. “I love you,” she sobbed. “Don’t make me.”

Roman backed up, hands in the air. “Who are you? What’s happened to you?” The tenor of his voice was clear. He’d moved on from shock to fury. At least Roman was catching up with Cash in the what-the-fuck department.

“Go away,” she hissed, wiping at tears with the back of her hand.

“I can’t. You’re my—”

Nicola nudged the Beretta back toward him, groaning when she used her arm. “I need your car. Tell me how to contact you. I’ll explain this. I promise. But I have to go. Now. I—”

“I don’t think so.”

“Goddamn it, Roman. If you’re here to kill me, do it. Otherwise, get the fuck out of this car. You too, Cash. Move it.”

Kill her?

Gone were her tears. In the span of a second, the emotion was gone. The steely eyed woman was in business mode.

Ten years had passed. Ten long-assed years. Who knew what she’d been doing? Clearly, bad things with bad people.

Cash spoke. “You’re hurt.”

She rocketed a glare at him. “I’ll be dead if you don’t leave.”

Cash continued, hoping to make inroads even after Roman tried-and-burned. “We can help you. Whatever kind of trouble you’re in—”

“I’m not in trouble. Get out!”

“No,” Cash and Roman said in unison.

Click-click. The slide of the Glock turned them both to stone. Their third man, Rocco, had Nicola dead center in his close range sights.

“Get that fucking gun out of my sister’s face,” Roman said, cold as ice.