As my attention falls back down to the table, I lock eyes with Angelo. He’s no longer laughing at his brother’s story, nor is he eating. Instead, he’s staring right at me, his hands clenched into fists on either side of his untouched plate. Once I acclimate to the chill of his gaze, I realize what he sees. Me and Max, shoulder to shoulder, heads huddled and having a private, heated conversation at the end of the table. Panic claws at my throat, and I immediately put some distance between us. “Aurora—” “Not now, Max,” I mutter, picking at bits of ham. “But—”
