Chapter 15 #2
Fleeing the room, I go to my bedroom, close the door, and slide the tiny bolt across. I doubt it’s much of a deterrent, but in my frantic state, I decide it will provide a warning.
I burst into tears. It feels like they are being ripped out of a place deep in the pit of my stomach. I kick off my shoes, rip off my clothes, and stumble toward the bathroom where I empty my stomach in the toilet.
Another sob breaks me up, and I shove into the shower and turn it on.
I scrub myself, sobbing and shaking. I even put soap in my mouth. For reasons I cannot explain, it calms me.
When I step out, my skin is blotchy. When I look in the mirror, I see that my face is a ruin of makeup, my hair is a knotty mess, and my eyes are bloodshot.
The necklace around my throat is like a pure beacon on a dark night.
I love it.
I hate it.
Why didn’t he come for me?
Why did he abandon me?
My fingers shake as I fumble to undo the clasp, but I need it off me, I can’t have it touching me.
It comes free. I toss it away, and it lands in the corner of the bathroom.
I’m empty—cold inside. I fall into a kind of zombie state. I apply detangling spray and comb my hair. Then, I remove my makeup, brush my teeth, and use mouthwash three times.
My eyes go to the place where the necklace landed, but I turn off the bathroom light and crawl into bed.
Alone.
My mind is full of franticness, and my heart is sore.
Jessica will know something happened, but I can’t tell her what—I need to shield her from this.
Sometime in the middle of the night, I climb out of bed and collect the necklace. With the heart-shaped diamond in the center of my palm, I wrap the chain around my hand and tuck it under my chin.
It takes a long time before I fall into a restless sleep.
CHRISTIAN
Things have been a little odd between me and Jero since that conversation where he basically called out my loyalties and said I was prepared to kill him.
I mean, he’s not wrong.
I can do nothing about it, so I mostly put it out of my mind. When I’m not on Carmela-watching duty, we’re doing the rounds and reminding any assholes who forget that this isn’t a democracy, and they need to do as they’re fucking told.
“Where are we going?”
Jero grunts and rolls his eyes.
He used to be chatty and brooding. Now he’s just brooding.
We’re driving out of the city, heading northbound. “Mystery drive, huh?”
He rolls his eyes again. “You used to be quicker on the uptake than this, mate. You know, every time a woman sucks your dick, your brain shrinks, yeah?”
I snort a laugh. “You should be fucking comatose then.”
He grins and side-eyes me.
But then it fades, and an indecipherable expression takes its place. The same look I’ve seen on his face a lot lately.
He focuses on the traffic. It’s late— early , I amend on checking my watch—but there has been an accident ahead, and everything is backed up. He stares out the front window, but his knuckles are tight around the wheel. I don’t ask. He can tell me when he’s fucking ready.
Only the ants are getting restless under my skin, and I know something is wrong.
We come to a complete stop. Up ahead, in the distance, I can see flashing blue lights.
“I used to be a fuck up,” Jero says. “A drug addict, although not by choice. I’d been picked off the streets and tossed into an underground fight club.
It was being run outside the family and without permission.
Cedro didn’t tolerate people starting sideline businesses that might draw the interest of the law.
He stepped in and shut it down. He selected the best of those involved and set it up for himself. ”
He’s never told me about his past, ever. And I’m a nosy bastard, so I’ve asked.
Why tonight? Why now?
The traffic begins to edge forward.
My gut is tight. The traffic at one in the morning, the vibes Jero is throwing off, coupled with his words, have me feeling off kilter, and I don’t like it one bit.
“I came to Cedro’s attention. I guess they must have been discussing whether to kick me to the curb or whether I was useful in some way.
Got me off the drugs. The hard way. After I came out the other side, I was called into one of the back rooms where he looked me over, asked me my story, what I wanted to do…
I told him the truth. That I enjoyed fighting.
That I fucking loathed drugs. That I had no family, and I just wanted somewhere to belong. ”
We’re closing in on the flashing lights, and the scene of the accident is coming up ahead.
“I’d probably be dead long ago if not for him.
I was a low-ranking soldier for a long time.
Kept myself clean. Did as I was told. My big step up came when your uncle offered me the position as his enforcer.
I was on the other side of the city when he died.
Afterward, Ettore took over as underboss and I worked for him. ”
There is nothing unique about his story. Many soldiers come into the service that way, and if they’re smart and keep clean, they can rise through the ranks. The reward is a family and a place to belong.
We finally pass the accident, pick up speed, and lapse into silence.
My thoughts churn over what he just said. But also what he didn’t say.
Cedro took the time to ask him what he wanted, a nobody.
There are lessons in power in that seemingly simple exchange.
A street rat given a small measure of courtesy for the first time in his life, that builds fucking loyalty, the deep kind that never goes away.
Then my uncle came along, and he asked Jero to be his enforcer.
Don’t get me wrong—there is asking and asking , and I’ve witnessed both kinds.
I mean, Dante was asked to be capo…
Ahead is the new marina and leisure complex. I can already see the big neon sign for Peppermint Moon. When Jero pulls into the underground service parking garage, I know something is going down that I’m not going to like.
He slams out of the car. I’m right behind him. He pops open the trunk and takes out a couple of baseball bats, passing one to me. “You loaded?”
“Yep.”
He nods. “Good. Keep one alive.”
The ants under my skin reach a frenzy. We start walking toward the service doors. Adrenaline is already flooding my system.
“I know you’ll always have his back,” he says. “He’s family. I respect that. I’ll always regret not being there for your uncle Stephano, and for Cedro and his wife.”
We slam through the service door, passing a security guard who steps back instantly as he recognizes us.
His eyes lower to the bats in our hands.
I hear him on the radio, but I tune it out.
“Sometimes you don’t get to pick a side, ya know?” Jero continues. “Sometimes circumstances thrust one upon you, and you have to roll with it… You don’t need to treat me like the enemy, mate. You’ve got Dante’s back, and when it comes down to it, when it’s important, I’ve got yours.”
DANTE
There are neither questions nor threats. Only blows.
With each and every one of them, I’m more convinced that this has been orchestrated by Ettore and not one of Jimmy’s disgruntled minions.
My lip is bleeding; My right eye is swelling shut. The leather-covered fists land against my stomach: slow, deliberate, precise blows. Time to breathe between them, to savor, to anticipate the next.
I took boxing while at college, so I know how it feels to take a hit. But it’s been a while. Also, in college bouts, they stopped before it got to the cracked ribs stage, and I didn’t have my wrists bound at my fucking back.
Leon is going to come back at some point.
Another blow.
Another breath.
The trouble in VIP was probably a distraction.
Where the hell is Leon? Fuck, I hope he’s not lying on the floor.
Another blow.
Another breath.
What the fuck happened to the rest of my security?
Another blow.
I’m going to puke.
The door slams open. The first man has taken a bat to the side of the head before I realize Christian is the man wielding it.
He crumples to the floor.
Christian drops the bat and draws his gun.
He has blown out the kneecap of the one holding me and stalked over to put a bullet in the final man’s skull while I’m still grappling to process that he’s here.
My head is ringing. He casually steps over to the one he kneecapped who is screaming on the floor and blows out his skull, too.
I might take a moment to appreciate his skill if I wasn’t busy grappling with the urge to retch and fighting to keep my legs from buckling.
“What the fuck are you doing here?” The words come out slightly slurred.
My legs win the what-next decision, and I slide down the wall until my ass hits the floor. It brings fresh agony to my aching ribs.
Christian grins at me and shakes his head before it shifts to a grimace. “Didn’t I tell you I would always have your back? You don’t have the disposition for this shit. Were you even carrying a piece?”
“I’m a capo. I shouldn’t need to shoot anyone.”
He helps me to my feet. I spit out a mouthful of blood.
“Get a piece, yeah?”
“Trust me, the learning curve may be steep, but I’m pragmatic.”
Movement snags my eyes, and I notice Jero standing in the doorway.
How much of that did he hear?
He gives me a chin lift. He’s got his phone in his hand, talking to someone. The man on the floor groans and tries to rise. Jero plants a boot in the center of his back and continues with his call.
Chris doesn’t seem worried about it so I do the only thing I can and trust my brother to know the man he works with every day.
The sounds of pounding footsteps penetrate the ringing in my ears as Christian helps me lower my ass to my office chair and Leon barrels into the room. His white shirt is splattered with blood, and he’s holding his gun.
Jero is busy securing the man still alive—the one Christian hit with the bat.
“Fuck,” Leon mutters. “Like, what the fuck?”
“Hey, Leon,” Christian says cheerfully. “It’s been a while.”
“Christian? Jesus! What are they feeding you?” Leon turns and pokes his head out the door. “Get a medical kit and some fucking ice, for fucks’ sake.”
A couple of my men enter and help Jero get the grunting thug to his feet.
“Take him somewhere secure and make sure he doesn’t die,” Leon says.
A woman arrives at the door wearing nothing but a silver sequined bikini and five-inch heels.
Her hair is long, lustrous, and cherry red.
That has to be a wig. It takes me several seconds to notice she’s holding a medical kit.
A look passes between her and Leon. If my head wasn’t pounding, I might be able to make more sense of it.
“Someone asked for a medical kit?” she says. Her voice is soft and cultured and doesn’t remotely fit the way she looks.
“Who the fuck let you back here?” Leon says, scowling over her shoulder as if searching for the person responsible for letting her through, before he directs a lukewarm smile her way. “Don’t want to get any blood on your sequins, Cherry. Run along, hmm?”
Leon grasps the medical kit.
She retains her hold and a tug of war ensues. “They asked for a doctor, boss.”
He releases the kit. “Hidden talents, Cherry?” His lips tug up. “Or should I call you Doctor Cherry?” He gives her an up-down look. “Assume your doctorate is in something medical and not twerking?”
“Mr. Barone, I spent a year working in ER. I can stomach a little blood and whatever has happened to your friend. Do you want me to help him or not?”
Christian snickers.
“Yes,” I interrupt. “Let her the fuck through before I bleed all over the place.”