Chapter 16
CHRISTIAN
T hey really did a number on Dante. The one we kept alive is still in his possession, although I doubt he’ll offer much beyond giving Dante the satisfaction of fucking him up.
Jero is tight-lipped on the ride home. I didn’t ask him how he knew it was going down.
If he wanted me to know, he would tell me.
It’s six in the morning. While it’s not unusual for us to be turning in at this point, today I’m exhausted but also wired.
One of the assholes had a hammer with him.
I assume they intended to leave Dante maimed in one way or another.
No one fucks with my brother while I’m still breathing.
Carmela. This is all her fucking fault.
At night, when I lay in bed alone, my thoughts drift between restlessness about what’s happening to Dante without me there to watch his back and wondering what Carmela tastes like.
I also think about strangling her, not in the dead kind of way, but more squeezing a bit so she can’t quite get enough air.
I watched a video once on how to safely choke someone out during sex—more than once if I’m honest, then I read some articles.
Finally, I asked Jero for some practical advice.
Not the during sex part. I figured he would be more inclined to help me if I gave it a different context.
You know, more a thug’s guide to safe asphyxiation, and the merits of stopping airflow versus blood flow.
A couple of the girls at the strip club are into that and let me practice afterward.
It’s pretty fucked up; I understand that.
This is a fucked-up world, so I guess I fit right in.
“What do you reckon is going on between Leon and Cherry, then?” I ask Jero.
He lifts one brow. “None of our business, mate, is what’s going on.”
I suddenly pay attention to where we are. “Why are we going to Ettore’s house? Please tell me I’m not on Carmela watch today?”
“Boss wants a meeting.”
“And you didn’t think to mention it?” I’m not in the mood for Ettore today. I might just go ahead and off the fucker, consequences be damned.
“You were too busy eyeballing Leon’s woman just to fuck with him when I got the call.”
I grin. “How do you know I was doing it to fuck with him? She’s hot. What’s not to like?”
“We both know she’s not your type, mate. You don’t usually go for brains. Also, Leon is a dangerous man. Don’t fuck with him on this.”
“So you’re admitting something is going on…” My brows pull together. “Why is Leon dangerous? Something happen that I should know about?”
“You’re such a nosy fucker,” he mutters without heat. “He’s working for your brother because it fits his own agenda. But Leon Barone is a hell of a lot more than a club manager.”
“He’s been living on a yacht for three fucking years.”
I get another eye roll for that.
“Making connections. You still have family in Italy, don’t you?”
“Does Dante know?”
“Unless he’s stupid, which he’s not, then yes, he knows.”
“Alright then.” I feel irritable. “Can we at least stop to get a coffee? I need something to wake me up before Ettore interrogates us. I assume he’s not happy that we fucked with his plans.”
Okay, I’ve gone there. I must need this caffeine fix more than I realized.
He sticks the blinkers on and pulls into the curb outside Coffee Creations.
He doesn’t get out, so I don’t get out either, although my focus is now split between the coffee shop that legitimately does the best muffins in Chicago and the potential to find myself chopped into dog-sized proportions and fed through the local pet cremation business Ettore has in his pocket.
“He won’t ask. Not directly, anyway. Asking would show weakness. But he will know, so don’t volunteer anything.” He gets out of the car.
I get out and follow.
“How’s that tattoo coming along?” he asks as we wait in line to be served.
“Fucking amazing. Glad you put me onto Goat. He really knows his stuff.”
“Yeah, he’s the best.”
He’s right about the interrogation that isn’t quite an interrogation. Ettore poorly disguises his tension, so I do what I do best: reach into my personality drawer and find one that sits somewhere between dumb soldier and appropriately wary.
I’m instructed to take Carmela and her sister to visit their mother’s grave.
That’s going to be a blast. After what happened to Dante, I’m extra pissed with her. But I’m not a complete dick, and fucking with someone visiting her mother’s grave feels a step too far even for me.
I’m told she’s in the kitchen.
Ettore leaves with Jero.
I enter the kitchen and find Carmela doom-scrolling on her phone and her sister staring at Brigida, who is scrubbing the already-clean counter.
No one reacts when the door clicks shut behind me.
“Ready to go?”
“I’ll get my coat.” The kid is up like a flash, but not a hint of the sass today.
Carmela stuffs her cell phone in her bag and rises without meeting my eyes.
Brigida is still fucking scrubbing.
I don’t claim to be the most empathetically attuned person on the planet, but in this business, you have to learn to read people. There’s a prickling sensation as the ants get restless under my skin. I don’t like it one bit.
“Something happen?”
Brigida stops scrubbing and scurries off into the pantry.
Carmela goes to walk past me.
I catch her arm.
She flinches. “Take your hands off me!”
I release her instantly. My brows pull together.
Her chest is heaving, but she doesn’t move.
“Can we have a truce today, Christian? Can we have one day where you don’t goad me, where you don’t call me Mrs.…”
She stops short like the name is too abhorrent to even speak. I never really thought about her feelings in all of this.
“Sure, babe.”
She inhales sharply, then suddenly giggles. I swear that sound hits me up the side of the head and shakes something loose.
I smirk.
She’s smiling, too, but it fades, and her eyes lift to meet mine.
She’s been crying, but her mother’s death is still fresh…
and she’s marrying a man whose name she hates.
Yet there’s something more to this that I can’t get a read on.
Then she rises on her tiptoes and brushes her lips against my cheek, before she turns away like she’s shy or confused about what she just did.
I’m pretty fucking confused, too.
Her hand goes to her throat, her fingers playing with the pink diamond pendant… Where have I seen that before?
“Thank you,” she says, staring at me—I’m staring right back at her. “You know, I really wanted to be Mrs. Barone.” She slips out the kitchen door, leaving me standing there.
Mrs. Barone. She wanted to be a Barone.
She wanted to be my brother’s wife.
As I push through the door and follow after her, all I can think about is that my name is Barone, too.
By the time I reach the car where Davide is waiting to drive us, I remember where I’ve seen that necklace before. Dante bought it for her birthday. Probably gave it to her after he went down on her.
She’s wearing it right in front of Ettore.
A big ass grin spreads across my face. Good girl.