Chapter 4 Eian #2
“Nothing,” I tell her and control my fucking face. “You figure out what he wants from his place, and as soon as he and Duffy get discharged you bring everyone to the house. I don’t want the Italians to have a chance of getting a good look at him again.”
“We saw Di Leo get out before we got him,” Mac says unnecessarily. “He’s going to know what he looks like.”
“I’m well aware,” I deadpan. “He’s going to suspect we took Colby, and that he works for us, but he won’t know for sure, so you make sure every one of our men knows to steer fucking clear of that warehouse, and make sure no one sees Colby when Doc discharges him. Have a talk with the nurses too.”
Mac looks sufficiently chastised over making me repeat myself, so with that, I walk away and out of the clinic.
Blake’s waiting in the car when I open the back door and slide in.
Now that Duffy’s awake, Mac isn’t trying to tear his skin off, so Blake is no longer on babysitting duty and he’s back to being with me all day—with some exceptions, like when I go visit my cousin and his family.
Only Bran goes with me to the Crawfords’.
“Where to, Boss?”
“Take me to the garage on Second Street, we’ll grab my car and go see Bran.”
My gut is telling me that a normal conversation with my son is the only thing that’s going to stop me from demanding we go right back to the clinic.
There are so many reasons why I need to keep my distance, and the second biggest one is that when Duffy wakes up he’s going to groan and moan for hours over how I knocked him out.
It was the only way to have a rational conversation with Colby, though, since Duffy made himself right at home in his room.
And of course I got the syringe with the right dose from a nurse who made sure it wouldn’t harm Duffy in any real way.
In fact, he should be thanking me for the great sleep he’s getting.
That reminds me, I should’ve told Rory to get Duffy back to his own room, but I honestly forgot.
I take my phone from my coat pocket and look at the black screen for several seconds, debating back and forth with myself.
If I text Rory now, she’s going to know I’m overanalyzing, and she can sniff out my thoughts better than I can most days.
I really don’t feel like sitting through an interrogation over dinner whenever she comes back home, so for the sake of my peace of mind, I put my phone away and watch the world go by out the window.
“I know you didn’t really come here to ask me about my classes, no matter how many questions you ask about my intellectual property paper,” Bran says, half an hour after I came into his apartment.
“I want to hear about your life,” I defend myself—weakly.
“I know you do, Dad, but something is obviously going on and I don’t know if I should be worried or not, so just spit it out.”
I don’t want him to worry. Hell, this is why I’ve—
“What would you say if I started seeing someone?” That’s not what I wanted to fucking say. “No, forget it. It’s just—” Fuck, I hate not being able to speak clearly. “Things with the Italians are about to heat up again.”
Bran wasn’t alive when we went to war against the Marianos—hell, I was just a knobby little shithead—or when I took out the Taccones, but although I’ve never put him in the middle of family business, I’ve never hidden our history for him, specifically his mother’s story.
He was only five years old when I knew it was time I explained to him why Rory is the way she is—that he would understand. I didn’t want him to think his mom didn’t love him or treasure him just because she isn’t like other moms. If Rory loves anyone, it’s Bran.
It takes him a second—and I don’t blame him, since I’m not in the business of asking anyone for permission to do anything—but when his mouth snaps shut, and he shakes his head with his eyes closed as if he’s getting rid of unnecessary thoughts, I have to resist a groan because I know he’s not going to let that little slip-up go.
“You know I don’t give a shit about the Italians, and that as soon as things heat up, I’ll just go pick up Nan and we’ll take a trip until things die down.”
“I know that,” I mumble, looking away to the moderately nice view outside his ten-story window.
Bran has always been a good kid. He’s never—not once—complained when I had him shipped out of the city, for months on end sometimes.
It hasn’t happened a lot, just two or three times, and I really hope this war will wait for the holidays so he doesn’t miss any important classes.
If it doesn’t, then I’m going to have to ask Harry to make a few calls so his professors give him some leeway.
He’s still such a good kid, that he wouldn’t let me get him a bigger apartment, closer to the park, with a better view or in a better building. He wanted something more normal . . .
I hate that the one thing he truly wants is something I’m never going to be able to give him. Is that why I asked the question? Is that why I’m here?
I’m not a stupid man.
If there’s one thing I’ve spent my life doing, it’s making sure I always know just as much if not more than anyone who’s in front of me.
I know what the feelings Colby has sparked in me mean, and I know what follows.
“I guess it’s pretty dumb of me that I never even imagined something like this would happen.” The self-deprecating smile on his face is wrong. Just plain wrong.
“You’re not dumb,” I growl, shoving off the couch, and I start pacing because I need to stand. “I don’t like that I didn’t think it would happen either, son. So if anyone here is missing a few neurons, it’s me.”
“Please,” he scoffs, and settles in more comfortably on the couch. Then he just stares up at me with a normal smile. “But if it took you by surprise, then it’s gotta be a big deal, huh?”
I stay silent. There’s no need to point out the obvious, and I owe Bran a few more minutes to assimilate . . . everything. Hell, I need more than a few minutes myself.
Bran is one of two people I can be one hundred percent myself with. It’s only him and Harry, and now that I’m here, I can feel the shock of it. I can reel and be unsure. So yeah, I’m just going to keep pacing.
“To answer your question,” he starts out, in a slow, measured voice. “I’d say I’m happy for you. I wouldn’t have anything against you . . . seeing someone. Though I doubt you’re going to do it like a normal person.”
Now I’m the one snorting.
“You’ve got that right. I don’t have that luxury.”
“And you wouldn’t want to go on dates and take things slow even if you could.”
I stop and look at him with a raised eyebrow. The way he holds my gaze, challenging me, is something few people dare to do. But Bran’s always challenging me. It’s a good thing. Well, I think so at least.
“No,” I relent. “I’ve never wanted to do things the usual way.”
“That’s an understatement,” he says with a laugh in every word. “So, come on.” He pats the couch. “Settle down and tell me about this person.”
I roll my eyes but walk over and sit. After a long sigh, I admit to myself that I want to tell someone about Colby.
“It’s the man your uncle told us to check on after he woke up.”
“The one you suspected the Italians had.” He fills in the blanks. He never misses much, and he was right there, wasn’t he? When we ran out of the clinic and went to save Colby.
“Colby . . . Colby Major,” I tell him.
“Why does that name sound familiar?”
I have to laugh, then let out a groan while I rub a hand down my face. This is so fucked up and tangled.
“He’s a journalist, or was, but he got canned about a year ago for starting an investigation on the Italians. Anyway, he was a news broadcaster, so that’s probably why you recognize his name.”
There’s only silence from my right, and when I finally look, Bran’s open mouth is accompanied by wide, surprised eyes.
I give him another minute. I get it.
Me and a journalist?
In what universe does that make sense?
Someone with the socially acceptable kind of integrity and values, someone who investigates criminals, someone who has never lived in my world.
“Okay, start from the beginning,” Bran demands, then brings his leg up to sit sideways on the couch, facing me. I mimic him and get comfortable, because I doubt I can get through this quickly.
“Your Ma, Mac, and I went to the warehouse where I was told Di Leo was supposedly holding an informant of ours.”
“Right after Duffy first told you he even had an informant,” Bran pipes in.
“Exactly.” I debate on how much to tell him, but family business isn’t really the point of telling him any of it, so I decide on explaining all the necessary parts.
“We don’t really have informants, and I don’t think that’s what Colby did for Duffy anyway.
I think he was just a lookout, making sure we knew who to pick up, when, and where.
You know your uncle is always fucking over the Italians.
Just petty stuff, making their lives harder. ”
“Yeah, I know.” That proud smile shouldn’t make me so happy, but it does. I like that Bran is proud of Duffy.
“Anyway, we got there and checked with the parabolic microphone. They were messing with Colby, that much was clear. So we went in and got him.” Of course it was more complicated than that, but he’ll get the gist. “He was badly beaten and passed out, and when he did wake up he could barely keep his eyes open, but the second he realized he was outside, he started fighting hard.”
“Why?” Bran asks quietly.
“He has a daughter, Maggie, and he’d left her in the Murphys’ care for the night.”
“Laura? Laura Murphy?” he asks, surprised. I don’t blame him. She used to babysit Bran, and her father’s still running one of the brothels for me. “How does he know her?”
“They’re neighbors. One of those coincidences, apparently, since he moved in around five months before Duffy even met him.”
“Huh,” is all Bran says to that, so I keep going.
“We went to the apartment, got Maggie, and that’s when he finally passed out.”
“Okay . . .” He drags the word out, clearly sensing there’s more.
“I just . . . I was impressed by how hard he kept fighting to get to his daughter.”
I’m sure that was the first thing that made me take notice of him.
“Then this morning he woke up for the first time. Or well, it was the first time he was lucid. And when I got there, he was talking to Duffy, giving him attitude.”
I can’t help but smile at the memory. He was so indignant while Duffy was laying into him for investigating without backup.
“Oh, damn,” Bran whispers, bringing me back to the present. “I guess if you were ever going to fall for anyone, it would be a carelessly brave, smart but impulsive dude.”
I frown at him and shake my head.
“He’s going to have to cut that out.”
“Do you think he will? I mean, it doesn’t sound like he’s one to give up.”
Ain’t that the truth.
“We had a conversation,” I start, then don’t know how to finish the sentence.
“About?” Bran encourages.
“About what a stupid fucking thing he did. How now it’s my job to protect him and he can never do shit like that again.”
“Oh,” he says, like he suddenly understands something.
“What?” I demand.
“You acted like ‘The Boss,’” he says while making quotation marks with his fingers.
“What the hell does that mean? I am ‘The Boss.’” I mimic him.
“The one thing missing from everything you’ve told me is the part where you actually tell Colby you’re interested in him.
” I move my gaze away to the wall. I’m not going to make excuses for that.
I don’t know how I’m going to handle this with Colby yet.
“So you’re here just to feel things out with me, and I get it, I do, but .
. .” He trails off, but I don’t have the patience for that.
“Just spit it out.”
“It’s just that you’re always going to be the boss.
If he’s interested in you too, then in some way you’re always going to be his boss, and that can be tricky in relationships.
I bet even trickier with him because he wasn’t born into the mafia.
He might not be prepared for what a relationship with you will be like. ”
“I know this.” And yeah, I saw how Colby appreciated my looks, but that doesn’t necessarily mean he’s going to automatically be on board.
This is going to be tricky.
“You’re going to have to tell him. Explain all of this before you drag him down the aisle.”
And that is enough to put me on edge.
Bran knows, somehow, where all of this is going. Where my mind and . . . heart—God help me—want this to end.