11 #2
If I were the kind of person who looks for silver linings, I’d find one in the fact that I became pregnant with Aurora. Because it allowed me to drop out, and honestly, the months before I began to show were pure torture.
The thing is, I’m not the kind of person who looks for silver linings.
“I’m sure Carmelo’s going to at least beat the shit out of you,” I grumble, when Logan doesn’t answer. “I can’t wait to see that.”
He smirks, then dials a number on his cell phone, putting it on speaker phone.
“Hey, man.”
“Yo.”
I keep my eyes resolutely turned toward the window, my skin suddenly cold and numb.
“So, did you find my whore of a wife?” asks Carmelo.
“Yup.” Logan’s voice sounds a little strained as he answers. Probably not feeling so calm after all about telling Carmelo what happened, I decide.
But the next second, the strain is gone when he adds, “And I just killed Enzo. Sorry about that.”
“Ah. Damn it.” There’s a long pause, and then Carmelo says, “I guess you had your reasons.”
“I certainly did.”
I roll my eyes, because he definitely did not have his reasons. But at the same time, the way he shot that guy in cold blood confirms everything I’ve heard about Logan over the years. He’s become a hardened criminal who shoots before talking.
That crew he goes around with—Damien, Igor, Vale—they’re all bloodthirsty. I’ve heard it said that Logan is the kind of person to kill a guy just for staring at him a beat too long. It made me terrified of running into him, but thankfully, even though he goes around with Carmelo, I never saw him.
Until now. Now he’s got me in his hands, and I can’t even understand how I’m still alive.
“Alright. Listen,” continues Carmelo, “I was going to call you. We’ve got a little situation on our hands. Stefano and Tito got shot last night. They’re dead.”
I sit up, tensing. I know those guys. They’re very high up on the chain, very close to the don, Arsenio Moretti—Carmelo’s father. How the hell did anyone get to them?
“Hmm.” A twitch of Logan’s eyebrow is the only sign that he’s surprised. “Who did it?”
“That’s just what we don’t know. Kinda looks like an inside job. Gotta lay low and figure it out. I’ve never seen my father so nervous.”
“Okay. Do I still bring her to you at the warehouse?”
“I couldn’t wait. I went straight to my mother’s place in Idaho. Can you hold onto her for a few days?”
My eyes widen as Logan lets out a string of curse words. “Fuck, man. I’m not a fucking babysitter.”
“I know that. I’m sorry, man.” I’ve never heard Carmelo apologize before, but hearing him act so differently with Logan is just the tip of the iceberg. I sit up in my seat, clenching and unclenching my hands, trying to figure out if this conversation is good news or bad.
No, not good news: nothing could be good news. But is it bad, or is it worse?
“You know I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t important,” says Carmelo.
“I don’t have time to deal with that shit right now.
Just a few days, okay? I’ll have someone fetch her.
Or maybe get a plane. Or just do it right there.
But I want to see it. No one fucks me over.
I need to figure out the Tito and Stefano shit first, though, or I’ll never hear the end of it from Papa. ”
In his every word, I read a threat, and I glance over at Logan, hoping he’ll react. Didn’t he tell me I was a drama queen for thinking I was going to die? Is he really bringing me back to Carmelo knowing what fate awaits me? Or does he think Carmelo just plans to beat me up?
But Logan’s face is a mask. I can’t understand what’s going on in his mind. His knuckles are white from the way he’s clenching them around the steering wheel, but all that tells me is that he’s nervous about the Tito and Stefano situation. It doesn’t tell me a thing about my own fate.
“Where do I bring her, then?” he asks tersely.
“Anywhere. You’re already on your way to the warehouse?
Just leave her there. There’s some metal hooks in the ceiling, I think, so you could even just chain her there and call it a day.
Leave a fucking bowl of dog food or something.
I don’t care. The only thing I ask is to make sure she’s still breathing when I get to her. You can’t make a dead girl pay.”
He chuckles at his own joke, but Logan doesn’t react.
“Give her a good walloping if she’s being mouthy,” adds Carmelo.
“She’s a real puttana sometimes. Honestly, do what you want with her.
I don’t give a fuck. Just don’t kill her.
Keep reminding yourself of that, by the way.
” He laughs again. “No killing her yet. You’re a little too trigger-happy, Logan, you know?
Cazzo! But I guess that’s what makes you good. ”
By now, I’m sagging against the back of the seat, feeling more dead than alive. Especially when I see Logan listening passively.
Isn’t there some part of him that still cares? Any part of him?
I guess I only have myself to blame. But that doesn’t make it any easier to bear.
“What about the kid?” is all Logan says.
My eyes go to the rearview mirror, and I drink in the sight of my beautiful little girl, who’s fallen asleep like she always does when she’s in the car.
Meanwhile Everest is listening quietly to the phone call.
He doesn’t look particularly happy, but he does look like he’s used to this kind of shit.
I guess he doesn’t care, either.
I know no one cares about me anymore, but every so often, I take a step back from my life, and realize just how much it’s true. And then, it’s like a punch to the gut.
I guess I was a bitch. I guess I do deserve it. But do I really deserve so much of it?
“Don’t kill it either,” says Carmelo after a pause, bringing me back to the conversation.
“It?” echoes Logan.
“The kid. Don’t kill the kid. That’s the only good thing that’s come out of my wife, and it isn’t even a boy.” He sighs. “But I guess it’s better than nothing. Don’t kill it, I’ll figure it out when I get there. Hand it off to Everest. Minchia, but I bet his tits are just aching to get milked.”
Another loud chuckle, and this time, Logan slams his hand against the steering wheel.
“Fuck, man! I don’t ever want to hear—another—the—fuck—”
I’ve never seen him like this. It’s like he can’t get his thoughts together. He’s so furious that what words he does manage to speak are completely choked.
Even though this time his anger isn’t directed at me, I still inch back to the side, quaking.
“It’s okay, man,” says Everest quickly. “It doesn’t matter.”
“Scusa, fratello,” apologizes Carmelo, and I blink my eyes in surprise once again. I have never heard him apologize to anyone, and yet he’s done so twice in this conversation. How the hell does Logan have so much power over the don’s son? He’s not even a made man! He’s not even Italian!
“Okay,” grunts Logan.
“Just a bad joke,” insists Carmelo. “Everest knows. Si, Everest? Listen, man, I won’t make you stay too long with the bitch. As soon as I can, I’m taking her off your hands. Va bene?”
“Okay,” says Logan again, and then hangs up.
It’s only then that I fully process the conversation. And not just the part about the chains and the warehouse and the dog food.
It doesn’t make sense that I would feel any surprise over Logan’s lack of reaction when Carmelo insulted me.
Nor that it would bother me to compare it to the way he absolutely lost it when Carmelo made that joke about Everest. Everest is his friend.
I’m the person he despises. It all makes sense. But that doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt.
It does hurt. It does fucking hurt.
I lean against the window, my heart heavy.