63. ANTONIO
ANTONIO
I hadn’t slept in what felt like an eternity. And at this rate, I didn’t think I would ever get any rest. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I saw Joey stepping out of that exit door. I saw my own hands gripping the gun. I heard his words echo in my head— One shot, Antonio. One shot. That’s all you got. So you always make it count.
I had made it count. But not enough.
Joey was alive. And he wouldn’t rest until he found out who tried to kill him. Little did he know the person was his son in the room down the hallway from him. Right under his nose the entire time. It was only a matter of time. Joey wasn’t the kind of man to let things go. He’d dig and dig until he found the truth. And when he did…
I’d be dead.
I stormed into the boys’ locker room, shoving the newspaper against Giovanni’s chest. He scowled, snatching it from my hands and glancing down at the bold headline.
Could the shooter expect The Shark to be out for blood?
“We’ve got a problem,” I said.
He chuckled, shaking his head. “No, you have a problem.” Smirking, he shoved the newspaper back at me. “Now get the fuck out of my way.”
I grabbed his arm, spinning him around. “You were the driver! That makes you part of this!”
His jaw tightened. “And I did my fucking job. I got us the fuck out of there.” He stepped in close, eyes burning into mine. “You had one job, and you fucked it up.”
“If I go down, so do you,” I shot back.
Giovanni grinned. “Joey would expect this from me. But you?” He tilted his head. “Imagine what he’ll do when he finds out his brand-new son was behind the whole thing.” He shoved me hard against the lockers. But I didn’t move. I stood there, my mind racing, trying to figure out what the fuck I was going to do.
I had made a mistake. And there was no way to take it back. Every day, he was getting better. Stronger. But also more obsessive—more unhinged in his desperate search for the person who shot him. Living under the same roof with him had become suffocating. But I was sure that was just the guilt talking.
Joey’s head poked through my bedroom door, startling me. “Hey, kid.”
“Hey, Joey.” I snapped my head up as he slipped inside, closing the door behind him.
The walls felt like they were closing in. Just the two of us. Trapped . I hadn’t even noticed I’d been pacing until then. Joey sat at the edge of my bed, and I forced myself to join him. “I wanted to apologize,” he began. “For everything that’s happened these last few weeks.”
“It’s okay,” I cut in .
He exhaled, running a hand over his jaw. “I just want you to know—I’m getting better. I’ll be back to myself in no time. We’ll be back to how we were before you know it. Tossing the baseball in the new backyard and getting you all ready to be the next big Yankee star, with me front row.”
Then came the smirk. My stomach twisted. What the fuck had I done?
“I feel terrible that you’ve had to go through all this,” Joey said, wrapping an arm around my shoulders and pulling me closer. I wanted to resist, but I was exhausted—in every way a person could be. My body slumped, and my head dropped.
“Did you figure out who did it?” I dared to ask.
His grip on me tightened. “Ben’s working on it,” he said.
My eyes snapped to his, searching for any hint of suspicion. But there was none. He didn’t suspect me. Which could only mean he suspected someone else. And that meant someone else would die because of me. “What are you going to do to them?”
Joey sighed, shaking his head. “That’s not important.”
A sob tore through me before I could stop it. I collapsed forward, burying my face in my hands. Joey tugged me closer, holding me against him. But it felt wrong. Wrong to want his comfort. Wrong to let him give it. And wrong to know I was guilty while someone else would soon pay the price.