CHAPTER NINE
Marco
I GRAB THE glass off the table, my hands shaking. The cold, smooth surface feels alien in my grasp. Without thinking, I hurl it against the wall. The shattering sound echoes through the empty room, a brief, violent relief from the turmoil inside me. My brother’s gone, and it feels like a part of me shattered with that glass.
My phone keeps ringing, vibrating insistently on the coffee table. Lucas, probably. Maybe Damien or James. But I can’t talk to anyone right now. What would I even say?
I slump onto the couch, feeling the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders. My gaze drifts to Sasha's phone lying next to me. I reach for it and open her photo gallery.
Sasha’s photos flood the screen. The first one is of her in a cozy café, an apron wrapped around her waist, a genuine smile lighting up her face. Her green eyes are so vibrant, so full of life. A few strands of her long brown hair have escaped, framing her face perfectly. It’s like a snapshot of a different world, one filled with light and joy.
I swipe through more images. Sasha with friends at the beach, all laughing and carefree. Then I see pictures of a dog, a black Irish Setter. I never noticed a dog when I was at her home. I close the phone and rub my eyes.
I can’t stay here. The walls feel like they’re closing in, the silence too loud. I grab my keys and head out, needing to do something, anything, to break this feeling. I drive around in circles for awhile, pulling up across from the pub where I know my crew is. But I can’t enter; I know the minute I do, I’d want to leave. I don’t know what has me driving on, and soon, I slow down close to Sasha’s home. It’s a place I’ve only been to a couple of times, but right now, it’s my destination.
When I pull up, the sight hits me like a punch. The place is a dump, far worse than I remembered; even today, I hadn’t really taken in my surroundings. I was too consumed with anger to notice the trash bags piled up by the door; the lawn was overgrown and unkempt. There’s no way she’s coming back here. A sinking feeling settles in my gut as I get out of the car and walk to the front door. I push the door open, no one locked it on the way out. It isn’t like anyone would rob the place as there is nothing to steal.
Inside, the air is stale, a mix of old takeout and neglect. I call out, but there’s no answer. Then I hear a soft whine. Following the sound, I find the black Irish setter from the pictures. He’s lying on a tattered blanket, eyes full of sadness.
“Hey,” I murmur, kneeling down to rub his head. His fur is matted, but he nuzzles into my hand, desperate for comfort. “Let’s get you out of here.” I rise and take a few steps away from him; when I tap my leg, he jumps up and follows at my heels. He follows me quickly out the door to the car, and when I open the passenger door, he hesitates. “I can take you to Sasha,” I say. He still doesn’t move. I tap the seat, and finally, he jumps in.
He settles into the passenger seat without fuss, as if he knows this is where he’s supposed to be. When I start the car, the beams of light cut across the house again, like a reminder to me that Sasha can’t come back here. I drive aimlessly for a while, the city blurring past. The dog sits quietly, occasionally glancing over at me with those soulful eyes.
My phone buzzes again. Baz. Reluctantly, I answer.
“Hey, Baz.”
“How are you holding up?” His voice is gruff, concerned.
“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to talk about Danny. “Any word on the street?”
“No one’s talking,” Baz replies. There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken words. I can’t help but wonder if it was an inside job. Could Baz be involved? No, he’s been my friend since childhood. But still, doubt creeps in.
“What about Sasha’s dad?” I ask, changing the subject.
“He’s fine,” Baz says. “How’s Sasha?”
“She’s asleep,” I say quickly, not wanting to discuss it further. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Before he can ask more, I hang up.
The dog looks at me, head tilted. I reach over and scratch behind his ears. “Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?”
I keep driving, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the car, until I know I have to go home. Driving around is fucking stupid. I’m nearly out of the city when I see a guy on a street corner. He normally wouldn’t have caught my attention, but the way he passes small packets to the local drug addicts, and the bandage across his nose makes me stop.
Dave. After everything I said, he was back dealing within hours. I pull up across the street, and when his next client walks away with a hungry look in her eyes and unsteady feet, I get out of the car. A slow drizzle begins to fall, but I dart across the empty street. He’s stuffing something into his pocket and doesn’t sense me until I’m right on top of him.
“Marco?” He tries out a smile like we are old friends.
I grip the scruff of his neck and drag him deeper into the alleyway.
“Look, man!” he starts as if he can explain away disobeying me.
“I gave you a warning that you didn’t heed,” I say.
He opens his mouth to protest.
I release his neck and, in one quick motion, grab his head and snap his neck. The moment I release him, he falls to the ground of the alleyway. His body joins the rubbish and a stream of dirty water.
I don’t linger but feel a sense of satisfaction—a release from all the anger that’s coursing through my veins. I climb back into the car. The dog watches me as I pull away from the curb.
When I pull up to the house, I see Lucas sitting on the front steps, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. He stands as I open the car door, and the dog jumps out, tail wagging.
“What’s with the dog?” Lucas asks, his eyes darting between me and the black setter.
I ignore the question, heading inside. The dog follows close behind, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. I grab a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the kitchen floor. Then I rummage through the fridge and find some leftover chicken. The dog devours it, hungry and grateful.
“Marco, why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been ringing you nonstop,” Lucas says, his voice rising with each word.
I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll lose the fragile grip I have on my emotions. I focus on the dog, running my hand through his fur. “I just needed some time,” I mumble.
Lucas sighs, the frustration evident in his posture. “Dad’s called a meeting. First thing in the morning.”
I nod, acknowledging the information but not really processing it. My mind is elsewhere, caught in a whirlwind of memories and pain.
Lucas looks at the dog again. “So, whose dog is it?”
“It’s Sasha’s,” I admit, finally meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t just leave him there to starve.”
“He won’t,” Lucas says, his tone sharp. “Sasha will be home tomorrow, and she can take care of him.”
I know what he’s really saying. She isn’t your problem, Marco. What the hell are you playing at? But I can’t let go, not yet. Maybe not ever.
“I don’t know what I’m doing, Lucas,” I say quietly, feeling the weight of my own words. “But I’m not letting her go. Not now.”
Lucas shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’re making things complicated.”
“Maybe,” I reply, feeling the truth of it. But complications are the least of my worries right now. The dog nudges my hand. I rub his head.
Lucas turns away, heading toward the door. “Just be ready for the meeting,” he says over his shoulder.
I watch him go, feeling a pang of guilt. I should have asked him if he was okay. Danny is his brother, too. But Lucas hadn’t been around much lately, and Danny was closer to me.
After Lucas leaves, I head to my room, the dog following close behind. I don’t have the heart to make him sleep elsewhere, so I let him settle at the foot of my bed. As I lie down, the comfort of his presence is unexpectedly soothing.
I reach under my pillow, feeling the cold, familiar metal of my gun. It’s not like anyone could break in here, but old habits die hard. Our father made sure of that. He made us sleep with a loaded gun from a young age. Only Danny never did. He was afraid it would go off in the middle of the night and blow his head off. I used to tease him about that, calling him a scaredy cat. Now, the memory twists my heart.
Exhaustion pulls me under, and I drift into a restless sleep. A sound startles me awake. My eyes snap open, and I see a figure in the room. Instinct takes over, and I extract the gun from under my pillow, pointing it at the shadowy form.
The figure gasps, and in the dim light, I see Sasha’s face, pale and frightened.