inside of me.
He climbs up and lies down, and it seems like the most natural thing in the world for me to climb next to him and place my head on his chest, to trace the line of his scar from his neck to his belly and say, “I’m so sorry this happened to you. I’m so sorry about your brother.”
Carlo goes stiff. I wonder if he’ll tell me how it happened. But instead, he only sighs.
“Let’s just watch the sky.”
13
Carlo
The next morning, I’m sitting in the back of my car, waiting for Nario to emerge from his townhouse so that we can get on with business. The street is quiet except for a homeless guy who’s slowly pushing a shopping cart overflowing with trash bags and rattling from where he’s tied tin cans to the front. I catch glimpses of Nario’s wife, Sil, through the window, and watch as my second-in-command leans down to ruffle his son’s hair.
And I tell myself that I feel nothing at it, just cold, but not the cold of the water last night. My cock is sore and in brief passing moments, I’m sure I can feel Hazel’s fingertip on my scar. It’s getting far too difficult to tell myself I feel nothing for this woman now, and that’s not good.
Feeling leaves a man exposed. Being exposed leaves a man open to betrayal. And that—I should know this better than anyone—leads to ruin.
“You catch the game last night, boss?” Giorgio asks from the driver’s seat. He’s got a boyish face despite his fifty-something years. A good, solid, simple man.
“I’m afraid I did not,” I say.
“It was a good one, all right, except that Polish motherfucker needs to learn what a wide receiver is. Look at this guy.”
The homeless man is ambling toward the car, having abandoned his cart, hand already outstretched for change. His shirt is raggedy and it’s difficult to tell his age, so dirt-smeared is his face. Giorgio raises a bushy gray eyebrow to me in the rearview mirror.
I wave a hand. “You decide,” I tell him.
“Got some stones walkin’ up to a car this fancy,” Giorgio mutters. “That’s worth a dollar.”
I pay it no more mind until, as Giorgio is rolling down the bulletproof glass, I spot the four-leaf clover tattoo on the homeless man’s forearm.
Then I see men emerging from the alleyway across the street.
“Giorgio, no—!”
He makes a gurgling noise as the homeless man’s blade slides softly into his throat. His eyes go wide as he grabs for the knife in panic. But the Irishman is quick, slicing him again. Giorgio’s throat gushes red ribbons of blood. I dart forward to close the window, but the snake has his hand inside, reaching for the lock.
Fuck.
I wince as he slices a deep gouge across my forearm. He yanks the door open just as I pull out my pistol, aim, and fire.
He slumps back into the street, but that doesn’t help me much now because the Irish are charging at the car, machine guns out, gunshots tearing at the air all around us.
I scramble out the opposite door.
My arm leaves a trail of blood in my wake. I peek over the car, then duck immediately. I’m sure I feel a bullet graze my hairline.
Behind me, glass smashes.
Glass from Nario’s house.
If any of these bastards hurt my second-in-command, or Sil, or his kids …
I can hear them on the other side of the car. I’ve fired one bullet. That means I have nine left.
I drop onto my side and look under the car: three men, six legs.
I burst around the side and shoot faster than I ever have before. All those long lessons Dad made me take come in handy now, as do all those long years serving as a frontline soldier for the Family. The men yelp and fall and, before they realize what’s going on, I fire my last three bullets.
All of them are headshots, but one man doesn’t die right away.
I crawl around the car as he reaches limply for his gun, mouth opening and closing, fishlike. My arm is slick now. All I hear is the ringing of bullets. Giorgio has fallen out of the car.
“That was a good man,” I growl, kneeling down, grabbing the knife from the man’s waist and bringing it to his throat. “A good fucking man.”
Nario runs onto the street as I stand up, opening and closing my fist to make sure that Irishman didn’t cut any tendons. It hurts, but I still have