on the pond. She must’ve seemed different, but like I said, I didn’t know her as well as I thought. I was just glad Mother was happy. Angel … I can still see his little grinning face.
“We were out on the water when Fergal Sweeney and his men hit us. Jasmine had been working with him for a long time, perhaps ever since she walked into my club that first night to seduce me. I still don’t know. Sweeney didn’t care about her. The first bullet hit her square in the chest just as she was telling me that, years ago, my father had killed her father in a territory dispute. Sweeney used her thirst for revenge against her, against us. She was dead before she hit the water. It was …”
He trembles, knocks back the whiskey, and wordlessly returns to the table to refill his glass. His eyes are red. He won’t look at me.
I dart my hand out, touching his knuckles. I have to blink back tears. This is a fucking mess. I can’t believe it. I’m in a web, tangled, all twisted up. I don’t know what to do.
“It was hell,” he whispers. “We had our weapons. We fought back. We rowed the boat to shore and managed to fight the Irish off. Father fought like a man possessed, but it wasn’t enough. He took three bullets. One man wrestled Mother to the ground and managed to cut her across the face before I got him away from her. A ricocheting shot hit Emily in the spine. Nario was hit. Angel—Angel—”
I stand up and press my body against his. He doesn’t hold me back, but he doesn’t push me away, either. I can feel his heartbeat through his suit jacket.
“I held my little brother as he bled to death. Fergal fucking Sweeney …”
He knocks back another whiskey.
“You hate him.”
“Of course I do,” he laughs grimly. “Wouldn’t you?”
There isn’t much left to say. We stand like that for a long time, me glued to Carlo, Carlo sort of hugging me back but mostly just sipping his whiskey. I bury my face in his jacket and finally let the tears come. My belly wrenches. I just can’t believe it. Of all the sick, fucked-up things that could’ve happened, did it have to be this?
“Life isn’t fair,” I sob.
“No,” Carlo says matter-of-factly. “It isn’t.”
20
Carlo
The next afternoon, Nario and I drive out to another of my nightclubs, Decadente, to use the gym there. It’s right at the back of the building, an old-school gym with nothing much except weight plates and bars. It’s time I worked my body hard, cut or no cut.
Because right now I notice myself feeling something real for Hazel.
It’s getting more difficult to pretend, to her and myself, that this gruff shit I keep pulling with her is anything but a performance.
This morning, I even opened her door and watched her sleeping. I just looked down at her, half of me wanting her to wake up and half dreading it. She was curled up with her knees right to her chest, her perfect red hair hazy across her eyes, her kissable lips pouting. Her pale throat was fluttering fast, as though she was having an energetic dream. I wanted to lie down next to her and take her in my arms.
As I crossed the threshold to the hallway, I couldn’t help but think that we’d crossed some sort of threshold, too, but for real this time. There have been dozens of thresholds with Hazel, but this one feels more permanent. A point of no return.
I shake my head, dislodging the thoughts as I slide on the weight plate. The floor is a shallow pool of sweat. My cut hand stings but the one on my forearm is just about holding. The flesh wound on my leg pulses.
All reminders that I have to stay strong.
“You’re thinking about the girl,” Nario grunts as he finishes his set of dips. He drops down from the bars and runs a towel over his face.
“Is that so?”
“The Irish have backed off. Our businesses are running smoothly. As far as I know, your family is doing just fine. So what else would it be?”
I turn away from him, but that’s the thing with gyms. Too many fucking mirrors. He watches me in the reflection. I can’t stop thinking about the way she pressed her body against mine. It was the first time I’d ever talked about that day with anybody except Mother or