The Holy Ghost - M.E. Clayton Page 0,6

a tumbler of whiskey in between my hands. Ciro was seated on one of the bar stools near the bar on the right side of the study, while Luca’s ass was perched against his father’s desk. Well, technically, his father’s desk, but we all knew the truth.

“So, what warrants a visit to Daddy Benetti’s house,” Ciro asked in that flippant way that irritated Giovanni Benetti and I couldn’t say I blamed the man.

Luca shrugged a shoulder. “Nothing business related,” he clarified immediately. “I just had some business to attend to and I knew you guys were near.” While Luca’s apartment building was on the outskirts of Morgan City, the Benetti home was on the north side of the city where the wealthy dwelt and the homes sat on acres of land, making neighbors a mile-wide non-issue. And because the Benettis had enemies by the thousands, it was rare for Luca, Ciro, and me to be seen together. Even though our homes were in the same building, we each had three different residences that were spread throughout Morgan City.

“So, what’s up?” I asked.

“Have either of you been to see Massimo today?”

In the poor neighborhood of Silver Heights, Massimo had been every child’s favorite uncle. His wife had died young, taking all his love with her. He never remarried, and since she died so suddenly, they never had kids. Massimo took to adopting all the neighborhood children and making them his. He bandaged wounds, bailed out troublemakers, fed the neglected, and even harbored fugitives. Even his nails were often painted by little girls whose mothers were too busy turning tricks or passed out from drugs to play with them. Every one of us held a special place in our hearts for Massimo. Even those of us who no longer possessed one.

And one week ago, he had landed in the hospital, stage-four cancer, and he hadn’t told anyone. He had wanted the last few months of his life to be happy ones, not to be drowned in sadness and depression.

“Yeah. I was there this morning,” Ciro answered. “Around two, maybe.” Luca donated a shitload of money to Mercy Hospital for round-the-clock premium care and visiting hours for Massimo.

Not to mention, a fuckton of guards switching shifts.

“I stopped a couple of hours ago,” I added. “In time to have lunch together.”

Luca didn’t comment. He just nodded, thoughts already organizing themselves in his head. Luca was a thinker. And the motherfucker was always ten steps ahead of everyone else. The man’s mind never stopped.

We watched as he reached back, grabbed his glass of Louie Xiii, and downed it in one swallow. My eyes darted towards Ciro to see if he was seeing this shit, because that brand of cognac was supposed to be savored, not abused.

And Luca never abused his luxuries.

“I was there last night,” he finally said, his dark gaze continuously dancing back and forth between mine and Ciro’s. “We talked for about two hours or so.” People said Luca didn’t have a soul, but he did. Massimo’s sickness and impending death was hard on all of us. “He gave me an update on his condition, and he was completely honest when he said he had only a few days left. Maybe a week.”

The silence in the room was heavy. We saw evil all the time. Hell, we were evil. Things like this shouldn’t happen to good people, and Massimo was as good as a person could get.

This time Luca’s eyes stayed glued to mine as he said the last thing I ever expected him to say. “I’m going to go get Francesca tomorrow.”

My entire body stilled.

My heart stopped, and my blood turned to ice in my veins.

Frankie.

We’ve always known where she was, who she was with, and what she was doing. The night she walked out on us, she was only allowed to go under the condition that she was never really gone. Of course, she didn’t know that we knew every minute of how she spent her days, but we weren’t going to apologize for it. At the end of the day, no matter how pissed off she was at us, she was Ciro Mancini’s sister, Luca Benetti’s best friend, and the love of my life. She would always be protected.

Ciro didn’t say anything, but I knew his eyes were on me the same as Luca’s. I finally managed to find my voice. “Frankie,” I repeated, tossing back my whiskey. Fuck savoring.

“She’s the only person from the neighborhood that doesn’t know about