him, telling him that the only way he could control a woman like her was to cuff her. Her neck was on fire with red splotches, along with parts of her jaw. It was also stained with purple paint.
I narrowed my eyes. It was all in her hair, too.
Never did emotions show on my face, but I had to make sure to check myself so Stone couldn’t see the fucking fury burning a hole through my chest.
Harry Boy stepped up, demanding to know what the charges were.
“Resisting arrest,” Stone said.
“Resisting your pathetic advances,” my wife said as Stone walked her past me, a smug smile on his face. He ducked her head before he set her in a cruiser. He shut the door and then smacked the roof twice to signal the patrolman he was good to go. A second later, she was taken away, lights flashing and sirens blaring.
“The royal treatment,” I said to him as he stopped in front of me, making sure to keep my voice even. One ounce of emotion and he’d sense it on me—the urge to hurt him physically. No amount of physical pain amounted to the despair I saw in his eyes, though, and that was feeding my need for violence.
“No less for a queen of thieves.”
We stared at each other until Raff came to stand next to me, nudging me with his elbow. Stone looked toward the house first, and then I did—police were gathering around, watching us, ready to move if I did.
Harry Boy moved past them, coming to speak directly to Stone. “Where’s the warrant, Stone?”
Stone took it out of his pocket and handed it to Harry Boy. His eyes scanned the page, and I didn’t miss the name of the judge that had signed off on it. We had a tremulous relationship. He had put me away for ten years.
Finally, Harry Boy looked at Stone. “Drugs. You have reason to believe my client has drugs stashed in his house.”
“He does,” Stone said.
“Where’s the evidence,” Harry Boy demanded, getting that lawyer look about him. He was a fucking killer in the courtroom.
Stone nodded to another cop, who came over with a baggie of green, showing it to Harry Boy.
“This?” Harry Boy nodded toward it. “My client has a prescription for it. Written by Tito Sala, M.D.”
“We were looking for a bigger shipment of drugs,” Stone said, his voice cool. “Those were not found on the premises, but this was. As soon as we get the prescription, Kelly will be in the clear.” He shook his head, laughing some. “Tito Sala. Why am I not surprised?”
Tito Sala was the doctor who saw to the Faustis personally. His wife was the sister of one of the most notorious leaders Italy had ever seen—Marzio Fausti, Rocco’s grandfather. There was no better doctor than Tito Sala. If he couldn’t save you, you were already dead. My old man had been a friend of his, and he’d come to see me every so often when I was locked up. After I got out of prison, he had dinner with me. He wrote the prescription so I could sleep, suggesting that I get my eyes checked soon, due to the headaches.
I hated going to the doctor as much as I hated listening to people chew. Tito Sala forced his expertise on me, usually.
“My sister, you ass,” Harry Boy said, losing the professionalism he usually employed, and snagging my attention. I’d been staring at Stone, even though my thoughts had drifted.
“Be careful,” Stone said. “I have an extra car ready.”
“Take me,” Harry Boy said, opening his arms. “I’ll tell everyone at the courthouse how she turned you down for Kelly. How you made this personal.”
“Better go bail your sister out.” Stone grinned and then slapped Harry Boy on the shoulder. Harry Boy’s jaw clenched. “I thought she was a woman with a backbone. Turned out she was a chameleon. Her colors change quick, so you better get her before they turn green. Pure evil.”
Stone looked me in the eyes and then was caught off guard by a fist.
That was how I ended up having to bail my wife and my lawyer out of jail.
18
Keely
Being arrested wasn’t a shining moment in my life. I was even called a “moll” by the policewoman who stuck me in a cold cell with the hardest seats I’d ever felt in my life.
Moll. She’d meant Mob Moll—a woman who protected a man in the mob.