the rest of you dead.”
“So what do you want? What’s this little meeting really all about, Savoca? And don’t tell me you want a truce.”
He gives me a disgusted look. “Your sister got all the brains, didn’t she?”
He’s stalling. I stand, press the gun to his temple. “Either tell me who contracted the hit, or I’ll do what I came here to do and finish you right now.”
He holds up his hands. “It came from inside your organization.”
“Who? I need a name.”
He looks up at me. “And I need a truce.”
He’s almost believable. “Why?”
“I’ve got my reasons.”
“Why?” I ask again, jamming the muzzle of my Glock into the groove above his collarbone.
His jaw tenses. “I’ve got my reasons,” he says more slowly, his eyes narrowing.
My finger tightens on the trigger. This is what I came for, to finish Oliver Savoca. I can end it right now.
Or start it.
If I do this, it will start a bloodbath. If the Delgados are still standing at the end, maybe my family can come home.
Unless what he’s saying is true.
Pop told me to take Oliver out, implying he contracted the hit. Oliver says our men did. I’ve got nothing to back up either claim. I’m no closer to answers than when I got here.
“You do this,” he says, his voice low and steady, “you start a war that will end with all of us dead. It’s your choice, Delgado. Make the right one.”
I flip the gun in my hand and slam the butt into the back of his head. He slumps into the sofa, slips out of consciousness for a moment, groans. I hold the gun on him with every intention of unloading a round into his brain. “If you’re going to save your sorry ass, I need some proof what you’re saying is true. Who contracted the hit?”
He lifts his hand to the back of his head, rubbing the welt rising there. “It came from high up in your organization, but I don’t have a name.”
I press the muzzle to his forehead. “Too bad for you, then.”
“Have you ever been in love, Delgado?”
His question takes me by surprise and Adri’s face flashes in my mind.
Love makes you vulnerable.
“No.”
He shakes his head a little. “Too bad for you, then,” he echoes, lowering his head and waiting for the bullet. “Go ahead.”
He’s not afraid. I’ve got to respect him for that.
And that alone gives his words some credence. Why would he come here, unarmed, a lamb to the slaughter? Even if the plan was for his goons outside to do the killing, they could have done that without him coming in here and sacrificing himself.
“Just get it over with,” he says.
My finger tightens on the trigger and I have every intention of pulling it. But now that Adri’s face is in my mind, her voice is creeping in too. She called me the only man she’s ever loved. She’s waiting for me at the Bienville. Could I do this—kill someone in cold blood solely because of his last name—and ever look her in the eye again? She’s changed me into something better than I am. Even if I can’t have her, I’m not sure I’m willing to give that newfound part of myself up.
Blind vengeance isn’t enough anymore. I’ve got to know for sure.
I flip the Glock in my hand and hit him harder this time. He grunts and flops sideways onto the cushions, unconscious. A trickle of blood seeps from his scalp onto the upholstery.
I grab the key to my bike and bolt for the elevator. I find the Ducati in the garage under the building, in the spot I left it. I rocket out of the garage into the streets of Chicago, the cool spring drizzle stinging my face. There are two guys out front at Savoca’s car. One of them pulls his gun, fires off a few rounds as I pass. And there’s my proof. Oliver never wanted a truce. He wanted me dead.
The sting near my shoulder blade and the unmistakable trickle of blood down my left side a few minutes later tells me his man didn’t miss by much.
I had everything I risked coming back for right in my hands, and I let it slip through. One pull of the trigger. One round into Savoca’s head. I could have started the war that would bring my family home. But I couldn’t do it. I’m too soft for this job now.
I send a growl into the night, like a wolf separated