of home. He’d already been to see Nonna, and all he had left to do was eat a solitary dinner and fall into his empty bed, but his feet dragged as he neared the flat, and the sense of something undone nagged at him so profoundly his head ached. Dante replaced Luis in his mind. Anger came again, white hot and pointless. Paolo wanted to hurt him more than he’d ever wanted to hurt anyone. Wanted to stamp on his smug face. Set fire to whatever it was that mattered more than his own brother.
But beneath Paolo’s rage, common sense was a cool drip of cleansing water. There was nothing he could do to hurt Dante, but perhaps he could reach him another way. Perhaps—
Don’t be a fool. But Paolo had been a fool for Luis the split second he’d found him waiting at the counter looking for work. For a job Toni had persuaded Paolo to give him. Maybe if Paolo’d had faith in Luis from the start, Dante would never have got to him. Who the hell knew? With so many questions unanswered, wild speculation was all Paolo had.
Didn’t stop you filing his P45, did it?
Guilt prickled Paolo’s skin. He’d done that on the fifth day Luis hadn’t shown up for work, angrily hacking away at his laptop, four beers deep. He’d regretted it come the morning, but the damage was done. It was official. Luis no longer worked for him.
Paolo wondered if Luis would even care when the tax forms came through. If the security of employment had ever meant anything to him. Then he remembered every tiny thing about Luis that kept him up at night, and his feet finally took root in the pavement and turned him around.
Fuck this. I’m gonna tell that cunt straight.
The Moss Farm estate towered over Paolo’s corner of the city. Literally. Six blocks of grimy bricks and dodgy cladding cast shadows over the streets below, grim and imposing, but a lifeline to anyone who couldn’t afford to live anywhere else.
Dante Pope could definitely afford to live elsewhere, but Paolo had it on good authority that he still resided in the council flat Luis had grown up in. Block three, top floor. He imagined it would be obvious which number.
He reached the bottom of the towers, a haunting maze of boarded-up windows and gang graffiti. Toni’s favourite betting shop beside the launderette was long gone, but Paolo could still smell the sausage rolls they’d served there to keep punters betting past lunchtime. Greasy and soaked in ketchup, they’d been the best non-Italian thing he’d eaten until he’d discovered the joys of an English bacon sandwich.
Block three was tucked away behind the run-down play park. The usual clutch of teens hung around outside, but the vibe was different to the aimless congregation outside the other blocks. These youths had purpose. They came and went with an efficiency that was hard to believe. They’re working. For Dante. Of course they were. Why do your own dirty work when you could pay a kid to do it for you?
More nausea rattled Paolo’s gut. He swallowed it down—focus—and approached the entrance.
Older youths stood near the lifts, smoking and observing. They tracked Paolo to the stairs, and he wasn’t surprised when one of them broke off and followed him. He’d watched enough Top Boy to know their job was to track every face that came in and out of the block.
He trudged to the top storey, past every stairwell with watching eyes. The uppermost floor was guarded like a vault. Men dressed in black blocked the corridor and stared Paolo down as he approached.
Undeterred, he stopped in front of them. “I’m here to see Dante.”
“Who?”
Paolo rolled his eyes. “Dante. I’m Paolo from Toni’s cafe on the high street. I know his brother.”
“Whose? Dante’s or Toni’s?”
“Very funny. Just tell him I’m here, will you?”
The biggest man smirked, but the slighter one pulled his phone from his pocket and disappeared down the corridor.
Paolo prepared for a silent wait, but the big man stepped away from his post and caught Paolo’s arm.
“Are you really friends with Luis? Cos if you’re not, you’re gonna get hurt. This ain’t the place to play games. Martell won’t like it, and he’ll kick the shit out of you when he comes back.”
Paolo eyed the large hand gripping his elbow. The man it belonged to was pretty hot, at least, Paolo would’ve thought so before Luis. As it was, all he thought was that