“Oh, I know.” He set down the dog at his side and snapped his fingers. “This must belong to that lovely girl you’ve taken up with. What is her name? Carly. Yes. Carly Ann Anderson, who lives at Apartment 3B in the Hastings Building on Franklin Street right here in Brooklyn.” He smiled at me while the dinner I’d barely eaten that night churned in my gut. “So close by, she is.”
I clenched the poker, lifting it just enough for him to see the glint from the shaft of moonlight coming through the window. I wanted him to know I was armed. That I would beat him to death for even daring to threaten Carly and not fucking blink. “How did you get in here?”
I knew the question was pointless. All the steps led to the same place and taking them was like living through Groundhog Day, over and over. But buying myself time while I tried to find out his angle was my only recourse.
It would be one thing if he was operating alone. I could kill him and trust that would be it. Carly would be okay—at least from this side of the ledger. The Andrettis were another story altogether.
Except he hadn’t operated alone since…ever. He hadn’t spent years without another’s counsel, as I had. No one to confide in. No one to turn to.
No one to pull me back from the edge I crept closer to with every passing moment.
“I’ve been in here before. I’m surprised you didn’t realize.” He gave the dog one more pat and circled behind the couch, linking his hands behind his back and strolling without a care in the world. Because I was the sweet, soft son. I would never hurt him.
I hoped like hell he still believed that.
“I’ve seen so much. The little love note she left you, the discarded condoms from your nights together. Glad to see you’re being safe. That didn’t work out well for you before.”
Around the poker, my fingers tightened. I moved much faster than my father would ever guess. He wouldn’t realize how many hours a day I trained. Even the residual ache between my legs from Carly’s knee wouldn’t slow me down. I was too used to operating with physical pain and moving past it.
My father, in his thousand dollar suits and with his expensive Scotch and cigar habit, was not. He’d be dead before he realized he’d been struck.
All I needed was an opening.
“What is the point to this?” I took a step behind the coffee table. I wanted to be in good position if the opportunity arose. I didn’t know what I’d be unleashing if I brought him down, but eventually, the slights became bigger than the consequences.
“The point is, my boy, that while you’ve been cozying up to the Andrettis, I’ve had my eye on you. I know your thoughts before you have them.” He pointed at his head, then at me. “Far be it from me to disrupt your plans, but you might stop to think that maybe, just maybe, you have it wrong.”
He continued strolling, not deeper into the apartment but toward the door. I stared after him. I was tempted to just bash his head in and not wonder about what fuckery he was taunting me with now. What did it matter? If he walked away, I’d have one more reason to worry about Carly.
One more reason to want to snatch her up and get the hell away from here. Just disappear to a place where no one could find us.
But the reality was killing him might not make her any safer, even for a moment. Any orders he’d handed down would be executed even upon his death. He had commanders to handle thing in his stead. The organization was like a many-headed hydra. Chopping off one head only meant a new, untested one would spring to life in its place.
“What do I have wrong? Enlighten me, padre.” I’d tacked on the last bit sarcastically, but he stopped and eyed me for a long, uncomfortable moment.
“Women have always been your weakness. I understand, as they were mine too once. Your mother diverted me from my path for many years. Even when I righted myself again, her voice was always nagging in my ear. She didn’t like what I did. Merda, she’d known all along. When she met me, I wasn’t selling newspapers. I was breaking legs, and it was work I was good at.”
“You call that work?” I spat. “Harming people?”
“Such judgment from one who breaks heads as part of his work. Who gets paid to make people bleed.” He was on the move again.
This time, I didn’t even track his movements, because he was right. It was for different reasons, and the men I fought were willing participants, but perh
aps it wasn’t that far apart.
“Your brother, he is honest about what’s in his blood. He doesn’t wear his bleeding heart on his sleeve while he aims a gun with the other. He is a true soldier and happy to do what he is good at. What he was meant for, as you are.”
“You have no idea what I was meant for.”
“Perhaps not, because you allowed a woman to confuse the issue. To put thoughts in your head that shouldn’t have been there.”
“Carly has nothing to do with this.”
His mouth curved in a mocking smile. “I wasn’t referring to Carly, but Emilia. Though it’s all the same with you, isn’t it? Led around by your cazzo, always.” He walked to the door and I took a step forward, but not fast enough to stop the words already leaving his mouth. “I put an end to my diversion. Perhaps one day you will too. Or it will be done for you.”
A smile and he was gone.
And I let him. I let him walk right out the door and keep going, because I was all too afraid I understood what he’d meant beneath the surface.