He stopped in front of his door. Mal was a big guy, really big. I marveled at his shoulders and arms and looked up at his square jaw, his full lips, his dark eyes. His hair was shorter than I remembered and looked like it’d been cut in a hurry, but he still managed to make it look stylish, despite being dirty with sweat.
His clothes were speckled with dark red blood.
He unlocked his door and went inside. He didn’t close it behind him. I followed, terrified. I knew what Mal did. Everyone knew. Carmine had joked about it sometimes, even though it wasn’t funny.
But I’d never seen evidence before.
I shut the door and didn’t lock it. I shouldn’t have been afraid. This was Mal, one of my best friends.
But the way he’d looked at me was terrifying.
His place was small. Kitchenette on the right, depressingly empty living room on the left. He had a single chair, a single end table, and a TV on the floor.
Nothing else. No pictures on the walls, no sign of habitation. One clean dish and one clean glass sat drying next to the sink.
“Nice place,” I said, awkwardly following him back down a short hall. He had a bathroom, empty, and a bedroom, empty except for a mattress on the floor and a pile of clothes in the corner.
He took off his shirt and I stared.
Muscles and tattoos. He was a massive man. Six foot six, at least. He looked over his shoulder and scowled.
“You still haven’t told me what the fuck you’re doing here.”
“I just wanted to see you. Grandma said—”
“Don’t call her that.” His jaw tightened.
“Okay,” I said slowly. “Judy told me you got out. Told me where you were staying.”
He sighed, face relaxing. “I made her swear she wouldn’t mention it to anyone.”
I smiled a little. “I know. She told me that, too. But you know Judy. She can’t help herself with me.”
“Did she give you food?”
“Cookies. They were good.”
He nodded a little and began to take off his pants.
I stared, blinking rapidly. He was lean and fit. Long muscles in his thighs. More tattoos on his calves. Twin jackals baring their teeth. He wore only a pair of tight black briefs, and his cock was outlined in the moonlight, like God wanted to spotlight it for me.
I looked away, blushing like crazy.
“Carmine’s dead.”
I felt a chill run down my skin. I closed my eyes. Carmine was dead, and although I’d mourned him for months already, the wound hadn’t closed. Hearing those words from Mal and all the pain they contained ripped away the scab and left me raw again. I tried not to cry but the tears came anyway.
“Yeah, Mal. Carmine’s dead.”
“So are his dad and his mother.”
“Most of the loyal Falsone family, too.” I took a sharp breath, held it, and let it out. Calmed myself. I looked up, and he was staring at me with his eerie expression, still only in his briefs. “You’d be dead if you hadn’t been in prison.”
“Good thing I was in prison, then.” He grabbed a towel hanging on the back of the closet door and moved past me. He walked like a dancer or an athlete. So big, but so graceful.
I followed. He flicked on the bathroom light and turned on the shower. He glanced at me before he took off his briefs.
I turned my back. He was trying to make me uncomfortable, and it was working. My cheeks were ruby red and burning up. Mal knew me as well as anyone, and he knew I didn’t have much experience with men.
Hell, I didn’t have any. I’d never had the chance.
I’d been supposed to, though. One day, anyway, but that had been taken from me, too.
My only chance at happiness, snuffed out. All in the name of power.
I heard the shower open and shut. I turned and he was gone, hidden behind the curtain.
“What did you do tonight, Mal? Who did you hurt?” I only felt brave enough to ask because I couldn’t see him. I heard water splatter on the shower floor. He didn’t respond. “You can’t kill your way out of grief. How many more can you get before they get you?” Another long silence. My fingers curled into fists. “Come on, Mal. I miss Carmine so much it hurts. I loved him like you did. He was my best friend. We were going to—” I stopped, unable to say it out loud. I squeezed my eyes shut. “I know you’re hurting. I’m sorry. I really am. But I miss you, and I don’t want to see you dead because of what my father did. I need you to know that I had nothing to do with it and didn’t know it was going down. I really didn’t.”
The night it had happened, I’d been alone in the condo downtown. I remember sitting on the balcony, watching the river and all the tourists. I’d loved the light and the voices echoing up from below. They’d made me feel like I was a part of the world, even if my father rarely let me go anywhere, and never let me be a normal person.