But if Mal had killed him—
That meant he must’ve been involved somehow.
“Six more names,” I repeated in a whisper. “Tell me the truth. Is my dad’s name on that list?”
“Yes,” he said.
I bit my cheek hard and nodded. “Good.”
We stared at each other. I wanted him to crush me, to kill me if that would help save him.
But most of all, I wanted to feel the rage that simmered deep inside. I wanted to see that rage reflected in him.
Mal, the monster. The avenging angel.
Carmine never would’ve wanted this. He’d been a kind person at heart, despite the violent world he’d occupied. Carmine would’ve wanted us to try to move on with our lives.
Mal would never get over it. Mal was the sort of beast that needed revenge like he needed to breathe.
And it was intoxicating.
He’d already killed one man.
What were six more?
“You can get me access,” he said in a slick monotone. “You’re on the inside. We’ll kill them, one after the other, right on down the list. And when we reach your father, we’ll kill him, too.”
“I’ll do it.”
He tilted his head. Surprise glimmered in his eyes. “You’ll kill your own dad?”
“Yes,” I said, and I meant it. “You know he deserves it.”
Mal nodded slowly and released me. I sucked in a breath as he sat up and his knee pressed against the slick spot between my knees. He stood and walked to the window.
I sat, adjusting myself, sweating.
“We’ll start in a few days. Let the news of Dario spread. Let them get scared. How many people know I got out?”
“Some. My father’s too busy getting the new family together to care about you, but they’ll come looking eventually.”
He nodded to himself, looking out at the street. “They tried for me in prison. I guess your father sent them early on. Didn’t work.” He touched his side. I remembered a puckered, pink scar there. Freshly made. “Won’t work this time, either.”
“You can’t just walk away from this, can you?”
“No, I can’t. And you can’t, either. At least, you won’t, because I won’t let you.” He looked at me, and I believed him.
He wouldn’t let me go. My name would be on that list if I did. It would be proof of my involvement, at least proof enough to him.
“I’ll help you.” I stood and wiped my hands on my jeans. “I gotta get back. They’ll notice I’m gone.”
“Tell Gran I said hello. I can’t go back and see her, not for a while anyway.”
“I’ll tell her.”
“There’s a bar near here called the Lowdown. Meet me there in two days at midnight. Can you get out?”
“I’ll try. If I’m not there, keep coming until I show.”
He nodded. “I missed you, Cap. And I fucking hate you.”
“I missed you too, Mal.” I wanted to go hug him, but he didn’t look at me.
I left him by the window, slipped out of his sad, lonely apartment, and headed home to my pathetic life.
Chapter 3
Capri
The new house was a Spanish-style palace with a crisp green lawn and old drooping trees with Spanish moss dangling from their branches. It was something out of a Southern Gothic novel, and every day I pictured myself in one of those old nineteenth-century dresses with the wide hoop skirts and high busts sitting in the sun drinking lemonade and talking about ladies and polo and whatever else people did back then.
The floors creaked. The old wood and dried glue gave the house a voice. I crept into the kitchen around seven and found the cook already at work. She was an older woman named Maddie and gave me a big, toothy smile when I came in.
“Hungry?” she asked. “Making omelets. Your daddy liked the last one.”
“Coffee,” I said and sniffed the air. “That smells amazing.”
“You sit on down. I’ll get you set.”
I still wasn’t used to having help around the house. I obeyed her orders and looked out the wide bay window. The moss rustled in the early morning wind and already it looked hot out there.
We’d been comfortable before. My father had done well, whatever he’d done. We’d had a nice condo downtown with several rooms and plenty of space. And even though we hadn’t had servants or a lawn or multiple empty, dust-filled rooms, we’d been fine. Things had been okay.
Then Father had dragged us into this monstrosity. He’d said it was for the good of the family. We needed a place to impress our allies and our enemies. It was for the future, the seat of our power in San Antonio and all the southwest, out to California.
I’d known what my father did. I’d always known, even when I’d been a little girl and he’d tried harder to hide it. Father was involved in dangerous things and with dangerous people. But it was only when I’d gotten older that I’d realized he was an important member of a mafia family with deep business ties to several different drug cartels in Mexico. I’d never questioned it and had never been given the chance.