Bitter Pledge (Falsone Crime Family)

I didn’t know what to do. If I chased her, I might get her killed. But if I didn’t, she’d keep on thinking she was to blame for Carmine’s death.

I stayed where I was. She had to survive. That was all I cared about. Tomorrow I’d text her and explain why she was wrong—why she didn’t have to blame herself.

I’d tell her everything. How I felt. How I was done letting a ghost keep me away from her. No more shame. No more guilt. I wanted her, and I’d have her, because I knew she felt the same way.

I’d explain it all. We’d be okay.

We’d have to be okay.

Chapter 25

Mal

She didn’t respond.

I texted. Sent her a book worth of texts. The most I’d ever sent. My damn thumbs ached by the time the sun set. She didn’t respond. It drove me wild. I needed to know she was safe, but I had no way to get to her. I could lurk outside the Balestra house, but that was a risk. They were looking for me, and they might recognize the Chevy if I got too close.

I was a fucking wreck. Sweating, shaking. Stressed beyond a reasonable measure. When night came and she still hadn’t replied, I called. The phone went right to voicemail.

“Cap, it’s me. Listen, please, let me know you’re okay. I’m really worried about you. Just tell me you’re okay. You can ignore all the other shit if you want. But I meant all of it. Just tell me you’re okay.”

I hung up. Thought about calling again. Cursed, threw the phone against the wall, then grabbed it and shoved it in my pocket.

Only one thing would keep me from losing my mind.

I hit the road. The Chevy hummed along. My brain was in a real bad place. I wanted to break down the Balestra front door and find Cap. Make sure she was alive and breathing. Make sure she wasn’t beating herself to hell for nothing.

That was suicide. Instead, I drove west. Went out to Heritage. Nice little neighborhood. Upper middle class. No fences, no weeds. More grass on the ground. Two-car garages. Quiet and comfortable.

There were lots of old gas stations around San Antonio. Fewer than you’d guess, but still a few. I knew most of them. I worked some myself. And I knew the one Clem would’ve been using.

Falsone picked it up a few years into my tenure. He showed it to me and Carmine one shining afternoon. I’d always remember that. Driving through Heritage in a big Range Rover was the height of luxury. My gran lived in a shitty little house in a bad part of town and I’d never imagine living somewhere decent. So being with Falsone, being seen by all those happy little families, it meant something to me.

It used to be a Lukoil Station. Falsone moved stolen stereos out the back. I bet a lot of those stereos ended up in the houses nearby. Nice, happy families and their boosted audio equipment. Too cheap to buy new, even if they could afford it. I rolled the Chevy past the empty building and it looked like it did the day I first saw it.

Definitely in use.

There were no outward signs. Nothing obvious like a car in the parking lot. But there were small things.

No weeds in the cracks. The lawn looked cut. Door was on its hinges. Windows were boarded up. But no graffiti. No broken lights.

Someone took care of the property. It wasn’t just rotting.

I drove past and went around. I took another look before parking in front of a quiet house with a nice, big tree in the front. I checked my phone. Nothing from Cap.

I got out and walked.

I was breathing hard. Not nervous. Just angry. Upset that I’d let Cap get away. I should’ve grabbed her and dragged her back to the truck and kept her until she calmed down. I was afraid of the neighbors though. Afraid of the cops looking for us, thinking I’d kidnapped her. It was stupid in retrospect. It was the wrong decision. But at the time, it felt right. At the time, I thought I could make things right. Let her calm down and get herself together, then we’d talk and work it out.

I was a stupid piece of shit. I hated myself for letting her walk.

The gas station structure was empty and dead. No lights. No nothing. I watched it for a while from the shadows of a big construction dumpster parked outside a brick-front home against the curb. It was a big, red thing. Full of debris. Probably a bathroom remodel, or maybe a kitchen. I smelled plaster and old wood and watched the gas station until my muscles got tired.

It was late. I didn’t know how late. I crept across the street, sick and tired of waiting.