There’s no guarantee they won’t do that either way.
No, I can’t risk it right now. I won’t put Mirella in more danger than is necessary.
“I know your father,” Cillian says, grinning huge now, ignoring me. “You could say we go way back.”
“My father?” Mirella sounds bewildered and I can’t blame her. Why would Cillian know Genaro? He’s a mid-level Capo at best and only somewhat involved in the current war. Why would Cillian know him at all?
My mind’s buzzing with possibilities. Genaro is a traitor. Genaro is secretly working for Cillian. Or maybe Cillian’s lying and trying to fuck with my head. I don’t know what’s true and what isn’t, and Mirella’s confusion isn’t doing anything to clear things up.
“That’s right, your father. I understand you don’t know him too well, which is a shame, but that’s what happens when they walk out on you. Ah, but in our family, we don’t do those things, no way. We punish transgressions, unlike these decadent Italians. Apparently, they don’t mind if their men are incompetent and disloyal.”
“What’s the point of this?” I snarl at Cillian, unable to help it. He’s always doing shit like this, trying to make life harder, trying to get inside our heads. But I won’t let it work this time. “I think you’re full of shit. I think you’re making this all up just to get a rise from me.”
“Why would I do that, when you’re such a minor part of your family?” He laughs at me and I step forward, but Mirella grabs my arm. She doesn’t hold me back, but her touch grounds me enough that I don’t charge forward. I need to remember that she’s here and that she can get hurt too if I let this go too far.
“I don’t know you and I don’t want to know you. We just came here to do a workout.” Mirella’s voice quavers, but not too much, and I believe her when she says she doesn’t know him. If someone else in the Bruno Famiglia turned traitor, we’ll find out. But it’s not her. It can’t be her.
“I only came here to introduce myself. Hello, hello, I’m Cillian. You should ask your father about me and see what he says. But, ah, I suspect Fynn’s going to do that for you, eh? Wondering if the old man’s a traitor, aren’t you? I can promise he’s not, at least not in the way you’re thinking.”
“Stop speaking in riddles and fuck off, Cillian.” I’m trembling with rage. Ten steps and I can be on him, beating him to death, smashing his skull to pieces, and it’s taking all my self-control to stay back.
“All right then, I suppose I’ve worn out my welcome.” Cillian nods to Mirella. “Lovely meeting you. I hope maybe we can speak again under better conditions, but I suspect not. Things are only getting worse out there on the streets. Be safe.” His grin is savage. He turns and walks off, hands in his pockets, whistling.
“What the hell was that?” Mirella says, breathing hard. She’s on the edge of panic. I turn and hold her arm, pulling her closer to keep her from freaking out.
“He’s only fucking with us, but I’ll need to tell Casso what he said. Cillian rarely shows himself like that, and I’m afraid he was following us this whole time.” The idea sends a shiver down my spine. He might’ve been watching us from the parking lot and only came out when we were done with the training session.
He could’ve killed me at any point, but he didn’t. Why let me live?
“He kept saying he knows my father. Do you think my dad’s some kind of traitor? Would he work with Cillian? It doesn’t make any sense.”
I frown and shake my head. “I doubt it. If Cillian had turned someone in our Famiglia, he wouldn’t come out and tell us. More likely, Cillian’s only fucking around and sowing doubt and fear, but I’ll follow it up.”
“This is your whole life, isn’t it?” Her voice is a whisper as her fingers dig into my arm. “It’s always like this, isn’t it?”
“Not always. Only when there’s a war.”
“But to some extent, you’re always at war. You can’t ever totally relax.”
I meet her eyes and shake my head. “No, I can’t, and now you understand why I need to heal and get my feet under me again. Bastards like Cillian won’t think they can push me around.”
She nods a little to herself, and some of her spark seems to fade, maybe from fear or confusion, I don’t know. But I wait a minute before I take her back to the parking lot. It’s empty, no sign of Cillian or his men anywhere, but their presence left a lingering discomfort.
We climb into the car. As I’m pulling out, she grabs my hand and holds it tightly. “He’ll be back, won’t he?”