Damage (Collateral Damage 2)

“Fuck,” he mutters, walking away, dropping again into a seat on the sofa and running fingers through his messy hair.

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” I ask. I should kill him. Here and now. What I saw on that drive is all the evidence I need of his betrayal. But I can’t do it. I can’t. “What is going on with you? I could kill you, you know that?”

“It’s all going to hell, Stefan. Has been ever since you brought her here.”

“Gabriela has nothing to do with whatever’s going on with you. Now tell me what it is before I lose my temper.”

“And what? Break my arms? My legs?”

“You took her to her father. To my enemy. I’d be in my right to do both of those things.”

He grits his teeth, lifting his head, then turning it away. “You don’t understand.”

“Then explain to me why you lied to me. Why you took my wife to my enemy. To her enemy. And have no doubt he is that.”

“He’s her father, Stefan.”

“And?”

“Family’s important. You’ve always taken your father for granted.” His words are slurred and slow, like it’s taking effort to string them together.

“My father is dead because of that man. My brother is dead because of that man. Gabriela’s mother is dead because of that man and her brother, well, you know well enough about him.”

He drops his head, shakes it. “I need another drink.” When he stands, I grab his arm to stop him.

“You’ve had enough.”

“Not enough,” he doesn’t fight me, though. The opposite, at least momentarily before he gets a strange second wind. “You know what I wish, Stefan?”

When he pauses, I wait, noting the crazed look in his eyes. The look of a desperate man. Of one who’s run out of options.

“I wish things could go back to the way they were. The way we were.”

“Then be the man you were. Be my brother. Not my enemy.”

“I am your brother. I’ll always be that.” He seems more steady on his feet as he walks to the liquor cabinet and pours himself another whiskey. He remains standing. “Do you know why my father hates me?”

“He doesn’t hate you.”

“Yeah, he does. You don’t have to pretend. But do you know why?”

I go to him and put a hand on his shoulder. “Rafa—”

He knocks my hand off. “Do you fucking know?” he snaps, his tone biting. Like he, too, is raging.

“Why don’t you tell me since it seems like you know.”

He shakes his head. “They’re divided, Stefan. The family. Right down the middle. Well, almost.”

He means the supporting families, cousins from different regions of Sicily. My uncle in Rome, he’s the only one I trust fully. “That’s nothing new. It’s been that way since Antonio’s betrayal.”

“Some don’t believe you have the right to rule.”

“Is your father leading that thinking?” I shouldn’t do it, I know. I shouldn’t bait him. I can’t talk to him now. Like this. I need him sober.

He smirks, swallows more whiskey. “It should have been Antonio.”

“Antonio’s dead.”

“He’s also a traitor yet you buried his body beside the man he betrayed.”

“And you know why he betrayed him. You’re one of the few who does.”

“In our family, conscience isn’t a redeeming quality. The opposite.” He picks up the bottle and drinks straight from it.

Rafa and I are the only two who know why Antonio betrayed our father. Although maybe that’s not true anymore. Would the cousins have supported my father if they knew why he partnered with Marchese? If they knew that he was adding flesh trade to the family’s resume?

Rafa’s right about conscience. Antonio had too much of it. He found out about the deal. Knew my father’s role in it. He tried to stop him, but it was too late. The women had been supplied. In the container already. On their way.

Knowing my brother, no way he could stomach being part of that. Allowing it to happen at all. That’s when he went to the feds. That’s when he was taken into protective custody and my father arrested. I guess he thought he could save those women and girls.

But they didn’t have anything on Marchese because Marchese got rid of the container.

This is what Gabriela doesn’t know. What I don’t want her to know about her father.

He had it dropped off the ship. A phone call was all it took, and the captain did as he was told and dropped the container and those people vanished. No evidence. No bodies. No crime. Just a container at the bottom of the ocean.

Unless my father talked. Unless he shared his evidence.

So Marchese took care of that.

He didn’t do a thorough enough job searching for the evidence though and it’s in my possession now. It’s what got him to hand over his daughter. Funny what hearing yourself give the order to kill a dozen women and girls sounds like when it’s played back.