Dirty (RAW Family 2)

The man tells us we have freedom of speech, but cuts us down when we say something that doesn’t meet his ideals. We have freedom to go where we please but are told to follow the path laid out for us. We’re told to speak our minds, but constantly have our mouths sewn shut, ordered to listen to those who apparently know better.

No.

Freedom is definitely overrated.

Besides, it’s not like Alejandra will ever truly be free. She will be allowed a taste of it through me. The cost of her freedom comes at a high price, and when the time is right, I’ll lay it on her, and something tells me she’s going to be pissed as hell when it all comes to light.

It doesn’t sit right with me, keeping it from her, but I know in my gut that after the smoke clears, she’ll take my gesture for what it is. The ultimate act of protection.

The minutes pass slowly, and I don’t bother initiating conversation with anyone. I’m not much of a talker on the best of days. My attention is elsewhere, when a woman dressed in a black suit enters the room and bends at the waist to speak into the ear of Luka Pavlovic, nicknamed the Croatian Sensation by women everywhere, owner of the establishment we sit in right at this very moment, and because I don’t have my eyes on him, I miss the way he scowls at me.

“Julius, brother.” From across the table, he all but growls, “You have a caller.”

Silence, clear enough to hear a pin drop.

All eyes on me.

Well, fuck.

This is not good. A cardinal rule broken. You never reveal the location of a meet and, lord knows, I didn’t. So who did?

I can’t hide my bewilderment. “Excuse me?”

The woman stands by Luka and relays the message. “A gentleman has asked to see you, Mr. Carter. He’s waiting in conference room two.”

My eyes settle on Luka, and I respond calmly, sincerely, “I swear I don’t know what this is about. I didn’t tell a goddamned soul where I was going to be tonight.”

The expression on my face must reveal my honesty, because, after a long moment of staring me down, Luka’s posture eases. He lifts his glass, sipping at it before placing it back on the table. “Then by all means”—he waves an arm towards the door—“see to your unexpected guest.”

I stand, straighten my jacket and exit the room. Walking down the hall, I pause when I come to stand in front of the door with the bold number two on it. In the back of my mind, I wonder if this is a set-up. I wonder if the man is Gio. Unconsciously, I reach into the breast of my jacket and grip the handle of my .45-caliber gun, taking it out of its holster and holding it by my side just in case.

Without further delay, I open the door, ready to meet whatever fate lies behind it.

A man stands tall by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down onto the street below, with his back to me. He utters a gravelly, “Close it behind you.”

So I do, not yet willing to relinquish my weapon.

I walk deeper into the room, taking in the tall gentleman. Dressed in a nicely fitted gunmetal gray suit, his salt-and-pepper hair styled just as it should be. When finally, he turns to face me, I frown. His hooded brown eyes, the shape of his brow, his face is somewhat familiar to me, but I can’t place it. But I don’t believe I’ve met this man before. He has to be pushing sixty.

“Can I help you?”

To my surprise, the old man looks down at the gun in my hand and tuts. “Put that away, boy. You’ll take somebody’s eye out.”

With a puzzled glance, I do as I’m told, feeling much like a little boy being reprimanded by an uncle.

He watches me closely, and when my weapon is out of sight, his face softens, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing with his easy smile. Holding out a sheet of paper, he reveals, “Got my boys to clean up and we took a lot of these down, but I’m bound to have missed some.”

On the paper were two photographs, one of myself, one of Alejandra, both taken candidly. Above the photos, in bold black letters, is written ‘Have you seen these people?’ followed by a cock-and-bull story about stealing a motorized wheelchair from a single mother and her disabled daughter.

Motherfucking Gio.

The asshole isn’t as stupid as I originally thought.

“Where did you get this?”

The man walks over to the closest table, taking his time pulling out a chair and sitting slowly, as though he has all the time in the world.

He does not answer.

And it fuels my irritation. I snap, “Yo, Pops, I asked you a question.”

The man returns, “And they’re the wrong questions to ask, Julius Carter.”

My body tightens with pent-up frustration. “Who are you?”

“Ah.” The man smiles deeply, crossing his ankle over his knee, and his dimples flash. “Now you’re getting there.” He watches me a long moment before he spreads his arms out by his sides and answers me. “My name is Antonio Falco.”

I blink at this motherfucker a whole minute before I tip back my head and let laughter consume me. I laugh for minutes, hours, and the man simply watches me, a knowing smile on his face. I can’t contain my amusement, wiping away tears of mirth. “Listen here, old man. I knew Antonio Falco. He was my partner, my best friend, my brother. And you ain’t him.” Suddenly, my amusement fades as quickly as it began and I take a menacing step forward. “Shut your fucking mouth. You don’t say his name. You don’t even think it.”

But the man’s smile deepens affectionately. “I know who you are, Julius. I know who you were to him, to Twitch. I know much about you that I’m sure you don’t even know about yourself.” His face turns stern. “But should you talk to me with such blatant disrespect in the future, I’ll pop you in the mouth myself, son.”

Someone needs to call a nursing home, because Pops is clearly fucking crazy. Yet something about the way he looks at me, the way he speaks, has me calming my tone.

I try once more, softer this time. “Who are you?”

His eyes smile, as he relays, “I already told you that, Julius. I am Antonio Falco.”

I huff out a breath of annoyance. I don’t have time for this shit.

My feet move fast. I spin on my heel to get the fuck away from the mental patient when he utters the words that have me pausing in my tracks.

“Antonio Falco,” the old man repeats, as I reach the closed door. Just as I move to open the door and call security to clear him out, he adds, “Senior.”

And although my mind is doubtful, images of this man flash through my mind, and the familiarity in his face suddenly clicks.

This man is an older version of Twitch.

The ride home was uneventful. Ling drove us back to the house in eerie, uncomfortable silence.

I didn’t like it, but I

also knew that asking about what happened at the club was asking for trouble. Yes, she had revealed a little about herself to me, and I no longer felt completely frightened of this woman, but tonight proved she was exactly as I imagined her to be.

Brutal. Violent. Ruthless.

My mind told me that knowing someone like Ling was good and she would make a useful ally. If I could only get her to tolerate me, we’d be in business. She didn’t need to know I planned on taking her place in this life. I would befriend her, but I would have to start slow.

Baby steps.

She pressed the button on the remote attached to the visor above her head, and the gates began to open. We drove into the compound that acted as Julius’s home, and when she parked out front and turned off the car, I jumped out and waited for her to do the same, walking with her to the front door.

The door now unlocked, she opened it, let me through and then locked it behind us.

I took a deep breath and made the decision to be kinder to Ling, starting now. “Hey,” I said, and when she turned to me, I smiled softly. “Thanks for taking me out tonight. I’ve never been out like that, not for a girls’ night, you know.”

Fuck.

In that one statement, I had already pushed too far, and from the way her brows narrowed at me, she knew something was up.

So, of course, I kept going. Swallowing hard, I tried again with, “What I meant is that I don’t know what’s happening with me and Julius, but regardless of whatever goes down, together or not, I’m glad to have a woman around the house to talk to about girl things.”

Oh shit. That was so condescending. I was making it worse.

She took a step closer to me, and my cheeks flushed pink. I didn’t know what else to say, so I just blurted it out. “I hope we can be friends.”

Ling’s face softened, and as my heart pounded in my ears, I breathed a discreet sigh of relief. She put her hand out to me, and with a smile, I moved to place mine in hers, to shake on it. I was so hopeful that I forgot to feel weary. Just as my fingers brushed hers, she pulled her hand back, away, and I didn’t see the action, but I most definitely felt the hard slap against my cheek.