It seemed Micah was giving us no choice. We couldn’t live knowing he survived, so this war would never truly end. He could either die like a rat or as a man on his own two feet. The choice seemed obvious to me. “I say we give him the option.”
Bates raised an eyebrow.
“Call him and tell him what we intend to do. He can decide how he wants to die.”
“Or if he knows what we intend to do, he could prevent it.”
“How?” I crossed my arms over my chest. “By getting out of the hatch? That’s exactly what we want anyway. At least this way, we can instill fear in him…and also have complete control.”
Bates lowered his hand and looked at me with new eyes. “You know, you would be the perfect leader for a mob.”
“I get that from my father…not that I’m proud of it.”
“I think you should be. Cato needs a woman who’s tough like him. In fact, I think you’re tougher.”
I didn’t have to be tortured until my knees buckled underneath me, so I couldn’t agree with that statement. “So you agree with my idea?”
“I guess so. And I think Micah will give us the answer we want anyway.”
“That he’ll meet us face-to-face?”
He nodded. “No man wants to die in the bottom of a hole… never to be seen again. We’ll talk to Cato.”
“What do we do with the rest of Micah’s men?”
“That’s obvious,” he said.
“Kill them?”
“No. They’ll become our men. We’ll take over their cigar and drug business and keep it as our own. More money in our pockets. That’s what conquerors do. They don’t invade countries then burn them to the ground. They utilize those resources.”
Micah would be replaced by Bates and Cato, and then they would have another business to run. It seemed like their influence stretched on infinitely, never stopping. Every time someone challenged them, it seemed like their power grew, not shrunk. “I guess that makes sense.” Micah and Damien had destroyed my family’s business and absorbed it. Now it would be Cato’s, and by extension, mine. But the last thing I wanted was to be involved in that world again.
It should stay in the past—where it belonged.
Martina had fallen asleep beside her father, the keys still clutched in her tiny hand.
Bates sat in the chair at his bedside while I sat at the foot of the bed.
“I think it’s a good idea,” Bates said. “Like Siena said, it gives us all the power. We’re basically manipulating him into doing what we want.”
“And if he doesn’t cooperate, can we make good on our threat?” Cato asked. “Where we are gonna find a drill that can even accomplish that?”
“The Beck brothers,” Bates said. “They’ve got all that stuff.”
Cato nodded in agreement. “That’s true.”
“Micah knows we know people. He knows we know everyone.” Bates rested his ankle on the opposite knee. “I say we make the call and see what he does. It’s been six weeks. I’m getting anxious. We’ve never let an enemy live this long.”
“We’ve never had a rat as an enemy,” Cato said. “I want to make the call.”
“Are you sure?” Bates asked. “You’ve been through a lot—”
“That’s exactly why I want to do it.” Cato glanced down at Martina, probably remembering what it was like when he thought he wouldn’t see her again. “This is personal. Very personal.”
Bates didn’t try to talk him out of it. “Alright. Do you want to wait until you’re feeling a little stronger?”
“I’m fine,” Cato barked.
“Because when he’s out in the open, we’ll have to move in—”
“I want to be the one to do it,” Cato said. “I can handle it.”
I didn’t want Cato to exert himself, but I knew reason wouldn’t stop him. He’d been beaten nearly to death. Until he had his revenge, he wouldn’t stop. Even if Micah wasn’t the one to drive that hammer into Cato’s body, he was still responsible. I decided to keep my mouth shut this time.
“Alright,” Bates said. “When do you want to make the call?”
“Tonight,” Cato said. “Then we’ll end this—for good.”
I fed Martina before I put her in her crib. She’d gotten better at sleeping alone, especially after spending all day with her father. I activated her mobile, made sure the baby monitor was on, and then returned to the bedroom.
Cato stood in front of the mirror, fully dressed in black jeans and an olive green t-shirt. It was the first time I’d seen him dressed in nearly two months. He was usually in his boxers or sweatpants because he was too injured to leave the house. He stood upright, his back perfectly straight and his broad shoulders tight. He didn’t look like the man who had been returned to me six weeks ago. His muscles had depleted a bit because of his immobility, but he was still the same strong man he used to be.