“I’m not sure,” I said, hedging a bit.
If he knew I was lying, he didn’t show it. “There’s a rumor going around about him. They say he’s hunting down anyone involved in the deaths of the Falsone family. The poor, poor Falsone family. You remember Carmine, yes? Good boy, Carmine. A shame what happened to him.”
I wanted to retch. I wanted to scream. You killed them! You did this! But I couldn’t. I kept my mouth shut and tried to think about Mal’s face, his full lips, his dark eyes, his big hands. The feeling of him so close and warm as I’d slept curled against his side.
“For your safety, we’re going to keep you in here.” Dad patted the bed. “I know it’s extreme, but believe me. You’ve been willful. This should be good.”
My stomach dropped out. “Daddy—”
“Don’t,” he said, standing. “You’ll stay here until you’ve learned to obey. Until then, be quiet.” He walked to the door and looked back. “If I hear you’ve been seeing that boy, Capri, I’ll kill you both. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Daddy.” I wanted to throw up. This was worse than stitching Mal’s stab wound. Worse than anything. Almost as bad as hearing Carmine was dead.
“Good.” He left and shut the door behind him. The lock thunked closed and I was alone.
The lights turned off.
Blackness came down.
Mal was somewhere out there, hurt and in pain.
He needed my help.
And I was trapped like an animal.
Chapter 9
Mal
I didn’t do much for a few days.
I tried to get up and move around. I could shuffle from the bathroom to the kitchen and back to the bed. That was about it. That first day, I had just stared at the ceiling, thinking about Cap’s hands on my chest, her sleeping head on my shoulder.
I’d woken up before her and hadn’t moved. There she’d been, the girl I’d always wanted but could never get anywhere near, sleeping on me. She’d been perfect: her lips parted, her breath steady and even, her hair soft and auburn and lovely. I’d touched her hips, careful not to wake her. I’d let myself enjoy the intimacy for a little while, at least until the guilt got too bad and I’d had to stop.
She was Carmine’s. I couldn’t do that to his legacy.
It had been nice while it lasted, and the memory would have to be enough to sustain me, at least until the killing was done.
Too bad I wasn’t in any shape to hurt a damn fly. A middle schooler could kick my ass.
The second day, I’d ordered food. I’d met the delivery guy downstairs. I’d eaten in front of the TV, my side throbbing. I’d changed the bandages and kept the wound clean.
The third day, I’d slept late. I’d felt better, but not great. Every motion had hurt, but at least I could move. I’d showered, redone the bandages, and sat in my kitchen, staring at my burner, willing it to ring.
Nothing had happened.
No calls. No texts, no messages. Nothing from Cap.
I hadn’t expected anything right away. But three days was a long time when the world had to burn, and I didn’t know how much longer I could wait. I had my list, now two names shorter. I didn’t know where the others were, but I knew how to hunt.
Capri should’ve called. I had cursed and kicked the counter and cursed again when it hurt my toe.
I couldn’t stand the idea of her in that house with her abusive monster father. I hated the thought of him hurting her for being late. I’d known he would and she’d known it, too. If I’d been in my right mind, not racked with pain and booze, I would’ve forced her to stay with me.
Instead, I’d let her go. Why the fuck had I let her go? She’d walked into the lion’s den, knowing she’d get eaten alive.
All for Carmine.
That boy. He’d had a pull. Still did, even from the grave. I owed him everything: my life, my loyalty. I’d spend another hundred years in prison for him. I’d kill myself if it would raise him from the dead.
None of it mattered, except to the living. Except to me and Cap.
I waited one more day. Let myself heal.
On the fourth day, I dressed, put my baton in the little sheath on my belt, and went outside. I wasn’t moving well. My side still hurt like crazy. But Cap might need my help.
I rolled the Chevy out to Monte Vista. It was a nice place. Big houses, two stories, columns, old-world charm. The cars in the driveways were shining and pristine. Tesla, BMW, Aston Martin. I remembered what Dario had said. Big, old house on Margrave Street. Like a fucking palace. Couldn’t be too many of those. I cruised the neighborhood, driving slowly, looking around. My side throbbed, but that didn’t mean much.