“Whatever game you’re playing, stop it,” he said, speaking quiet and low. “Don’t be fucking stupid, Capri. You know your dad’s onto you already. Why the fuck are you asking about Anthony?”
“I told you,” I said, trying to pull away, but his grip was too strong. “He was just an example. I’m helping.”
“Bullshit. Your dad’s waiting for you to slip up. He’s watching you like you’re his favorite TV show. As soon as you make the wrong move, he’s gonna swoop in and throw you into that basement room for the rest of your natural life, or until he can sell you off to some other mafia. Do you understand me? Stop this stupid fucking game.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” I stared him down, pulse going wild. I was jittery and afraid, and adrenaline spiked into my guts, and a lump lodged into my throat. I could scream, or run, or fight, but I was rooted in place as Rolando stared into my eyes.
“I bet you don’t.” He released me and I rubbed my arm, stepping away. But he turned and shook his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.” He walked off into the night, leaving me alone.
I watched him go.
What the hell was that? He tried to warn me, but why?
Rolando wasn’t an ally.
My father’s house swarmed with sharks.
And if I wasn’t careful, they’d rip me to shreds.
I dropped the cigarette onto the ground and stomped it out, then hurried inside to text Mal.
Chapter 21
Mal
I parked the Chevy, killed the engine, and sat still.
The old neighborhood.
I hadn’t been back in a while. Never wanted to return. Too many memories.
Walking down that sidewalk with Carmine to the taco joint nearby. Cursing and laughing and drinking. Lines of cars, stretching down the block. Eager guys and girls looking to buy our shit. We were kings back then. Kings with nowhere to go but up. We ruled until one day, we didn’t.
I waited a while. Watched the place and got a feel for everything. It was different, but it was the same. Black fence, single story, empty carport. Security camera in the front and another in the back.
But I knew the gaps in their coverage better than anyone. I’d been the guy to install the damn things.
That was my stash house. My home. My business.
And now Balestra ran it.
And one of the men that killed my best friend and destroyed the Falsone family sat in there and counted his money like a pig in shit.
Throughout the evening and night, cars came and went. Not as many as in my heyday, but still a lot. I counted thirty by the time midnight rolled around. After that, things started to taper. Only three more between midnight and one in the morning. Like the guys inside had business hours and they were closing up.
I slipped out around one in the morning. I went closer on foot. I couldn’t hear anything from inside as I crouched in the darkness just outside the fence. The carport was black and only two windows had any lights. I hopped over and got closer, using the overgrown bushes and weeds as cover. I stayed kneeling, the baton already in my hand.
The side door opened. I dropped down into the grass on my belly. Tasted something metallic on my tongue, and had a sudden flashback. I remembered Capri coming to visit one night. She came up the walkway, and in through that carport door. She had on short shorts and a low-cut top, no bra. She looked incredible, like fucking heaven. I spent most of the night avoiding her. Hurt too much to look, when I knew I’d never be able to cross that line. Even if I wanted it bad. Even back then.
But it wasn’t Capri that came out of the house. Capri hadn’t been inside that place in a long time. Probably not since I got arrested.
I recognized the guy. It was a midlevel dealer named Rafe Tipple. Buzzed head, baggy shirt. Always carried a gun. Rafe was decent enough as far as dealers went. Smart, stuck to his grind. Didn’t get in trouble. I always liked him.
Now he worked for Balestra. And now we had a problem.
He walked down the driveway and flipped open the gate. He stepped out, turned, and closed it. I waited for him to start walking before I hopped the fence and followed. I kept a distance, but gained. Slowly, surely. Hunting like a polar bear. I smelled blood and couldn’t help it.
Rafe almost didn’t see me. He almost made it to his car. It was a close one. He still drove the same silver Honda Civic with the front bumper taped together. It was a manual and the gears ground every time he shifted. A real piece of junk, but it worked. It rolled around like he needed it to. Rafe was a practical guy.