I got to my feet with some effort. Stumbled to the door. I was in a small room. Closet, couple windows. It was light outside. Early morning, if I had to guess. I stepped out into a hallway. Narrow, empty. Wood floors that creaked under my weight. A bathroom on my left. Teal tiles, toilet, shower. I rubbed my eyes, trying to figure out where the fuck I was.
Something clinked downstairs. Like dishes clattering. I went to the steps and started down slowly. I didn’t know what I’d find.
But I wasn’t under guard. Whoever brought me here put me in a bed instead of drilling a hole in my skull and burying me in a shallow grave. Which meant I was supposed to be alive.
The downstairs was cozy. Southwest themed. Lots of blues and greens. Ocean motifs and desert images. Rugs and pillows, a big couch, some art on the walls. I stumbled toward a kitchen in the back and pulled up short as I stood staring in at a man cleaning a plate at the sink.
He had his sleeves rolled up to his elbows. Dark brown hair grown a little too long and messy like he hadn’t bothered to style it. He never did back when I knew him. Stubble on his cheeks and chin. It suited him. Black shirt and dark jeans.
“You’re awake,” Carmine said, looking over with a smile.
I just stood there, staring at my dead best friend.
He kept scrubbing. He was cleaning up from breakfast. A plate sat on the table to my left covered in the remnants of eggs and toast. The coffee smelled amazing.
Carmine. Standing there. Smiling at me. Cleaning a fucking frying pan.
“Is this heaven?” I asked but shook my head before he answered. “Can’t be fucking heaven. This has to be some weird hell. Is this what it’s like to be dead, Car?”
He laughed. Seemed genuinely amused.
“You’re not dead, Mal. This isn’t heaven, it’s the Tamaulipan Calcareous Thornscrub.”
“The fucking what?”
“The desert. You’re in the desert, and you’re very much alive.”
I shook my head. It throbbed like a volcanic eruption. “How?”
“Sit down.” He gestured to the table.
I obeyed. I always listened when Carmine got that tone.
Back in the day, he’d been the leader of our little group. He was destined to take over for his father, but that hadn’t been why the guys listened and followed orders. Carmine had an aura about him, like he knew what was going to happen before it happened. He still had it, even after coming back from the dead.
Carmine, my Lazarus.
I settled into a chair. Carmine poured me a mug of coffee, filled it with milk, and brought it over. I accepted it wordlessly. Took a long drink.
Carmine sat down across the table and sighed.
“How?” I asked again.
Carmine nodded. Tapped his fingers on the table. He did that when he was thinking. Tapped away.
“It’s a long story. You were in prison, so I couldn’t get to you right away. I tried to reach Cap, but you know how that is.” He shrugged and gestured in the air. “Behind enemy lines.”
“Are your parents—?” I started, but stopped at the look on his face.
He shook his head. Lips tugged down, skin ashen.
“Father and Mother are both dead. What Balestra did was very real, Mal. Very fucking real.” He leaned closer to me and I saw the glint of that old fury. It was a rare fury, but a dark one, deep and horrible. Carmine was capable of an abject cruelty I’d never fully understood, but he kept it at bay in a way I couldn’t be bothered to try. I let my demons ride on the top of my skin. I indulged them like children.
“But you’re not.”
“No, I’m not. I got out, all thanks to some loyal soldiers. I got out and I’ve been here ever since, and I can’t explain how happy I am to see you, Mal. I really am. I heard you’ve been busy.”
I cracked a smile. “I had a list.”
“Yeah? Who was on it?”
“Dario. Tony. Howard. Clem. Rod. Rolando. Mauro.” I took another sip of the hot coffee. It was a good list. More than half the names were dead.
“That’s a good list. But there’s a little problem.”
Just then, the front door opened and slammed shut. Footsteps echoed. I jumped to my feet but Carmine didn’t seem bothered. He swiveled in his chair.
Rolando stomped to the kitchen entrance and stopped. His eyes widened as he stared at me. He had a black bag in his arms and looked from me to Carmine and back again.
I didn’t move, stunned, heart racing, head processing.
Rolando was here. With Carmine. Rolando the traitor. Rolando the bastard. He hurt Cap. Hurt her more than once.
But he was here. With Carmine.
“He’s awake,” Rolando said.
“Mal, Rolando’s been—”
I surged forward. I saw red, despite the pain in my skull. Rolando backpedaled, tried to get away, but my fist caught his nose. It was a glancing blow. I hit him again, harder. He grunted and dropped the bag. Something heavy dropped on the floor. I hit Rolando again, and again, until I felt Carmine grab my arms.