“If only you’d been stronger,” he said, then shook his head and faced forward.
Dante pulled out and we drove away from my home.19ReidAll afternoon, as I drove from drug house to strip club and back again, ferrying shipments, taking payments, directing my guys, I kept thinking about that night, but not about Jarvis—no, that melted shit could rot in hell for all I cared.
I kept thinking about Cora and the look on her face, like she was torn between love and hate, lust and revulsion. That dichotomy, that split, it drove me crazy, and I wanted to make her understand that killing Jarvis was good for us, good for both of us—and in some ways, it was a mercy to him.
I got home late that night. I parked out front and felt a strange stab of excitement, thinking about seeing Cora. Maybe we’d make up and tumble back into bed together, and if we didn’t, at least she’d be there, sulking on the couch and studiously ignoring me. I’d gotten used to having her around, gotten used to her being mad at me, gotten used to her coming down into the kitchen and drinking my coffee and eating my eggs and smiling at me while I read the paper—and commenting about how mafioso shouldn’t read the paper, since we’re all dumb morons. As much as she drove me crazy, goddamn, did I like having her around.
It made me feel good. She made me feel like a normal human instead of some monster.
I walked up the stoop and grabbed the knob, thinking I’d have to unlock the bolt, but the door pushed open without issue. I realized with a start that it hadn’t been closed, and my gun was in my hand before I consciously realized I’d pulled it.
The living room was trashed. My heart was in my throat as I kicked through it. The couch cushions were all slashed, the TV smashed, the chairs and table flipped, my books and paintings and all the bullshit decorations I’d accumulated over the years were thrown on the floor, stomped, wrecked, destroyed. The kitchen was covered in porcelain shards and glass pieces, and I didn’t even bother going inside there.
I moved upstairs, trying to be quiet, but each room was the same: ripped bedding, torn clothes. I found Cora’s dresses in the hallway in tatters covered in muddy boot prints.
I stood at the foot of her bed seething. I didn’t know who would do this, who would be dumb enough to come in here and fuck with my place—when it hit me hard, almost sent me reeling.
Of course I knew who.
I took out my phone and dialed a number. The only thing I kept thinking after that, over and over, was that she better be okay, she better be okay, or else someone was going to die.
Lots of people were going to die.
Hedeon answered on the fourth ring, just before it went to voicemail.
“What?” he grunted.
“It’s me. Where is she?”
Short silence. “Who?”
“Cora, Hedeon. Where the fuck is Cora?”
“I have no clue.” He sounded sincere, but I couldn’t be sure.
“My place is trashed and she’s gone. Now you tell me who in this city would be stupid enough to do that.”
He let out a breath. “You think it was me.”
“Tell me it wasn’t.”
“It wasn’t. Come to my place, right now. We’ll work it out.”
“Yeah? So you can cut my throat?”
“Reid, if I wanted to kill you, I’d kill you. I know where you live, I know all your guys.”
I took a deep breath and shut my eyes. I knew he was right. If Hedeon wanted me dead, he wouldn’t bother coming into my place and ripping it to pieces, he’d roll up with a car full of thugs and fill me with bullets. Or he’d get one of my own men to do it—and they probably would for a good price or for a better job in one of his other crews.
“Fine,” I said, trying to keep my voice steady. “I’m coming over. When I get there, you’d better have something good to say.”
I hung up, shaking with rage, and went back outside. I stood on the stoop breathing hard, and I wondered if whoever broke in here and took Cora was still watching. I hoped they were, hoped they saw how angry I was—and I hoped they had the good sense to be very, very afraid.* * *Hedeon stood in his kitchen washing his hands as I paced across the doorway. He turned and wiped his hands dry on a towel and gave me an exasperated stare.
“I told you—” he started, but I turned and cut him off.
“I’m going over there.”
He held up his hands. “Wait a second.”
“No, no fucking waiting.” I stepped toward him and felt like all this time I’d been moving toward this moment when I had to decide what mattered to me most—my girl, or the crew.