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“What’s that?”
“A made man,” Achille explained, a hint of weariness in his voice, “is someone fully initiated into the Mafia. Untouchable to an extent. Crossing a made man is a death wish.”
I searched through his bathroom, looking for a first aid kit. I seized a zippered bag filled with bandages as he leaned against the counter, watching me.
I fished out an alcohol swab. “Are you made?”
“Nope.”
“But you enforce these rules?”
He nodded.
Great. “And now Jack and I are part of this, too.”
“You won’t be touched by it.”
I trusted the safety he promised. He’d won me over the last few weeks. I saw him with Jack. He’d do anything for his son. So when Achille came home looking like he’d been through the wringer, a pang hit my chest. I wanted to help him, but I kept pulling back, scared of getting too close.
I ripped open the package. I winced at the thought of wiping his oozing wounds and put it aside. Instead I grabbed a washcloth and held it under water. As I worked, his eyes raked me.
I cleared my throat. “Next time, give me a holler if you’re runnin’ late.”
“Don’t pretend to care about my welfare, Bumpkin. We both know our marriage is a convenience. I need you to keep my son. You need me to help you kill someone.”
That’s not all I need you for.
My face burned. I took his hand. It felt hot and heavy, and so did his firm eye contact. Tingles skated across my skin. I dabbed his many cuts, trying not to look at him, inhale his scent, anything that’d blow up the fire inside me.
“If I’m ever seriously hurt, you’ll be looked after.”
“Right,” I sneered, extending a roll of bandages. “Sure, a pile of money will be what your son needs when he’s cryin’ over your grave.”
“I’m not dying.”
My heart was being yanked in different directions. “How did you even get mixed up in all this?”
“The job or the lifestyle?”
I wrapped the bandage around his knuckles. “Both, I guess.”
“I grew up poor. Mostly because my parents kept having kids they couldn’t afford. My dad gambled and drank what she managed to save. As soon as I could hold down a job, I was working for the family. It started small. Stealing things. Delivering messages. Then I worked my way up to hits. I was good at it, so that’s where I stayed.”
“But it’s not what you want to do.”
“It’s a job,” he said, shrugging. “But there’s more to me than curb-stomping someone’s face. I had dreams, once. I wanted to be an engineer.”
“You still could. It’s never too late to go back to school.”
Achille scoffed. “You don’t just walk from this life. You’re in until you’re out, and the only way out is in a box.”
I finished bandaging him, my fingers lingering on his skin. “Is that what you want for Jack?”
“I want something better for him.”
He was so much more than a cold-blooded hitman. A man trapped by his circumstances, yet dreaming of a different world.
“But what about you? Don’t you deserve that?”
