“Exactly. He got lucky.”
I scratched the back of my head, getting the info soaked in. “That’s why I got two years instead of four, ain’t that right?”
“Smart fella. And if you do us that one little favor, we’ll make McNamara himself say he threw the first punch and his bitch was lying.”
That was how much power the Lanzas had on their turf. They would make the mayor’s nephew, who was still lying in a fucking hospital till today, drop the case like the little chicken shit he was, and even the mayor couldn’t help him because she was in the Mafia’s pocket.
I wiped my mouth and beard, deep in thought. Getting out of the slammer now, trying to win my boy back before that bitch poisoned him further against me, was more than tempting. There was nothing I wanted more than to have my son by my side. My odds at having that were slimmer by the day. He was eighteen now. One more year in high school, and with his brains, he’d go off to college with no hustle. He’d be madder and more embarrassed of me, and the next thing I knew, his kids wouldn’t even know who their real grandpa was. I didn’t want that to happen. He was my only son. I’d always wanted to be in his life, taking care of him, protecting him, loving him. I wanted to teach him how to ride, give him his first bike, be there for his graduation and wedding, and get his little suckers Christmas presents.
That bitch took his past from me. I shouldn’t let her ruin the future, too. “That little favor is my vote when I pass your proposal to the other presidents?”
He shook his head, his smile growing wider. “No, Furore. That would be for the two-year sentence. For the acquittal, there’s something else.”
My fist clenched under the table. I hated those mafia fucks. They thought they owned everything and could force anyone to play their game the way they wanted, only the way they wanted. Fuck that shit. He thought he owned me for a favor I didn’t ask for? He didn’t know who he was fucking with, but for my boy, I’d pretend I took the bait. “Let’s hear it.”
A triumphant look glistened on his face. Seriously, that guy was shinier than a sleek, brand new bike on a hot, sunny day. Even the scar that ran on the side of his nose and down to his upper lip seemed transparent. That was how fucking clean he was. What did those motherfuckers eat? “There’s a woman who teaches here. We have reasons to believe she’s not who she says she is. We want you to verify that for us,” he said, his voice lower by an octave I could barely hear him over the noises of the other inmates.
The fuck? “Huh?”
“You heard me the first time. Her name is—”
“Meneceo. I know all about the hot teach every fucker is wanking off to these days. They talk about nothing but her hot ass and the shades she wears all the time like she’s a fucking Fed. There’s even a bet going around—”
“About what color her eyes are,” he interrupted me like I interrupted him, his gaze letting me know he didn’t appreciate it when I did. “We know. But we’d like to have that piece of information earlier than anyone else and keep it exclusive for as long as possible.”
“Why?”
“We’re curious if the little Italian high school teacher has Irish eyes. It’s important to be the first to know if it’s true.”
Blinking, I tried to put two and two together, but I couldn’t place it. Let’s say she was Irish hiding under an Italian name for whatever fucking reason, why did they care? Why was it urgent information? And why would they come to me to figure it out for them? Why wouldn’t they just send any of their men to find out the stupid color of her eyes out there, bribe one of her friends or even a kid at the school where she taught? “I don’t get it.”
“The less you know the better. All we need you to do is charm her, get her to trust you enough to talk a little about her past. Any detail no matter how small will help. And most importantly, make her show you her eyes.” He smirked. “I have no doubt you can make her show you more than that.”
I rolled my eyes with a chuckle. “I still don’t get it. You can’t be serious about the eyes. So many people have light blue eyes, but they’re not really Irish. It proves nothing.”
He reached inside the pocket of his suit jacket and brought out a photo. He leaned forward and stretched his arms as he slid the photo across the table for me to see, making sure it was only me that could see it. “When you see them, you’ll know.”
I took a hint, so I didn’t touch the photo and only dropped my eyes a little so no one around would notice. The second my gaze met the innocent, most eccentric, light greenish blue eyes I’d ever seen, ones that were so unique it was almost impossible for even God to remake, I froze, my lips parting with a silent gasp. I, a grown ass motherfucker, fucking gasped, and no air came in or out because that little blonde girl’s face in the photo literally took my breath away.
Then something vicious and dangerous clicked in me. The girl in the photo couldn’t have been more than ten years old. Maybe even younger. So beautiful and innocent and clueless…and sad, so sad. I didn’t know if it was that face that belonged in fairyland, that look in those rare eyes or my protective parental instincts that had been heightened since that fucker laid a hand on my boy, but every cell in me wanted to protect that little girl.
Instead, for the sake of my own child, I was supposed to hand her over to those animals. “What are you gonna do to her if she is who you think she is?”
“The less you know the better, Furore,” he stressed.
Shit. That could never be good. I dragged my eyes away from the photo, shaking off that fucking feeling that wasn’t supposed to strike me like a lightning bolt. But when he took back the picture, all I wanted was to ask him to keep it with me, as if I needed to protect even the goddamn picture from his hands.
Snap out of it. She’s not a little girl anymore. She’s just another bitch now, who has probably done bad shit like every other woman out there, like Delilah. She doesn’t need your protection. Your son does.
In spite of what I thought of bitches after what Delilah did to me, I couldn’t bring myself to be okay with this job. I wasn’t Roar. The former president of the San Francisco chapter wouldn’t have batted an eye and would have jumped into that shady deal with a sick smile on his face. But not me. Putting those sudden feelings that picture sparked inside me aside, hurting young women like that teacher—they said she was fresh in her early twenties—wasn’t something I stomached. Unless she’d done something really nasty that she had whatever shit the Mob had in mind for her, handing her over to ruthless men like the Lanzas wasn’t something I was willing to do. Not even if it brought me back to my son. “Why me? Can’t you just send someone to do it outside? It’d be much easier.”
“We don’t want to draw any attention to her outside of those walls or anyone to know we’re looking into her.”
She must have been a big secret they had to protect. Why? And until when? How much danger was she in? Fuck. I had to know even though I shouldn’t. Ineededto know. “You coming here has drawn a lot of attention already.”
“Not at all. The Night Skulls and the Lanzas go way back. You’re a valued friend who has come all the way to our city and sadly encountered an unfortunate event. It’d be strange if we didn’t come to check on you and make sure you were comfortable in your new accommodation. No one knows the true nature of this conversation but you and me. Your discretion, which I know you’ll honor, is very much appreciated.”
I snorted. “Trust easy, huh?”
