Page 2 of Harbor

The landlord didn’t give him a chance to reply and deny that Diego was his son before he turned and left. Not that it would matter, really. Very few people had even known his mother was pregnant with a third child she would never be able to care for because of her drug habit and lack of love for her children. All the drugs she used kept her sickly-skinny, and sickly-looking, too. She’d barely looked pregnant when Diego was finally born, and he barely broke five pounds on the scale, too.

“Ren?”

Closing the apartment door, Renzo turned to face his almost-fifteen-year-old sister with what he hoped seemed like a smile. He couldn’t be fucking sure. Even smiling was more difficult than it should be, really.

“Yeah, everything is fine, Rose,” he told her.

His sister didn’t look like she believed it.

He didn’t have time to placate her. Not right now. A quick peek out the window told him they were getting close to the day being over which meant the rent needed to be in that asshole’s hand. He didn’t have the rent money—all the money he had saved up from doing odd jobs for Vito Christiano—which wasn’t very much—went straight into getting them into this place before Diego was born, keeping his mother calm so she didn’t ruin the whole damn thing, and making sure Diego had what Renzo assumed a baby needed.

He was deadass broke.

He hadn’t been able to pick up a job from Vito since Diego was born because he hadn’t been able to leave the baby alone. Who the hell else was going to take care of him? His mother? Her coked-out ass could barely take care of herself when she was around to do that.

“I need you to look after Diego for a couple of hours,” Renzo said, passing over the sleeping baby. “Do not put him down and walk away from him, Rose. He’s still shaking, and he doesn’t sleep a lot as it is. It helps when you hold him—he doesn’t get as scared or loud.”

Really, Renzo thought it didn’t hurt the baby as much when someone was holding him. It calmed him. Rose didn’t really understand because Renzo never thought to explain to her that drugs plus a pregnancy didn’t equal anything good, but as long as she followed his direction with Diego, then that was all he cared about.

Rose peered down at the swaddled baby. “What if he wakes up?”

“Change his diaper, and give him a bottle.”

“But he throws up every time he eats, Ren!”

Yeah, that was another thing …

“As long as he doesn’t choke, then he’s okay. Just pat his back and see if he’ll take more. Can you handle it, or what?”

Rose didn’t look all that confident, but Renzo didn’t have the time to find someone else to watch the baby.

“I need to get out of here—I will be two hours, tops. Okay?”

“Just two hours?” Rose questioned.

Renzo shrugged. “Maybe less.”

Unlikely, but if it got him out of that apartment …

“All right,” Rose said.

Great.

• • •

Vito Christiano was a terrifying figure on the streets—he always wore black, no matter what. Black shoes, black suits, and a fucking black heart, if you asked anybody. Black was his color. Like his dark eyes, and the color of the Cadillac he drove through the Bronx twice a week just to remind every fucker working on the corner that he owned their asses.

Renzo’s work with Vito always came down to two simple things—Renzo’s availability and willingness to do a job, and Vito’s needs at any given moment. He could always be available, and he was willing to do just about any job, but Vito on the other hand, didn’t always have work to give Renzo, or … he made it seem that way.

Another thing the guy didn’t do?

Take requests.

Maybe that was why Renzo was so surprised to see that familiar Cadillac pull up next to the alleyway where he’d been keeping safe from the rain for the last forty-five minutes since he made the call to Vito on the payphone down the block. The passenger side window rolled down, and Vito’s cold, dark eyes stared at him from the driver’s seat.

“What, are you going to stand in that alley all night, Ren?” the Italian asked. “Because I am not getting my ass out of this car to walk to you, cafone.”

It wasn’t that getting inside the Cadillac made Renzo scared, but rather … uncomfortable. Mostly because when he was outside of the vehicle, he felt like he had a little more control. He wasn’t closed off, and closed in. He could—or he had a chance, rather—to get away if he needed to.