Page 107 of Pretty Lies

NINETEEN

“WHERE ARE YOU right now?”

Two things that never waited—not for anything? Duty and family.

It was just Cory’s luck that the two thingsintermingled more often than they didn’t. That was the nature of his life when it was so engrained in the mafia. There really wasn’t any way to escape it, so while it annoyed him, he dealt with it. After all, he did choose this.

“Did you hear me?” his father asked again.

“Home,” Cory said. “I’m home.”

Specifically, his own home. Because of all the places Della wanted to go to clean up and spend the night before—all over again—life kept moving forward after theirs almost ended, here was where she chose. How in the hell was he supposed to tell her no after everything?

He was tired.

Nearly fucking lost her today.

The one time he didn’t do his job—his only fucking job to have her back—and look what happened. He wasn’t going to forgive himself for that mistake even if it was nothing more than circumstance and someone else’s crazy plans that hadn’t even worked out in the end. None of it mattered. He fucked up; she almost paid for it.

Cory would have been satisfied with a room at a hotel that he’d used in the past and enjoyed. The place had bomb rooms, good service, and they knew his name. Which was all he really gave a fuck about at the end of the day. When people knew his name, he didn’t even have to try. Everybody else jumped to do shit for him. He could use that right now. Della, too.

But no.

Here they were at his place.

“I’m coming to pick up Mace tomorrow,” Cory said. “Let Mon know so she can get his stuff together.”

“Cory—”

“He’s going to start thinking his home is somewhere else. Maybe I’ll just pay an enforcer to babysit him in the day instead. You know what I mean?”

He was rambling.

Talking about anything.

All things except today.

“Cory, it all ended well,” his father said quietly. “Joe filled me in on all the details. Tommas also called the funeral home—he’ll pick up all bills for Frankie.”

“Costello isn’t worried about the money.”

They all had more than they knew what to do with, honestly.

“It’s more the respect of the matter,” Damian said gruffly. “You know how this business goes. Cory, are you pacing again?”

His walk in the front hallway of his apartment came to an abrupt stop. No, he wanted to say. It partly would have been a lie, but it also would have been the truth. He wasn’t actually pacing—something he did when he was trying to process shit or figure something out—he was just cleaning.

Picking shit up in his place. Thinking of who he knew in the Outfit that would be the right pick to tail Della on a daily basis when he could no longer do it because he had shit to get back to. Cory couldn’t watch her back forever even though the two of them didn’t talk about it. He was also ignoring the fact that the shower down the hall still hadn’t turned on. Despite the fact that it was the first thing Della said she wanted to do an hour ago when they got back was clean up.

“I’m not pacing,” he said.

Damian chuckled; the sound came off familiar to Cory in both good and bad ways. There was something about the Rossi boys’ father that Cory and his brother could never get away from. Their dad just always knew when something was up with one of them. He paid too much attention to things that others overlooked, and he liked to point them out.

“But you are overthinking,” Damian eventually replied.

Cory stared into the dimness of his apartment. The water still wasn’t running for the shower. He missed seeing water and food in Mace’s bowl or hearing the Rottie’s nails click on the floor when he came looking for his master.

He was over sneaky people.