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Carmine shook his head. “There’s only one woman for me.”
Corrado ignored that, turning to stare out the window once more. “This is the same room, you know. It’s been remodeled, but it’s where they kept you when you were shot. I felt déjà vu this morning, seeing you lying in that bed. The only difference is your father isn’t here now. I can only imagine how he’d feel, seeing you treat your life so carelessly . . . a life Maura died to protect.”
The beeping from the monitor was momentarily erratic at the mention of Carmine’s parents. Shame seeped under his skin as his uncle continued his lecture.
“I need to be able to trust you, and so far, you’ve given me every reason not to. You can’t continue to disrespect me, to disrespect the organization your grandfather helped build. It’s bad enough your father . . .” Corrado trailed off, his posture going rigid. He stood frozen, a cold stone statue, and his voice matched it when he spoke again. “Don’t tarnish the DeMarco legacy any further.”
Carmine’s voice was hardly a whisper. “Yes, sir.”
Corrado strolled over to the hospital bed. “Where’d you get them, anyway?”
“Get what?”
“The drugs, Carmine. Where’d you get them?”
Carmine shook his head. “I, uh . . .”
o;Where the fuck were you?” Carmine spat, hastily approaching the table.
Remy looked up at him, his bloodshot eyes widening. “Shit, man, what happened to you?”
“What happened?” Carmine laughed bitterly, pulling the towel away. Blood seeped into the white material, the sight of it making Carmine even dizzier. “What happened is we had a fucking job tonight and you were nowhere to be found!”
Remy sat up abruptly, reaching for his phone. “Shit, shit, shit,” he chanted, scrolling through his missed calls and messages. “I didn’t hear my phone, man. I swear.”
Carmine grabbed the closest chair and shook it, nearly knocking the girl sitting in it to the floor. She jumped up and Carmine took her seat, shaking his head. “Yeah, well, it was a fucking ambush anyway.”
“No way!” Remy shook his head with disbelief. “The docks?”
“Sycamore Circle.”
“Fuck.”
Fuck. Carmine shook his head. Fuck was right.
“Look, man, have a drink or something,” Remy said, standing up. “Let me check on the others.”
“Give me what you’ve got,” Carmine said, grabbing his arm before he could walk away. “I need . . . fuck, I need something.”
Reaching into his pocket, Remy pulled out a small packet of powder. “You might want to take it easy on it. It’s not what you’re used to.”
Carmine ignored him as he walked away. He dished some of the powder out onto the table and inhaled a bunch of it, breathing in line after line, carelessly, recklessly. He needed the excitement . . . needed the fear erased.
Relaxing back in the seat, he waited for it to hit. Two or three minutes passed before the euphoria washed over him, intense and blinding. He reveled in the sensation, letting out a shuddering breath of relief, and waited for it to level out, but it didn’t. It grew and grew, mounting deep within him and overtaking every cell in his weary body until there was nowhere else for it to go. It seized his frantically pounding heart, slowing it so intensely that it nearly stalled the beats.
His breath left him in a whoosh as his entire body was swarmed in a sense of peace—no more fear, no more anxiety, no more nothing.
It overwhelmed him, too much, too fast, too intense. The burning in his cheek was replaced with pins and needles, his eyelids drooping so fast he nearly lost consciousness right away.
“Fuck,” he muttered, running his hands down his face in an attempt to stay awake, smearing the blood from his wounded cheek.
The music suddenly stopped, the atmosphere shifting as the darkness in the club grew. It took over everything, consuming him, but a familiar voice cut through it and called his name. “Carmine!”
Carmine looked in the direction of the sound, blinking a few times, and saw Corrado’s rapid approach. It seemed in slow motion, shuddering movements like a spastic strobe light. He tried to speak, but he couldn’t get any words to form.
“Stay awake, kid,” Corrado said, his voice calm and collected. Carmine started at him briefly, trying to obey, but the drug was stronger. Despite a crack across his face that sent stinging exploding under his skin, Carmine’s heavy eyelids closed.
The club erupted in chaos, but Carmine was only vaguely aware before he slipped completely into the drug-induced blackness.
