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Brox Boar

Page 19

by Alexandra Iff

Brox sets his mug down with a soft thud and reaches for my cell. He taps the screen, drags it to his ear.

“Yes.”

I watch his face and listen to the faint roar of one of Alessio’s uncles bleeding through.

“Uncle Marco.” Brox says. “It’s not Rio. It’s Brox.”

There’s a pause, then more shouting. Demands. Questions. I pick out Alessio’s name, and Miami.

Brox’s expression doesn’t change.

“I know,” he says. “We spoke from the hospital.”

Brox shifts his weight, glances out toward the glass, then back to the coffee machine. He speaks in English, slow enough for Marco to follow.

“Line is bad,” he lies. “I cannot talk details now.”

Marco rants something about respect, about family, about being kept in the dark.

Brox turns away from me, steps closer to the window.

“Alessio will call you,” he says. “You want answers, you’ll hear them from him, not us.”

I drain the rest of my coffee in one go and set the mug down harder than I intend.

Marco keeps speaking. Brox listens, gives short responses now and then, his voice steady. He doesn’t give him a single useful detail.

I turn away and glance at Brox’s cell.

No Lana. She should have replied by now.

She ran away through that back door at the club, I watched the footage a dozen times last night, memorizing every frame. Every repetition was meant to reassure me.

She ran. On her own. Conscious. That’s what I told myself. She needs one night. She’ll sleep it off. She’ll wake, curse us, then she’ll call.

Brox ends the call with uncle Marco and drops my cell back onto the counter.

“Well?” I ask.

“He wants reassurances on Alessio’s health,” Brox says. “Condition, prognosis, release date, etc.”

“Did you give him anything?”

“Fuck no.”

“Good.”

Brox finally lifts his mug and takes a mouthful. His gaze slides to my cell.

“Anything?” he asks.

I force my shoulders into a loose shrug. “No.”

We both know I’ve been staring at that blank screen all night.

“She needs time,” I say. The words taste thin now. “She’ll come back.”

“She hasn’t answered once,” he points out. “Not your calls. Not your texts.”