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“I’m sorry,” I tell him.
“For what?” he asks.
I sigh, running a hand through my hair, and then nod at the screen.
“They have a hostage,” I tell him, “and I think it might be Thomas.”
“What? Why?” Harold cries, letting out more emotion than I’ve ever seen him display.
“We didn’t arrange protection,” I say matter of fact. “We fucked up.”
“I didn’t think,” Harold mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.
“We were focused on other things,” I tell him.
“But how?” he says, his voice cracking, his eyes rising to meet mine.
Tears shimmer in them, half of me wants to roar at him to pull himself together and the other half wants to throw an arm over his shoulder.
“I love him, Ryland. How did that just slip my mind?”
“You were focused on Jackie,” I snarl. “You were doing your job.”
He frowns, averting his gaze. I don’t think he values that excuse. But it’s the best I can do right now.
We fucked up.
I turn to my smartwatch and press a few buttons.
Suddenly, the infrared changes to a regular camera, and floodlights flash on, illuming the faces of the men creeping closer to the house.
“Oh,” Harold gasps, as his eyes come to rest on Thomas’s face.
Vito stands over him, bloated in his suit, with a pistol in one hand and a fistful of Thomas’s long red hair in the other.
Vito strides closer to the house, dragging his prisoner behind him.
“Can you hear me, Ryland?” he yells.
His men move up behind him, the same bland suits I recognize from all our meetings. They’re all holding weapons and wearing cold looks on their faces.
They’re here to do blood work. I know that expression well.
I tap a button on my watch and hold it close to my face.
“I can hear you,” I say.
“You know who this is?” Vito yells, yanking on Thomas’s hair.
The short, thin man whines and twists beneath Vito’s grasp.
“Make him stop, Ryland,” Harold whispers.
Rosie walks up next to me with Chopper cradled in her arms, stroking a hand up and down his fur. She glances at me, fear shivering in her eyes, and a question…
What are you going to do, Ryland? What can you do?
“I know who it is, Vito,” I sigh. “Stop pulling his fucking hair.”
“Why? I like the way this bitch cries.”
I sigh again, my fists aching, I’m clenching them so hard.
Rosie reaches over, gripping my hand softly.
A wave of calm washes over me, moving through my body and soothing every part of it.
I open my hand and look at her, into the warm support in her eyes.
She trusts me to protect our family.
But she also trusts me to be a good man.
Only a monster would leave Thomas out there to die.
“What do you want?” I ask.
Finally, Vito stops yanking on Thomas’s hair. He nudges him forward with his gun, aiming it at his stomach as Thomas stands there, shivering with his arms crossed over himself.
“Where are the police?” Rosie says.
“They’re on their way,” I tell her. “I triggered them the moment I saw Vito’s face. But they’ll take some time. I anticipated a siege, not a goddamn hostage situation.”
“I want you to come out here so I can put a bullet in your head.”
“No,” Rosie whimpers. “Oh, God…”
“Ryland, will that man kill Thomas?” Harold asks, anguish in his voice.
“Harold, I—”
“Please, just please tell me the truth.”
“Yes,” I say flatly. “He will.”
Harold nods, forcing back a tear, and turns to the screen.
What the fuck are you going to do? I feel Rosie screaming silently next to me.
“Vito, think of what your father would say,” I say into my watch. “Your family is in a delicate state of peace at the moment. If you make a move on me, you’ll be blacklisted in the family… and so will every man who’s on this job with you.”
I note hesitation in the men’s faces. One of them takes a step back, a younger man with a what-the-fuck-am-I-doing-here look on his face.
“Shut up,” Vito snaps.
“Leave Thomas with us and leave,” I tell him. “That’s the only way you get out of here safely. I’m telling you the truth, Vito. If you stay here, if you fucking challenge me, you’ll be leaving in shackles or in a box.”
“Maybe I should kill this man right here,” Vito yells.
“You know what happens if you do that.”
“Yeah, you’ll rat.”
“Ratting is selling your friends out for some leeway with the police,” I snarl. “You signed a contract. You agreed never to overstep. And yet here you are.”
“Why didn’t you kill the girl?” Vito hisses, taking a few steps forward and waving his gun around. “I told you to.”
“And I told you I don’t kill women.”
“So she’s alive?” Vito yells.
“Yes,” I growl. “I’ve taken her as my woman, Vito. You’re a mob man. You ought to know not to ask about a man’s woman.”
A few of his older men nod, knowing the truth of these words. My father taught me a lot about the history of criminal organizations when I was younger, so I know how much they value a man’s privacy and respect.
