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“Define the worst,” he replied, pushing me forward when the doors opened at the private garage. There, in front of the doors, the only car in the whole garage, a 1969 black and chrome Lincoln Continental Mark III.
“Who died?” I asked when he wheeled me around to the passenger side.
“Don’t make fun of my car,” he said seriously as I shifted myself into the front passenger seat.
“I’m not. It makes fun of itself.” I tried not to laugh, and he just ignored me, putting the wheelchair into the long ass trunk—which was one of the reasons it was such an iconic mafia car. “You might as well be telling the world I’m in the mafia.” I added when he got in.
“Put your seat belt on,” he said, strapping himself in and starting the engine.
“Yes, dad.” I rolled my eyes, clicking the buckle in place, but when I moved to speak again, he flipped me off. And again, I wasn’t sure if I should laugh or check his mental stability. “Who are you, and where has my brother gone?”
“Nana and Helen planned you a welcome home party,” he said, changing the subject. I noticed, and I was pissed because it worked.
“Another one? Jesus Christ,” I groaned, leaning back in the leather seat. “I swear they look for any reason to have a party.”
“It also serves another purpose—”
“Of course it does. All of our parties serve another purpose. We know that. The people who come know that. We’re just calling them to show we’re still here. That nothing could break us. However, seeing as my legs aren’t really at their best right now—”
“They don’t need to know that,” he replied, turning onto the off ramp even though it wasn’t our exit. “For all they know, you could be pretending, to cover up your other crimes.”
“What crimes?”
He pulled to a stop, clicking one of the buttons, causing the Lincoln’s top to lift up and go back. The cool air rushed in, flooding the air around us, and he pointed to the left of me. “Those crimes.”
My mouth dropped open, and I couldn’t help it. I broke out laughing. He was insane…he was fucking brilliant.
“So much for a new Chicago,” I finally managed to say, tilting my head to see them all because it was too far.
“Chicago will always be Chicago,” he said, looking at their cold grey bodies as they hung from their toes, upside down and naked, from the Chicago Skyway Toll Bridge, right under words “Welcome to Chicago”…which, whoever saw the bridge this morning would be greeted by the bodies of the mayor, the governor, the fire chief, and the good old police commissioner…carved into each of their stomachs was one word…forming the perfect sentence.
“Welcome to Chicago, the rats die first.” Grinning, I nodded. “Bravo. Has the president declared a state of emergency yet?”
“I told him to give it a day.”
I frowned after thinking about it. “I really wanted the commissioner and the governor for myself.”
“We have bigger issues. Remember,” he said seriously, then brought the top of the car back up. “So, before we deal with the south, do you want to confess whatever you haven’t told me for the last three weeks?”
I knew this moment was going to come.
But I wasn’t sure how to say it.
“Now or never, brother.”
“You weren’t the one who saved us, were you?” I said, looking from the rats to him, and he paused. “You didn’t come for us…there was no way you could have known.”
“So who did?” he asked, and all of him tensed.
“Did you—”
“Say it. So I’m not insane.” His eyes were hard, and I saw the old him—the cold, impenetrable Ethan—in those eyes. “Say it.”
“They’re alive,” I whispered it at first and then repeated it. “Mom. Dad. They are alive.”
“They came to you?” he questioned, still unmoving.
I nodded. “I can still hear them. I thought I was going insane. But there they were, and Nana wasn’t surprised.”
