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“Does it have a transmitter?” Hawk asked the closest suit.
The big man picked up the tiny recorder and peered at it. “Nah. Flashdrive.”
“Destroy it.” He stepped forward until he was face to face with Dario. “Did you really think you’d be able to use that against me? I am too smart for you Dario. And you… you are a man with too big a dick and too small a brain.”
Hawk stepped forward, and Dario imagined killing him. Would he cry for mercy? Groan out an apology? A curse? Whatever it would be, Dario would show no mercy and ignore any apology.
He should have killed him years ago. He’d brought it up on dozens of occasions, all rebuked by Gwen, her stern admonishments making him swear to leave the man alone. Now, her blood still fresh in his memory, he regretted every promise. On their wedding night, he should have looked into his eyes, sliced the throat of the bastard, and watched the devil die.
Now, it was too late and Gwen was the one who had taken the punishment. The only one, among the three of them, that was innocent. He didn’t know if it was more cruel to let her father suffer in guilt or kill him now. From the mad look on his face, it was impossible to tell if the guilt had hit. The man seemed immune to blaming himself for anything.
Hawk watched as they crushed the recorder, then passed it to him. Tossing it in the general direction of the desk, he turned back to Dario. “Doesn’t seem like you, Capece.”
Dario shrugged. “Maybe I record all of my conversations with you.”
The man laughed, genuinely amused by the comment. “Now, where is the Hartley girl?”
Dario shook his head. “I haven’t found her yet. She ran.”
“I find that hard to believe. That little wisp of a girl? Running away all by herself?” His face calmed, his emotions clamping under control, and he’d never been so chilling. “Surely, she had some help.”
Dario stared him down and wondered what the old man planned to do. Maybe he’d have Dario taken away and torture him for information on Bell’s location. The man would take out all of his anger and guilt on Dario, with little concern or fear of the consequences.
Or maybe… he watched Hawk lift a heavy bronze Remington sculpture from the desk, hefting it between his hands as if testing the weight. Turning back to Dario, he raised his hands, the bronze horse straining the cords in his thin forearm.
Dario stared into Hawk’s hate-filled eyes and regretted never killing this asshole. Regretted playing along with his games, and letting him dictate every year of his marriage. Without him, Gwen could have married someone for love and not protection. She would still be alive. He and Bell could have been happy. And Dario could have—
Hawk raised the horse above his head. He lunged forward and Dario yanked one arm free and twisted to the side, grappling with the two men as Hawk swung the sculpture down, the sharp tip of the horse’s tail aimed at Dario’s head.
Four
DARIO
Dario slammed his foot into the knee of the goon behind him and the sculpture swung by, close enough that he felt the wind of its wake, and Hawk’s arm brushed against his chest.
“Hold him, Goddamn you!” Spittle flew from Hawk’s mouth, and he lifted the small statue a second time. His movement froze at the loud and distinct sound of the front door knocker. There was a second rat-a-tat-tat that was quickly followed by a pound against wood.
One of his men appeared in the doorway. “It’s the cops.”
Hawk’s eyes flipped to the wire, then snapped back to Dario. “You rat.”
Dario allowed himself a breath, a moment of hope, and spoke evenly. “They’re probably here to tell you about Gwen.”
A flash of pain showed on Hawk’s face, a fleeting peek at the human that must exist somewhere underneath all of the evil.
“Drop him.” He pointed to Dario. “Keep your fucking mouth shut.”
Hawk looked down at the bronze horse, still hanging by his side and stepped to the desk. Carefully setting it down, he pulled his suit into place and ran a hand through his hair. “Let them in.”
BELL
“You too skinny.” Laurent stuck a forkful of food in his mouth, and I looked over in annoyance.
“I’m not too skinny.”
“You are. Come and eat. You’ll like it.” He was standing in front of a plate and working through the contents with the efficiency of a competitive eater.
“I’m not hungry.” I walked around a saggy recliner and went to the window, trying to see through a year’s worth of grime.
“Who you looking for?”
I didn’t even know. It wasn’t as if Dario was going to show up here. I reached back and touched the cell phone in my pocket, reassuring myself of its existence. It hadn’t made a sound so far, no texts or calls, no indicators of Dario’s actions. What was he doing? Did the police still think I was dead?
