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For my daughter.
I frown hard.
Felix Cardona’s gifts are poisoned. There’s a price. There always is.
“You realize this will label me a traitor,” I tell Sharp. “And I’ll be considered scum to the rest of the criminal world, right?”
Sharp nods while stroking the edge of his thick mustache. “You’ll be given all the proper protections from the don. He’s on your side. He wants to see you win.”
“And I suppose he wants my undying allegiance in return?”
“He’ll call on you for a favor, of course.” He grins knowingly. “But it’s such a small price for such a great gain. What do you say?”
All things considered, thisismore appealing than staying on the run. It would put me in a position of power. Sitting under Cardona’s thumb doesn’t give me much wiggle room, but it sure as shit gives me a lot more freedom than what I have now.
And maybe it would turn my daughter back into the respectable woman she used to be.
“It’s a good offer,” Sharp adds. “I’d take it if I were you. You can work out the details later. First things first; you have to handle our mutual enemy. And Don Cardona knows better than anyone what it’s like to have a foe who simply won’t lie the fuck down and die.”
I don’t have much of a choice, do I?
Shit, it’s still better than death.
I nod. “I’ll do it.”
Sharp smiles while extending his hand. “Welcome to the Citta Nostra, Malinsky. You won’t regret it.”
Oh, I regret it already.
But my hands are tied. I’m out of options. I have to face the future with dignity and grace, even if it means I have to throw my reputation in the gutter. The shit that lies ahead for myself and my daughter won’t be easy, perhaps will even drive a wedge between us at some point.
But it’s better than the alternative.
Better than the streets. Better than running. Better than death itself.
Oh, but the stain of betrayal will remain.
And that’s a stain no amount of blood can wash out.
I just have to pray that I won’t drown in it.
Chapter Twenty-Six
Jonas
“Almond old-fashioned,” I tell the bartender. “Don’t go too far after you pour this one, Mikey.”
The guy behind the bar is rail thin, made of fiberglass bones with paper for skin. His face hollows with shadows as he fixes my drink and slides it toward me, chuckling as he glances around. “You’re not the only guy here,amigo.”
I don’t need to look around to know he’s right. The dance floor in the back of the bar thumps with bass-heavy music while bodies slosh around me. Drunk people stumble toward the pool tables on the right or stagger toward the dartboards on the left. A couple of chairs have been knocked over, but Mikey doesn’t seem that concerned.
I’m not concerned either. I just want to drink in peace.
“All the same,” I snarl. “Don’t stray. I might want another.”
“You and everybody else.”
I grip the glass while he dances toward the right side of the bar. College kids wearing their letters crowd the counter, hooting louder than the shitty hip-hop the DJ is playing. It’s enough to give me a headache—but certainly not the same piercing pain that Liya gives me.
