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“It’s not for me,” she sniffles.
“Brianna, I can’t play this cryptic game,” I snap. “We won’t reach the root of your troubles if you don’t tell me what they are. I can lend my hand to whatever problem you’re facing, but only if I know what you need me to do.”
She breaks, and the tears pooling in her eyelids spill down her cheeks.
Fuck, I’m going too far. Pushing too hard. She needs someone to lean on, not a man striving for revenge.
I sit upright and pull Brianna into my arms. She snakes her arms around my body and weeps against my chest. It’s silent, as if she doesn’t want to be showing this display of weakness in front of me.
“My dad’s in trouble,” she says.
Why am I not surprised her sorrow lies on the back of Artie fucking Declan? That prick has caused her more harm than good. Then again, I should be thanking him. Without him dropping at my feet and asking for a handout, I wouldn’t have met Brianna.
“If you’re worried about his debts, Brianna, I can make them go away.” It’s not in my nature to show sympathy, especially for a man who put himself in a dangerous position. But Brianna brings out a better side of me. A better person who doesn’t want to watch the world burn, but be a part of its healing process.
A man that has no place in this line of work.
“It’s not you I’m worried about, Mickey.” She wipes her face against my chest before raising her head so our eyes meet. One of her soft hands cups my stubbled face, and she strokes my temple with the flat side of her thumb.
“What’s he done this time?” I hide my malice as best I can.
“Those guys who chased me, the ones you said were Italian mafia, he took a loan from them,” she says.
“Ah, fuck, why’d he go and do a stupid thing like that?” The fire inside me is rising.
Silly boy. Artie must have a death wish if he’s taking deals with the Italians, while he’s indebted to me. That’s well and good. I’m not going to stop him from flinging himself to the wolves, but he’s endangeringmywoman. Artie and I are going to have to have a little talk about his fucking around.
“How much?”
“You don’t have to get involved, Mickey. We can fix this ourselves,” she argues. The fear in her eyes tells me otherwise.
“How much, Brianna?”
“Ten grand.”
Pocket change to a man like me, but when you’re getting by on a server’s salary, ten thousand dollars is enough to ruin you. Christ, that’s not even including what the sorry bastard owes me.
“I’m going to take care of it.”
“No, Mickey, don’t—”
“I want to see you happy, Brianna. Those cunts aren’t going to get in the way of it. And besides, how am I going to keep you glued to this bed if you’re out working all night?” I wink at her.
My words of reassurance are only those for the time being. I don’t know what I’m going up against, and I’m still tied to my task of killing Alfonso Ricci. But if God’s willing, I’ll be able to take care of two birds with one stone and put this sorry mess behind us.
Brianna throws her arms over my shoulders. I pull her in for a tight hug.
“Thank you, Mickey,” she starts, but I can tell more is coming. “And I’m sorry for dragging you into my bullshit. You shouldn’t have to be the one to fix my mess.”
“You never have to apologize to me, Brianna. I won’t rest until I see that smile on your face burning brighter than the sun.”
I place a gentle kiss across her forehead. I won’t lie to her and say this is going to be easy, but if I have my way, she’ll walk away from it unscathed.
We cuddle until Brianna’s ready to go back home. We drive in silence, with Brianna’s hand resting on my leg the whole way back.
“I’d really prefer if you stayed at my place until this is all brushed over,” I say, pulling up to the curb in front of her building.
“I can’t leave my dad right now. He needs me,” she says.
