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“Nah, he’s good people. He just had a lot to live up to. Our father died when Lucas was nineteen. That’s a messed-up time for a dad to die, you know? There’s never a great moment, don’t get me wrong, but for Lucas, he had to become the man of the house and he took it seriously.”
“How old were you?”
“Fifteen.”
“And Vinny?”
“Sixteen,” I choke out.
“Wow, you were close in age, weren’t you?” Her hand has settled on my thigh, and this time, she’s the one offering comfort. “You were probably more like best friends than brothers.”
I gulp. “Yeah. I fucking miss him, you know? Kills me that he’s dead because of shit I helped him do. We just… didn’t care. Da died, Ma was sobbing all the time, barely getting out of bed, and our sisters were like ghosts who’d turn into poltergeists at the drop of a hat.” I release a breath. “It’s no excuse, but we wanted to escape. We wanted to change the pace. We got what we wanted.
“Within two years, my ma buried her husband and then her son.” My mouth tightens. “That’s on me.”
She nuzzles into my side. A part of me tenses, waiting for the condolences everyone offers, but instead, she whispers, “Life sucks,” and my relief is real because I hate condolences. They’re bullshit words that mean dick and only make me feel worse.
Not that her sincerity did the other day… Something deep inside of me, something dark, registers that she’s different, but I shrug it aside.
“It fucking does,” I concur and take a deep sip of my whiskey, wishing I had a pack of cigarettes on me even though I quit seven years ago.
Nothing takes the ache away, but nothing tastes better than a dose of nicotine when you’ve had your feet kicked out from under you.
“I guess it’s my turn,” she whispers when silence falls between us.
I stare down into the amber liquid. “I guess it is.”
“My father killed my mom. When I tried to tell people, he had me committed.” She sucks in a breath. “He was on the board of that hospital, so I spent years doped up. It was only when this new doctor got hired on and he questioned my meds that I managed to sober up and get out.” I can tell she’s gnawing on the inside of her cheek. “He still kept a watch on me. Probably has eyes on me now.”
God, how right she is.“Is he how you got the Valium and Percocet?”
“An old ‘script,’ yeah.” Her jaw works, so I know there’s more of a story than that, but I don’t push.
“Is he in prison now?” I ask, though I already know the answer.
“No.” She releases a soft scoff. “He’s too powerful for that.”
“Is he in organized crime?”
“No. He’s… He’s a doctor.”
“Jesus.”
A sigh drifts from her lips. “Yeah.”
“How did he get away with it?”
“He has a lot of friends in high places because of his practice. H-He, I guess the only way to describe it is that he collects favors. That’s why he didn’t get arrested. I don’t think the cops even did more than a preliminary investigation into him.
“He does a lot of pro bono corrective surgery for police officers who get injured in the line of duty. It means he has the NYPD in his pocket too.” She laughs, but it sounds shaky. “I-I know I sound like a conspiracy nutcase.”
My nostrils flare.
Didn’t Davis do that with Aidan O’Donnelly Jr.? Collect a favor?
My boss’s knee was shattered during a drive-by. For years, he lived with a shitty replacement joint, got hooked on pain meds in the process, then visited Davis, got his fucked-up knee healed, and as a “thank you,” I’m here, bringing the bastard’s daughter home to him.
My free hand balls into a fist. “Aside from…” Jesus.Everything?“Did he… abuse you?”
