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The tension in my muscles sends me to my feet, and I flip the knife into a stabbing position, teeth gritted with anger. “Maybe I’ll whet my blade with your bones, first.”
“I meant no disrespect. I’m just pointing out that your name’s a curse.”
“Thought it was your name, as well.”
“Probably be dead if Tony hadn’t insisted on my mother’s family name for me.”
It’s then I recognize his face. “You’re a … MMA fighter, or something, right? Machete something.”
“Mac,” he answers in an unimpressive tone. “MacConnell’s my mom’s name.”
From what little I’ve seen of him while living on the west coast, he has a huge following here and fought in some decent-sized venues. Doesn’t seem likely that he’d have time, or interest, in playing gopher for my father. “You seem pretty well-established. Why would he send you after Vinnie?”
“Family first. No matter what. I came from the streets. It’s in my blood. Chances are, I’ll die there, too.”
Exactly what I hoped to avoid in my life, though I’m sure he’s beyond those life lessons to bother with a lecture. “Where do I find thisEl Cabro Blanco?”
“No idea. Guy’s like a ghost with all the stories about him.”
Vinnie would’ve undoubtedly known where to find him. But Vinnie’s dead.
I don’t know what compelled my father to send Vinnie to make any deals with Val, but I guess that’s the nature of betrayal—you don’t always see it coming. “Can I have a minute?”
He seems to chew on the inside of his lip and flicks his fingers at me. “Knife.”
With a small bit of reluctance, I hand it over, and watch him back out of the room before closing the door behind himself.
Huffing out a breath, I twist around to face my old man once more. All these years, I hated him. I did everything in my power to avoid becoming like him, moving as far away from this place as I could possibly get. Mac is right about one thing, though: my family’s name is a curse. There’s no getting away from it. Wrath winds itself around every letter of the Savio name, strangling the life out of it, just as Father Vicio said back when I was young. It’s a poison I can’t escape, because as of tonight, I’ve just added another to my kill list. Whoever Cabro Blanco is, he’s just acquired a new enemy.
I don’t know if what Mac told me about my father is true. All I know is I can’t conjure a single reason he’d lie. Perhaps my father did try to intervene, to spare my family. Maybe I didn’t know him as well as I thought I did.
Maybe I never really knew him, at all.
I kneel at the side of my father’s bed and bow my head in prayer. I’ve no right to offer him any measure of absolution after the sins I’ve committed, and those I intend to commit, but it isn’t in me to let this hate go on beyond death. I offer him thePrayer of Commendationand take his cold, wrinkled hand in mine. “For so many years, I hated you more than I loved you, but I hope you’ve found peace.” My words fail to breach his slumber, as if I’m already talking to his corpse. “You would’ve loved Isabella. She had Mom’s eyes.” Through tears, I smile, recalling moments when she lay in my arms, staring up at me, as I struggled to put her to sleep. “And her feisty temper.” Rubbing my thumb over his, I sniff and keep my eyes focused on the task. “I forgive you for not being the perfect father. You didn’t come from a particularly good life, but at least you tried.”
There’s no movement.
Nothing.
Yet, I feel like a weight has been lifted from my shoulders as I push to my feet. I don’t want to be here when he takes his last breath.
I open the door and find Mac finishing a cigarette, which he stamps out in an ashtray set on a table that’s butted up to the wall. “If you don’t mind, I’d like to look through some of his old books before I go. See if I can figure out who this goat man is.”
“Don’t bother me any.” Mac shrugs, and glances back toward the bedroom. “Don’t think he’d give a shit at this point.”
“You, uh … need anything?” I ask, as he hands me back the blade.
“Nah, I got people lined up when he flatlines.”
“Why didn’t you kill me the moment I walked in? Why let me get close to him?”
He pushes up from the chair and straightens his neatly-pressed slacks. “Pops told me only one person knew that code, and there wasn’t a cold chance in hell he’d use it. Figured it must be snowing in hell somewhere.”
With a snort, I shake my head. “I’m not going to stick around. I’ve made my peace.”
He gives a nod, stuffing his hands into his pockets. “And the funeral?”
“Unless I can assist in some way, I’d prefer to avoid it. Most think I’m dead, and I’d like to keep it that way.” I hold out my hand, not surprised by his tight grip when he returns the handshake. “Nice meeting you, Mac.”
