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I stashed them on the top shelf in her kitchen cabinet, then texted Salvatore, telling him about the pill, about her being too out of it to talk to, suggesting he head out since it was going to be a while.
Don’t work like that, he’d shot back.
He was right.
Especially when we weren’t on our own turf.
If you need to switch out, Ant should be available, I told him before locking her door, then starting to look around.
It was probably ridiculous of me, but I felt like such fucking slime looking through her place. Even if she had looked through mine.
Her kitchen showed no signs of life. The fridge was cleared out save for some condiments and salad dressing.
Whoever the dude was, he wasn’t living here while she was gone. No one was.
Done with that, I moved into the living room, dropping down onto her couch, and reaching for the stack of mail there.
Every single one of them was past due.
And addressed to an Avery Brennan.
Brennan didn’t ring a single bell.
But that didn’t mean anything. This was a big-ass city. Sure, we knew about the major players in most criminal organizations, but there was no way to know every single player.
For fuck’s sake, I didn’t even know all the names to all the soldiers and associates in our organization.
I just had to wait it out.
She would sleep off the pill. The half life should be about six hours, and then she would be able to function again sometime after that.
Eventually, Salvatore told me that Ant was coming, so I had him stop and pick up some basic shit. Cream and coffee and sugar, so I could get a pot going for when she got up.
Ant, being my brother, and the son of an Italian mom, stopped and got us all subs too. “Figure it’s gonna be a long night,” he said, nodding at me.
“Brennan ring a bell?” I asked, though I doubted he would know if I didn’t.
“Nah. That’s, what, Irish?” he asked, creating a new possibility.
The Irish mafia was reportedly big in certain areas of Brooklyn.
Was that the connection?
But in what fucking world did that organization think that they had what it would take to come for our Family? As big and long-established as we were?
They’d have to be fucking mental to try something.
But, hey, criminals weren’t always the most rational human beings. Living a life outside of the law could create a grandiose sense of self, a cockiness that didn’t always line up with the situation.
It was an avenue to consider while we waited.
“I got nothing to do. I’ll do some digging while I sit in the car,” Ant said.
“Thanks, man,” I said, nodding.
“Hey,” he called when I was about to close the door.
“Yeah?”
“For what it’s worth, I don’t think she was faking things.”
Then he was gone.
It seemed like everyone close to me had come to the same conclusion. That she wasn’t lying to me about the relationship shit.
The problem was, I couldn’t decide if they’d come to that conclusion because it was the most logical conclusion, or because they wanted it to be the truth because they’d liked the changes they’d seen in me since Avery came into my life.
It was maybe only two hours later when I heard a tumbling sound, like she’d fallen out of bed, followed by a curse, a grumble, then footsteps across the hall.
Getting up, I turned on the coffee pot I had all set up and waited.
She shuffled out of the hallway, rubbing at her eyes that were probably dry from all the crying. She was distracted enough that she didn’t immediately see me at her side, looking straight ahead instead, likely trying to process the smell of coffee coming from the kitchen.
“Avery,” I called, keeping my voice as soft as I could.
It didn’t matter though.
Her entire body jolted as a small shriek escaped her.
Her eyes were huge—or as big as they could be with their swollen lids—when she looked over at me.
“Oh, God,” she said, her hand going to her throat.
“I just want to talk,” I said, not moving, trying not to scare her any more than she already was.
“Does this talk end with me conversing with the fish at the bottom of the ocean?” she asked, voice small and rough.
“I haven’t fitted anyone for cement shoes in a while,” I said, trying for light because, regardless of the situation, I didn’t like the look of terror on her face right then. “I’m trying not to break the streak,” I added.
“Emilio…” she said, wincing.
“How about you get a coffee in you before we talk. You were really fucking drugged out just a few hours ago.”
“What? Oh, right,” she said, the pieces starting to click together. “Okay,” she agreed, walking numbly toward the small kitchen area. “Do you, ah, want some?” she asked.
