Page 81 of His Sinful Need

He’s getting too loud, and Giddy rouses. He smiles sleepily when he sees me. “Hey, Cap. And Max is still with us, huh? It’s good to see you guys.”

I lean over and smile at him, Tank or no Tank. “Won’t ask how you’re feeling. You look like shit. Max wanted to see that ugly face again, have a little catch up.” I give Tank a significant look. “Tank, come over here and talk to me. Let Max have some time with Giddy.”

Maybe it’s the voice I’m using, what I think of as my Capo Voice, but despite Tank’s glare, he follows me to the corner of the room. “I know you’re upset,” I tell him evenly. “But calling me an asshole every time you see me won’t change anything. Let’s talk this through.”

Tank’s jaw clenches. For a moment, I think he’ll keep fighting it. But he gives a shrug. “If you think it’ll change anything, you can talk.”

How would Max approach this? Massimo Pedretti might never have been a Capo himself, but he’s someone I can learn from. “Here’s what we know,” I begin, trying to keep my voice as calm as Max’s always sounds. “The heist was compromised. Someone talked. So tell me this, because I have to ask. Was it you?”

Tank’s eyes flash. “Are you fucking kidding me?” he hisses. “My little brother nearly died!”

I raise my hands in a placating gesture. “Like I said, I have to ask. I’m not accusing you. I’m just trying to get to the bottom of things. Next question,” I go on quickly, “is whether you’ve noticed anything weird among the crew. Strange behaviors, unusual meetings, anything that might suggest there’s something more going on.”

“No.”

“Come on, Tank, this is important.” My frustration is mounting, along with Tank’s anger.

He shakes his head in disgust. “If you trusted me, you wouldn’t evenaskthese questions. You’re either a fool or a traitor yourself, Bricker.”

I’m no stoic, not like Max. My frustrations boil over, and I get louder despite myself. “I’m trying to protect our family, Tank. Don’t you get that?”

“Family? Some family we turned out to be.”

“Hey, that’s enough!” Giddy’s weak voice interrupts the escalating argument. “Bricker didn’t do this to me, Tank. No more than you did. We need to stick together.”

“Stick together? You really are naïve, Giddy. Go back to sleep, so you mend quicker. And you two can get out.”

“Bricker’s just trying to—” Max begins, but Tank rounds on him.

“Fuck off, Castellani. You’re part of the problem.”

“Hey,” Giddy says sharply. “Max got us out of there alive. He’s on our side, bro.”

“Hero of the hour, huh?” Tank glares daggers at Max. “If you want your mole, look in front of your nose, Bricker. Or maybe look a little past it—your buddy Van planned the whole damn thing in the first place. He was best placed to sabotage it.”

“Tank, that’senough!” Giddy shouts, struggling to sit up in his bed despite his obvious pain. The sudden burst of energy seems to drain him, and he slumps back onto his pillows, defeated. Max leans over him, rearranging the sheets, tutting at him.

For a moment, Tank looks ashamed of himself, but his anger only drops to a simmer. He crosses his arms over his chest. “You’re questioning everyone, huh? Know who else’s been acting strange lately? Tony the Pony. Disappearing off the radar for hours on end, never answering his fucking phone.”

“You think he—”

“Or maybe—maybe it’sHoneybee,” Tank goes on, eyes wide and mocking. “Maybe she was looking to take out Nico, what do you think?”

I look across at Max, who is obviously thinking what I’m thinking. It’s a bust. Time to get out of here. “Okay,” I say, trying to sound neutral despite the knot tightening in my stomach. “I just wanted to know what you thought.”

“You want to know what I think, Bricker? I think you’re looking to blame someone when the fault was yours.”

“Maybe it wasn’t anyone’s fault,” Giddy suggests, his voice barely above a whisper. “Maybe we were just unlucky. Maybe PacSyn has ears in places we don’t know about. Bugs…in the house…maybe?”

Max shakes his head, speaking to Giddy gently. “Bricker and I checked the house for bugs. We were thorough.” He glances back at me, then Tank. “But it’s possible someone overheard a member of the crew talking about the job elsewhere.”

A flicker of doubt interrupts Tank’s icy expression, but he keeps up the aggression. “You looking to pin the blame on one of us, Castellani? Fuck off outta here, both of you. And don’t come back.”

The finality in his voice is unmistakable, and the last threads of our bond seem to unravel with each syllable.

I turn to Giddy, give him a nod. He looks mad—and sad. Max is already heading to the door. I give one last glance at Tank. A man who was once a brother is now a stranger, his face weary with pain and suspicion under all that hate.

And I don’t blame him for hating me.

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