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“This isn’t between me and you, Carlos,” Morano says, his knuckles white from squeezing his gun as tightly as I’m squeezing mine. His nostrils flare. His chest heaves.
“No?” My father’s voice is unrattled. Smooth. “You’re atmyport, pointing a gun atmyson. And you expect me not to take it personally?” He scoffs, then glances at me. “Let the girl go.”
I let go of Aria’s arm but leave her bound and gagged. Her gaze ping-pongs between me and her brother as if she’s deciding which of us is the lesser of two evils. After several long seconds, one of Morano’s men grabs her and drags her to his side. He might still kill her, but after the shit she and Eva pulled with Makenna, I don’t give a fuck.
Dad inhales, keeping his eyes on Morano. “Three of my men are at your club. Three more are at your house, and four at your port. They’ve all got matches and aren’t afraid to play with fire.” His gaze narrows. “Your father was a good man. I’d hate to see all his hard work go up in flames. Put the gun down and go home, Sylvester.”
There’s a pregnant pause, a tense stillness as we all continue staring. Guns raised. Hearts pounding. The threat of war looming in the crisp night air. Time passes by in slow ticks.
Tick.
Tickk.
Tiiiiiickk.
Morano flicks his wrist, waving for his men to lower their weapons. Then, he lowers his own. “Close the containers. Send them to Miami. We’re done here.”
I shove my gun behind my back, then nod for my men to do the same.
He walks over, closing the distance between us. “I’m doing this out of respect for your father… and mine.” He leans in close. “But Carlos won’t be around forever. One day, it will just be you and me.” Then, he turns and walks away. And I let him without another word.
I knew there was no way he’d walk away without some kind of threat. He’s right, though. One day it will be just me and him. And I won’t send my men with matches. I’ll burn the motherfucker down myself.
My blood roars loud in my ears. “What the fuck was that? You don’t even have a gun. You could have been killed,” I tell my father as we walk back to the parking garage.I could have lost you.
He chuckles. Like this is some kind of joke. “Don’t ever forget where you came from,figlio mio.We aren’t barbarians. We’re gentlemen. We handle things like gentlemen do.”
I calm my breathing, force myself to relax. “Gentleman or not, you don’t bring pocket lint to a gun fight.”You could have died.
He stops walking, looks at me. “No. I brought matches and fear.”
As much as I fear my father leaving himself unprotected, it makes sense. Take Morano out of New Orleans and he’ll just move in on Los Angeles or New York. Take out Miami, and he’s got nothing.
My father’s hand cradles my face. “People fear you, and because of that, they respect you. But you also show mercy when it’s needed.” He’s talking about Eva and Aria, about how I let them go. “You’ll make a good leader one day. You just need to find patience.”
I don’t want to be a good leader. That’s his job. I don’t even need to be a good man. My job is to keep the people I care about safe. And there’s nothinggoodabout the way I do that.
20
Makenna
Work was shit today. The back computer is impossible to get to thanks to stacked up boxes of supplies that hadn’t been put away. One of the things about working in an emergency clinic is that the job description widens immensely from registered nurse to janitor and stockperson.
According to the lead nurse, today, I’m a janitor. “It takes all the gears working together to make an effective machine,” she said. After unloading and breaking down twenty cardboard boxes, cleaning the bathrooms, and mopping up vomit—three times—I’m debating selling feet pictures on Only Fans to pay the bills.
It’s getting late and I just finished unloading the last box and breaking it down. The clinic closed fifteen minutes ago. The only people left are Dr. Chase and me. He’s emailing x-rays to an orthopedic clinic and I’ve just finished my charts.
I have one more load of flattened boxes to toss in the dumpster on my way out. “I’m all done, so I’m going to head out. I’ll see you tomorrow, Doc,” I call out on my way to the back door.
“Makenna,” he says, and I poke my head into his office. His back is to me. He has x-rays on one monitor and his email open on another.
“Yes?”
He peeks over his shoulder and smiles. “Thank you for today. I know Lana can be difficult, but you always handle her with class. You never stoop to her level, and I admire you for that. You’re going to make an amazing partner for someone one day.”
I let out an exhale, letting the weight of the day slip away. When I wonder if I’m crazy for going back to school, when I’m not sure if I’m cut out to be a nurse practitioner, these are the moments that make me feel like I can conquer the world.
I return his smile. “Thank you. I had a pretty great mentor. See you tomorrow.”
