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“Well, I will do my best to remember that. Come here.” I open my arms to hug Milo, who tosses himself at me. I wrap him up in a hug, inhaling his powdery scent and committing it to memory. He smells like home.
“I won’t let anything happen to him,” Brooklyn says from the doorway. She moves like a cat, quiet and deadly.
I nod and sniffle, letting go of Milo. “Be good, okay?”
“Okay,” he says as though I’m wasting his time.
“Let’s head out.” She reaches for his hand, and he slips his little hand into hers. A moment of panic bubbles up inside me, but then she turns to me. “Don’t worry. Find Lyric.”
I nod, remembering Desmond asking me how far I would go to protect those I love.
The answer is pretty dark. That is how far I’d go.
Twenty-Five
Desmond’s voicecuts through the air like a blade the moment my door slams shut. “For the record, I don’t approve.” He doesn’t grant me even a second to put on my shoes. Determination fuels me as I rush after him, refusing to let him depart without me. I’m fortunate to find a brief respite in the storm, the rain now just a gentle drizzle.
“I know you don’t,” I retort as I chase after Desmond down the slippery sidewalk.
“I’m also aware of the fire burning within you, one that you often conceal,” Desmond asserts, his eyes bearing a dark and intense weight. He guides me toward the street, where a group of men encircle us, their expressions a blend of solemnity and unwavering resolve. “It’s either I bring you, or you embark on the search yourself. I didn’t have a lot of options.”
“Your mother made that choice,” I snap, my irritation simmering beneath the surface.
Desmond abruptly takes hold of my chin, forcefully turning my gaze toward the lifeless police officers in the cruiser. My stomach twists with a mixture of horror and realization. “Is that whom you meant when you pulled up?” I croak out, struggling to contain my shock.
“Yes,” he grinds out, taking a moment to open the car door for me. Without protest, I slip into the sedan, and the door slams shut with an oppressive finality, sealing our path away from the gruesome scene.
My heart races as my eyes shift back to the cruiser, where the two officers lay motionless, their crimson blood seeping into every crevice of the seats. The raging storm had been the perfect cover to take them by surprise, but it also meant that whoever pulled the trigger was right outside. Fear paralyzes me as I look out into the darkness, wondering who did this and what they wanted.
Desmond opens the door, barking orders as he goes. “Follow my mother home. She has precious cargo. If anything” —his voice turns thunderous— “happens to them, then I’ll allow Lyric to torture you.”
The chorus of, “Yes, sirs,” reverberates around us as he eases into the driver’s seat and starts the engine.
An otherworldly silence descends, thick and stifling, as he starts the engine. My words linger in the air, burdened with dread. “They are dead.”
His voice grates out a reply laden with anguish. “Yes.”
“Why?”
With a sudden, sharp jerk, he peels out of the parking spot, hurtling down the street, his eyes focused on some distant point. We speed into the dark void of the night, and I sense the tension in him, his hands clenching the wheel until his knuckles bleach white. Unexpectedly, he swerves, veering the car eastward toward the mountains. “Lyric had them watching the house tonight because he was—” He slams on the brakes momentarily, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Fuck it.” His gaze pierces mine like searing brands. “Lyric was torturing a member of the Bonanno family. Someone dared to get too close.” The words hang in the air like an impending execution.
A chill of fear courses through my veins, sending tremors through me, as I grasp the magnitude of the cries I heard through the phone. “Do you think they are the ones who shot Matty?”
His foot slams down on the gas pedal, propelling us relentlessly toward our destination. “The tracker found Lyric’s car parked at a truck stop on Route Thirty.” A fire ignites in my gut, incinerating any lingering doubt of his involvement.
“Why?” I demand, my voice cracking with emotion. My heart races as I grapple with the unfolding situation. “Why won’t he just talk to him?”
“Not my damn story to tell,” he rumbles, taking a sharp turn that sends me crashing into the door. Pain jolts through my body, but I don’t have time to recover before he barks, “Seat belt!”
“Right.” I fumble with the buckle, my fingers trembling with fear and desperation. I snap it on and then struggle into my shoes, adrenaline keeping me warm. “So you have no idea what’s going down?”
He looks over at me, his eyes still intense. “There is little that goes on in the Adirondacks that I don’t know about,” he rumbles, letting me know how much this is getting under his skin. “I don’t know what they are playing at here, but the fact that they killed my cops…” He trails off, his hands gripping the steering wheel with white-knuckled intensity.
“You ordered Sal’s death,” I whisper. “Retaliation.”
“It’s more than that.” He finally softens his voice, but his eyes remain hard and focused on the road. “This is now an act of war, Charlotte,” he explains, his voice heavy with pain. “It started with Sal and my mom, but it’s turned into something else entirely. They don’t play by the rules, and they don’t care who gets hurt.”
“And you do?” I ask, not sure why I’m even bothering to question him. He’s a criminal, after all.
