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“What? That makes no sense. I thought Kate was on the Cosa Nostra’s payroll,” Nik says, turning to point at another man for cleanup.
“I don’t know. But they figured out she is being tailed.”
“Do you want us to pull back?” Nik questions.
I know I should. There may be zero reason to have her followed and have the cameras on her, but it’s—it’s unexplainable. Her soft skin under my fingers the night of the art gala—my hand twitches with the need to touch her again.
“Nyet,” I say to Nik.
This distraction is dangerous because I am dangerous. I’ve observed her the past couple of weeks, and her life is already mediocre. She doesn’t need my world to snuff out any remaining hope she has for her future. I’m not the man Kate needs. I don’t even know this woman, but I want to drown in her.
Nik’s phone suddenly rings, and he runs up the stairs to take the call. The service is horrible down here. That has me going for my phone and following him up as I check my messages. I respond to a few that are related to the shipments we have for the cartel. They need to cross the border, and my men have been organizing transport.
I’m so engrossed in my work I don’t even notice that Nik has stopped and is rounding up men.
“Antonio Buscetta was spotted at a house in Lake Mead,” Nik tells me, softly like he is trying to ease the blow. I don’t understand.
“How did we find that out?”
Keeping track of the whereabouts of organizational leaders is near impossible. That is why the shooting was significant. No one, not even my men, knows where I am all the time.
Nik delivers orders for me, and I don’t disclose my locations. Antonio Buscetta doesn’t either. How we managed to get wind of where he is—this is an opportunity.
Now I understand why Nik is moving our men out. Something sweeps through my mind as I mull over his words again.
“Lake Mead?” I ask.
“Da,” Nik says as he looks at me. “Kate Castile’s tail IDed him.”
“Saw him where?” There is a growing sensation in my gut.
“He was spotted at Kate’s mom’s house, with Kate.”
Chapter13
Kate
Another week has passed since my meltdown over my kitchen table. With my phone call to Lake Mead Hospital, I was able to set up a monthly payment plan and have a good cry. So good, my eyes were swollen shut the next morning. Work has been hectic, and with everything scheduled for the weekend, I’m glad I have the weekend off.
After an emotionally draining week and a free weekend, I decided to call my mom.
She has never had the means to help me. She quit working after my father died and has been living on the scraps of life insurance money. Still, she was sympathetic to my financial woes, and while I wish I was working this weekend to make extra money, it will be good to check in with her.
This is why I’m currently twenty minutes outside the city, headed to Lake Mead. With each passing mile, the city’s concrete jungle gradually gives way to the tranquil embrace of the suburbs. Towering skyscrapers fade into the background, replaced by neatly lined houses adorned with white picket fences and manicured lawns.
The cacophony of honking horns and sirens is replaced by the gentle rustling of leaves and the distant chirping of birds—the city’s chaos melting away.
I appreciate the drive out to visit my mom. It allows me to seek solace amid the chaotic rhythm of urban life. I love the city, but the hustle and bustle of life feels forced. I often wonder if my time in the Big Apple is coming to an end. Maybe it’s time to search for opportunities near my mom’s and move back home.
As quickly as that thought enters my head, it fades away. I crave my independence and I don’t mesh with my mom for extended periods of time.
I roll down the window, the cool breeze caressing my face and carrying with it the faint scent of freshly cut grass and blooming flowers. The air is lighter, carrying a sense of freedom that only open roads can offer. I take a deep breath, a sense of renewal washing over me. The city, with all its pressures and expectations, fades away to a distant memory, even if only for a short while.
This is good. I need this.
My thoughts return to my mother and this new boyfriend I am meeting this weekend. It isn’t new for me to be summoned by my mother to meet her latest fling. I struggled with how to approach her after my father’s death. I was eleven and an only child. When my mom decided to check out of life by quitting her job and barely surviving, I was also subject to that reality.
The world had turned monochrome for my mother; her days were cloaked in a haze of grief. She moved the next four years after my father’s passing with an air of detachment, the weight of loss clinging to her like an invisible shroud. Our house was absent of laughter, devoid of joy and comfort. Her days were reduced to obligations that she mechanically fulfilled.
