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Hadn’t heard a thing outside of my own fear and the throbbing pulse in my ears. My heart lifts to lodge in the back of my throat and take up permanent residence there.
It’s better, I decide as I start to shiver, to lay low. Somewhere safe. Like Ricardo would take me anywhere but. Our families are one giant unit now; his assets are our assets. The Vittorios and the Accardis have been absorbed into the Balestra clan.
But I don’t recognize the place where we stop, the small alley the driver maneuvers down before he pulls to a stop.
Saying nothing, Ricardo waits for the door to open before he unfolds his body from the seat and stands to his full height. He reaches a hand back for me but doesn’t wait for me to take it before grabbing my wrist and hauling me out.
He murmurs something to the nearest guard and stalks off with me in tow toward a rickety staircase leading to a second floor. The key is one of many on a silver ring he pulls from his pocket, and once he finds the right one, he pushes me through.
All I know is something happened, the scales tipped in a certain direction, and it’s my fault. I just wish I knew what I’d done.
4
RICARDO
Every bone in my body aches, and the blowjob is a million miles in the past, too far gone to be anything but a distant memory. The men will watch the outside door, but I’m going to have to let Uncle Carter know what happened tonight.
He’s gonna be fucking pissed when he finds out.
A headache brews behind my eyes. I pinch the bridge of my nose, but the pressure does nothing to alleviate the pain.
The interior of this place hasn’t been opened and aired out for a long time and smells like dust and old laundry detergent. Still, it’s safe, and it’s silent.
What a fucking mess.
Not that I expected anything different considering the circumstances, but messier than it had to be. Volatile tempers and all that shit. At least here, in the apartment above the convenience store, things are calm.
Until Isabella opens her mouth.
I should have sent one of the other men to trail her tonight instead of taking on the task myself. Then we might have sidestepped this bullshit. A weight presses down between my shoulder blades, and I fight against the urge to slouch forward.
The day started shitty and will end much the same, it seems.
She perches on the edge of the bed with her head in her hands, bent over, and working on her breathing.
“Would you care to explain to me how we got to this point?” I ask with the last bit of calm I possess. It’s not enough to keep her from wincing at my tone.
“I thought we already covered it,” she throws back. “You followed me, you antagonized an entire club of people, and it ended with a shootout.”
“We got into an argument,” I correct, “which does nothing to explain the circumstances. I want answers.” And the softer I go on her, the less likely I’ll get them.
“Then maybe you’re going to have to get into fiction writing and find them yourself, Ricardo.”
I turn around without looking at her, the cell already warm in my hand and the message thread open. I fire off a round of texting before misspelling too many words and, pissed the fuck off, switch to a call.
The Vittorio second in command, a blunt New York native named Moran, answers on the second ring, and nothing but silence greets me.
“I need you to scan the club on Tenth Street, the Inked Den. It’s a real fucking dive, but bring a team and sweep it discreetly. We have a potential problem on our hands.” I go through what happened in terse terms.
And because of my presence there, I’m unable to walk away from the scene entirely. Somewhere along the line, in my need to follow Isabella, I’d stepped into a pile of crap, and it’s not easy to wipe it off now.
My people need to know what happened. They need to know about the frenzy and the shots fired and how we can make sure nothing like that happens again. Otherwise, we jeopardize the only neutral places left in this fucking town, and that’s not something I’m willing to do. The entire point of our lifestyle is freedom. Freedom bought and paid for.
Once I’m done explaining, I hang up and turn to Isabella.
“Are you ready to talk now?” I ask.
“I thought you’d be done with talking at this point.”
