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“There is nowhere,” Drake bites out. “Either you’re exposed and dead, or you’re hidden and safe. Vallejo’s reach goes too far, Rory. He’s too powerful. So you either stay here, or you’re dead. There’s no in between.”
“What about my mom’s funeral?”
“What about—” Archer’s eyes narrow. “What?”
“My mother’s funeral!” I push away from the pantry door and set my milk on the counter. “I’m sure you caught the memo, Detective. She died alone. There’s no way in hell she’s being buried without me there.”
“So you want me to put you at the cemetery, in broad daylight, wide open for a sharpshooter to take his shot, and use your mom’s funeral as a way to draw him out?”
“No.” I slam the box of cookies to the counter next. “I’m no longer discussing Vallejo and a ‘present Rory on a platter’ plan. It’s occurred to me during the course of our conversation that my mom will need to be buried.This week. I’m telling you that I’m not letting her go through that alone. I couldn’t hold her when she died, and I couldn’t hold her this week while she battled with cancer on her own. But I assure you, Iwillbe there so she’s not alone when they lower her into the ground.” I look at Drake and stare deep into his eyes. “This week.”
“He’ll know she’s gone,” Archer argues. Though his voice cracks with empathy. We’re not discussing the elephant in the room. And yet, yes we are. “He obviously has contacts within the hospital, Rory. He’ll expect you to be there today. He’ll expect you to come running, and he’ll damn well expect you at the funeral.”
“So then I guess you better find him within the next couple of days.” I drag my eyes from Drake’s and meet the other detective’s. “I’m not staying away.” I pick up my glass of milk and the box of cookies, before looking to Drake one last time. “I’m not looking to make things difficult for you both. And I definitely don’t want to make things more dangerous for you. But I’m not missing her funeral.” Turning on my heels, I clutch my things close and start toward the back of the house.
I’ll go sit by the pool and eat my emotional support meal. And when I can no longer cling to my self-righteous attitude about the funeral, I know I’ll descend back into grief.
The first is easier. It hurts less.
Having a mission keeps my brain busy and my sorrow at bay.
I shuffle toward the back door and away from the men who’ve sworn to take a bullet for me, tears already biting the backs of my eyes. They sting and itch, and before I’ve made my way through the door and onto the patio outside, they fall.
“Aurora Swanson.” A man’s deep, dark voice brings my head up with a snap, and the box of cookies sprawling to the floor so they explode from the package and spread everywhere.
I could lament the few that roll into the pool or the milk that sloshes onto my shaking hand. But my focus is trained purely on the man standing against a patio pillar holding the roof up. He wears a suit and exhales a plume of smoke that I can smell, all the way on the other side of the space. “Don’t scream.” He grins. “It’ll make the cops angry.”
“Wh— who…” I swallow the lump of nerves in my throat and mentally flip through my memories from the other night. Which guy is this? Which gun did he hold and point my way? And how the hell did he sneak onto protected property? “Um…” Shakily, I bend and set my milk on the stone floor, like it matters that I don’t spill it. “W-who are you?”
“I’m not Vallejo,” he smirks, playful in his expression. His eyes seem familiar to me. His face, bearing a resemblance I can’t quite place. “And I’m not gonna hurt you.” He nods, as though to indicate over my head. “Detective Malone in there?”
“Um…” I glance back, which is probably dumb of me. To take my eyes off the proverbial wolf. “Y-yes.” I bring my focus back around, half expecting him to be a dozen steps closer. But he remains exactly where he started. His ankles crossed, smoke o’s forming as he exhales another plume. “Did you want to speak with him?” I take a step back. “Because I could get him for you.”
“No need, doll. Archer Malone!” he booms, reaching into his pocket and taking out a switchblade that makes my bowels liquify and my stomach jump. He flicks it open. Flicks it closed. Open. Closed. “Come out. I wanna talk to you.”
Footsteps skid inside the house, panic and rage coalescing until I can feel it in the air. Drake is the first through the door, wrapping his arm around my body and swinging me in a circle until he’s where I was, I’m hidden behind his back, and his arm is outstretched with a gun pointing at our newcomer.
But Archer isn’t nearly as rushed. His anger, not quite the same as Drake’s. He carries his gun, but he strolls through the door and looks across at the man like he bores him.
“What the fuck are you doing here, Felix?”
Drake
THE MAFIA IS BACK IN TOWN.
Felix Malone is the second-oldest of the five Malone brothers. Archer is the second-youngest, which means one exists between them.
The oldest Malone, Timothy the Third, is alive and kicking and completely competent enough to take over where their father left off. But word on the street is he doesn’t want it. He’s happy to run his bar and live a life of semi-normalcy. Which leaves Felix as the newest leader of the fucking mob.
And he reclines in a tall wingback chair like he knows he rules the world.
“So you’re running a case,” the mafia fucking don taunts, playful toward his little brother despite the tension sitting thick in the air. “Your case is wrapped up in Gregory Vallejo.TheGregory Vallejo,” he adds for emphasis. “And you didn’t think to let me know?”
“Vallejo’s been dead five years,” Archer argues.I guess he talks about active cases with the mob now. “He’s been gone, Lix. He’s not relevant anymore.”
“In theory,” Felix counters. “But Vallejo has pies all over the country. Some of those pies are nowmypies, so if he’s suddenly alive again and comes looking to collect them, I’d say that makes him relevant to me.”
“You said you’re out.” I pace the room and keep Rory pinned in my peripherals. She’s not walking away, and she won’t be shuffled into another room for safety. She demands to be here, just as vehemently as I am to witness this discussion. “You said you’re not them, Malone. But the second most powerful mafioso on the eastern seaboard is now sitting in this room, having a chat aboutmywitness.”
