Chapter Twenty-Three

Renzo

I never had a reason before to want to rush home.

But as we questioned the kid for a third day, I could barely keep my mind on the task.

All I could think about was going home, walking through the door, and finding Lore there waiting for me. A new understanding between us.

Shit had changed so quickly.

Just one full night with her, watching how she came out of her shell little by little as we talked, making her more animated and expressive, her words often tripping over each other to rush out.

She especially liked talking about her family, the love there so plain for anyone to see.

“You didn’t hate me because of him?” I’d asked when she’d told me a story about one of her brothers, Cesare, the tattooed, womanizing brother who had a penchant for getting into trouble.

“Hate you? For what?”

“Because I was the reason he had to go into exile for so long.” I’d approved the hit on Cesare after he’d made the epic fucking mistake of sleeping with one of my capo’s wives.

“I’m pretty sure Cesare was to blame for that.”

She was surprisingly good at that. Being neutral, even when she was talking about her loved ones.

I think we have all had undue prejudices against each other just because history told us we should, she’d said, speaking of the war between our families.

All the while she was talking, she was sitting there eating her fucking chicken fingers and fries like it was a goddamn Michelin star meal.

She was just… fucking perfect.

And all I wanted to do was get my ass home to her again.

“Fuck,” Dav hissed, pulling his hand back, cradling it to his chest. We’d all heard the crunch. The hardheaded kid’s face had broken one of his fingers.

“Take a break,” I said, nodding toward the door, knowing the pain would piss him off, and make him go too hard. Which wasn’t going to help anyone.

I waited until he was gone, then stood there looking down at the kid, his face a mess of cuts and bruises, his dark hair sweaty from the pain, his body slouched to the side, trying to favor his ribs that both Dav and I had worked over.

His words came back to me as he glanced up, eyes icy, daring me to hit him again, telling me it wouldn’t fucking work.

Believe me, I’ve had worse.

That was what he’d said.

And, fuck, I could feel those words down to my soul.

No fight I’d ever been in from being a punk-ass kid or a boss ever compared to what I dealt with from my old man.

With a sigh, I moved across the room, grabbing the other metal chair, and dragging it over, turning it to sit on it backward in front of him.

“When I was ten, I knocked into and busted the TV,” I told him, the memory fresh even after all these years. The kid was watching me, face blank. But I went on anyway. “Old man stood up, whipped off his belt, and beat the ever-loving shit out of me. Bad enough that he cut through the material of my pants and shirt. Had welts busted open and bleeding,” I recounted, remembering the way my poor excuse of a mother urged him on. Teach him a lesson. Fucking ungrateful little shit. “I accidentally turned once,” I went on, touching my lip. “Caught the metal of the buckle. Bled like a fucking river.”

“What? We friends now?” he asked. “Should I be sharing a sob story too?”

I didn’t fight the smile that tugged at my lips then.

Because, fuck, I had to respect this kid’s balls.

“Just making a point. You said you’d been through worse. I have too. Which is why I know if it was my ass in that chair, no amount of pain would make me talk either.”

“Yeah? Then the fuck you keep hitting me for then?”

Good question.

“How old are you? Eighteen?”

“Nineteen,” he said, straightening a bit. As if insulted I’d assume he was younger. Like there was any difference at all between those ages.

“How long you been on your own?”

“Since sixteen.”

“You got a name?”

“Coal.”

“You’re not from here.” It wasn’t really a question. Fact of the matter was, if there was a kid this tough in the area, there was no way I wouldn’t have known about him, wouldn’t have tried to recruit him myself.

“No. Camden,” he admitted.

That made sense. That was a rough area too. Like me and mine, he’d likely been on those streets young, likely working as a scout for drug dealers or other organized crime syndicates.

“How long you been here?”

“Couple weeks.”

“Right. Okay. And you’re freelancing,” I guessed.

“Don’t need no fucking boss.”

“Everyone has a boss,” I said, shrugging. “Except me,” I added. “Think you came here not knowing shit about how things work around here.”

“You might be a boss,” he said. “But that don’t mean you don’t got people who want to change that.”

“Clearly,” I said, shaking my head. “What I’m saying here is… they’re not gonna fucking win. Maybe this would have been a different story a few months ago. Before I created an alliance with all the other of the five families,” I told him, watching his mind work behind his green eyes. “Now, a move against me, is a move against all of us. Whoever you are working for, they’re bringing down the wrath of the entire fucking mob on them. Even if they kill me, they don’t win. That’s not how this plays out.”

He sat there for a minute, digesting this.

No, he wasn’t from the city.

But anyone raised by the streets understood the hierarchy of organized crime.

It wasn’t just the boss involved here. It was the capos, the soldiers, the associates. Of every goddamn family. Hundreds of fucking men. Ready to exact revenge.

Coal watched me, a muscle ticking in his jaw as he moved his mouth side to side.

“What if I told you that this alliance you’re boasting about is the reason I am here?”

“I’d say I’m not surprised. Lot of people haven’t been thrilled about it.”

“And if I told you this guy will do anything to get to you.”

“Seems like he’s working toward that.”

“No,” Coal said, shaking his head. “Anything. Hurt… anyone.”

“He’s gonna make a move on my people?” I asked, mind racing with how many soldiers and capos could be out there on the streets right now, unaware, unprotected.

Coal sucked in a deep breath, then winced as it expanded his lungs enough to make his ribs scream.

“If I say anything else, I want something in return.”

“What do you want?” I asked.

“My life,” he said.

“Don’t worry, kid, I was going to give you that, but also take that from you no matter what.”

“What?”

“You’re gonna live. But your life is gonna belong to me,” I told him. “You work your way up like anyone else. Associate to soldier to capo. You’re a fucking piece of work,” I went on. “Lot like I was at your age.”

“You’d hire me? After what I did?”

Again, the words came back to me.

“When you know better, you do better. And I’d much rather have you working for, rather than against, me. So that’s the deal. Give me my answers. And you walk out of here, recover for a few days, then show up to work for me.”

He was going to be a lot of work.

But I had a long history of taking wild street kids and turning them into productive members of this family.

“Okay,” Coal said, nodding.

“Okay,” I agreed. “Who hired you?”

“Michael,” he said, not a hint of deception in his eyes.

Michael?

Michael?

One of my actual fucking blood relatives? A cousin I used to ride bikes with, sneak drinks with, chase girls with? The closest thing to an actual brother I had.

But, it made sense, didn’t it?

Technically, in the order of things, he was the one who should have taken over as the boss.

The thing was, in this world, you didn’t just get fucking gifted the position of boss. You had to work for it. Earn it. Get the support for it. Then reach out and fucking… take it.

I wasn’t surprised that he wanted it, that he was even bitter about not having it.

But to make moves against me?

His own fucking blood?

On a growl, I got up from the chair, making my way to the door.

“Yo,” Coal called, making me pause, hand on the knob.

“What?”

“You didn’t ask me who he’s after.”

Turning, I looked at him, a twisting sort of dread starting in my gut.

“Who’s he after?”

“Who’ll hurt you the most,” Coal said.

“That could be—“ I started to object. The sentence trailed off, though, before Coal even interrupted me.

“Your wife.”

I never ran so fast in my entire motherfucking life.

Dav, picking up on the seriousness, abandoned Coal strapped to his chair, running off after me as I made my way toward the apartment building.

Where Lore would be sitting, unaware.

I should have said something.

Told her shit was dangerous.

I couldn’t wait for the elevator, tearing up the steps two at a time instead, my heart a bass beat in my chest as the cold hand of fear tightened around my throat.

“Lore!” I called, rushing onto the floor.

And there, like a nightmare, was Elian.

Slumped on the ground.

A pool of blood forming around him.

Conscious, but just barely.

“Fuck. Fuck!”

“Mi… Michael,” Elian coughed out, close to blacking out.

“Oh, fuck,” Dav said, rushing over toward Elian, pressing his broken hand into Elian’s wound as he reached for his phone with the other hand.

I plugged the number into the keypad, doing something I wasn’t sure I’d ever fucking done before.

Praying.

She had to be okay.

Inside.

Scared.

Even hiding.

But okay.

Safe.

“Lore!” I yelled the second the door flew open.

I rushed inside, hoping to see her rushing out, to feel her throw her arms around me.

Until my gaze slid to the kitchen.

Finding a bunch of food on the island, some partially prepared meal set there.

But, much more damning than that, was an open can of crushed tomatoes dropped on the ground, the contents splashed across the floor.

I knew right then that she was gone.

He’d taken her from me.

And I had to fucking get her back.