12. FRANKIE

After what had happened and being caught off-guard by a dead cop, I needed all the ways to relax and destress. We headed to the sauna. It was empty. We stayed in there together for a while before Cal started to snore and snort himself awake. I'd got enough of my stress out that I could leave the sauna without wanting to stab someone.

It was almost the worst fate you could have, to be convicted of killing a cop, sure, the people inside prison might hail you for doing something like that, but ultimately they turn on you when the prison guards start to pit the prisoners against you like their personal fight club, taking bets and pooling together as they gamble on who will come out of their ring victorious.

I knew that was true because I'd had a cousin on the inside if one. He was put in a very similar situation. Beaten to death. He was arrested, imprisoned, and convicted for life because he'd killed a cop. Except his was completely accidental, he was driving the car that killed him. Of course, since his last name was Borgesi, they made an example out of him, but Rico had never been part of the family business. He was my dad's sister's son. She lived out west now in New Mexico.

Thoughts of Rico continued to go through my mind as I laid beside Cal in bed. The thoughts were sifted between the notion that someone was trying to set me up. First at the warehouse, and now at a house. This had to have been someone who could see the entire playing field and knew my next step. Every family had someone like me within it. Not a homosexual. But a hitman.

"Sleep," Cal grumbled, swatting a hand at my chest. "C'mon. You—you don't like it—when I—stay up." He paused to let out mini yawns. It was adorable to see him fall asleep before me for once. Perhaps I should've stayed at the hotel and got that massage he'd been raving about in the car up here.

I barely remember falling asleep. Cal woke me up, squeezing at my face and pushing my lips together to kiss them.

"Mwah," he made the sound as he pecked my face. "Mwah. Mwah."

"Babe," I grumbled, wrapping my arms around him and rolling over on the bed. "What time is it?"

"Breakfast time," he said. "You know they have this full breakfast bar downstairs. We need to go and use it before they close."

Caught off-guard by what happened last night, I hadn't wanted to eat anything at all. But now that those nerves had gone down, my hunger was strong. My stomach rumbled. I gently pressed my mouth against Cal's neck and pretended he was my food.

He giggled. "No, no, no, there are eggs and bacon downstairs."

Laid on top of him, my morning wood rubbed against his thigh.

"Put that away. Unless it's your gun, in which case, I already told you not to bring your gun into bed."

I wrapped a hand around his wrist, seeing the bracelet still there. "I'm proud of you." He'd overcome a lot, from wearing this bracelet, to going outside, to being intimate again. Cal had rebuilt himself. "Now, either you leave this bed, or I make a scramble inside your guts boy."

Cal pulled himself out from under me. "Well, you can't do that, because Sutton is waiting for us outside."

Looking at him, he was already dressed in a pair of shorts and a T-shirt. A light breeze from the air conditioning traveled across my naked back.

"You two go down," I said. "If you're here, I'll just want to fuck you."

He turned around and squeezed his ass for me. "Something to think about while I'm gone."

It was definitely something.

Once Cal left, I took a quick shower and got dressed into a nice, clean suit from the garment bag I'd brought up with me. No tie, top buttons of the shirt undone, and extra pumps of cologne. I was done.

The hotel was fancy, so I had been expecting a fancy breaking meal.

On the ground floor in the restaurant area, it was set up like a canteen. It wasn't exactly how I imagined it for a place this fancy. I grabbed a plate from the stack and walked down the line, grabbing different food items for my breakfast.

Cal and Sutton were both seated by the window, not a wise choice from a tactical standpoint. It completely blocked their view of two major entry points into the restaurant area.

"You know there's also a menu," Sutton said. "You can get them to make something."

"It's fine," I grumbled. It wasn't fine. All this stuff was mostly fried. I made sure I got my protein with the meat and eggs. "I don't think we're gonna be able to stay much longer anyway."

"What?" Cal accidentally kicked the table.

"Yes," I said, nodding slowly. "What I told you last night. I'm gonna need to head back. People need to know."

"Oh, the police thing," Sutton whispered.

Of course, Sutton had to know.

Cal shrugged. "I had to tell him. He might be able to help."

"I can," Sutton said. "I have access points into their system. Unless they've beefed up security, but I highly doubt they have. And I was in there last month, you know, just looking around for fancy houses they'd busted and closed." He had a wicked smile, placing his fingertips together like he was a cunning genius. "That's how I find places to travel to. It's so easy when you know the owners are behind bars. Right."

"Right," I said, slicing into the egg yolk. "So, did Cal give you his name?"

"Yep," Cal said. "Although I have thoughts. Maybe he wasn't undercover. What if he was just caught dealing on the side? Maybe it was his partner on the force who did it."

"You've been watching too many cop shows," Sutton said. "It's usually far more complicated than that."

"Well, whatever it is, we need answers ASAP." I started eating, but I hated the position we were in. I needed to teach them more about where to sit when they were in an open plan area. They couldn't allow themselves to be vulnerable at any angle.

My cell buzzed in my trouser pocket. I grabbed it to see the caller. And I would've usually ignored it while I was eating, but it was my younger brother, Sandro. He never called unless it was important.

"One second guys," I said, excusing myself from the table. "Hey, what's up?" I answered to him.

"The fuck ya doing in New Jersey?"

Great. A perfect way to start a conversation with me in the morning.

"You stay on your side of the business, and I'll stay on mine," Sandro continued. "I'm fucking sick of people interfering."

"Listen, you little dick, I was looking out for the family's interests," I told him.

"Whatever, I—"

"Gather the family," I interrupted him in a whisper.

"You don't tell me to gather the family."

"Do it."

"You—"

I cut the call.

I knew he'd do what I'd told him to. The family is never all called together for business unless it's something serious. And this was incredibly serious.

When I got back to the table, I kept to myself and ate the breakfast.

"I was thinking we could go to the museum," Sutton said.

"Yeah, I wanna go see the museum," Cal added.

"Babe." I reached across the table and took his hand. "We've gotta go. Go upstairs. Pack your clothes. We have to get back to the family."

Cal nodded. He understood the seriousness of it.

"Another time," Sutton said. "And I'm always here, if you need help, or I need help, which probably won't be likely because I always cover my tracks." He got louder, boasting. I had to remind myself that he was Cal's friend, and he had done a lot for us.

The drive back to Philly was mostly quiet as Cal was on the laptop and I was thinking. I didn't know what was going to happen when I got to the family meeting. It was usually held at the restaurant the family owned, it was also one of the shipping routes through a legitimate business, but far more frequently, shipments were being intercepted, just like the one at the port.

"What do you think is going to happen?" Cal asked, his voice breaking after not speaking. "I mean, how will they take the news?"

"It'll be a witch hunt," I said. And I knew that was dangerous because fingers would be pointed directly at him. I knew it wasn't him. But my family didn't know him the way I did, and I didn't want them to know him like I did. "They'll look back at the books and see all the new faces and names. Obviously, they'll come to me, and I'll get—" I looked at my hands on the steering wheel, my knuckles didn't look as bad as they had. "Bloody."

"It shouldn't be your responsibility," he said, closing the laptop. "You should be able to run your own thing. Your brothers do. You're more than just violent. I know you are."

A gentle scoff came from the back of my throat. Cal hadn't seen my true violence. In fact, I hadn't really seen much of that side of myself in a while either. Cal changed me when I saved him, in a way, it felt like he was saving me from being completely taken over and losing the last of my humanity.

He placed his hand on my arm, squeezing my muscle. He giggled. "You're also very squishy, and intelligent, you should be able to run your own thing."

It was nice of him to say. The offer had been there once upon a time, but I turned it down. It wasn't for me, and I believed it was only offered because I was a son. I could still picture the relief in my father's eyes when I told him that I didn't want to take on a role like Tommy.

I drove us straight to the restaurant, Borgesi's. It might've helped if we didn't name the restaurant after ourselves, people knew to look for our name on paperwork and shipments. It was a stupid decision, but I didn't overstep then. I was going to overstep now.

There were cars lining the street, and a single free spot outside the restaurant. I parked, holding Cal's hand. "You're gonna stay in here. I'll be out in five-ten minutes tops."

He stroked his thumb over my knuckles. "Ok, but make sure you don't get into a fight."

"It's family," I said, taking my gun out and placing it inside the glovebox. "I'll be ok." I didn't quite believe that myself, and not going in with a weapon was more of a safety thing for them than it was a show of trust for me.

One of the associates came out of the restaurant doors. He wore black sunglasses, his head directed at the car, probably trying to figure out who took the reserved spot. With a cellphone in his hand, he snapped a picture of the license plate. And I hoped I wasn't the first to arrive, but from the cars parked, I was probably the last.

Out of the car, I cracked my neck against my knuckles. "Is everyone here?"

"Mr. Borgesi," the associate said, his voice was rough, like he needed to clear his throat. "Yes. Everyone is waiting for you."

Inside the restaurant at that secret back room, the family had convened. The front of the restaurant was swarming with associates, each one of them staring at me as I walked right on through to the back. These were the people who had smaller people under them, they dealt the drugs, and handled a lot of the small stuff, or whatever my brothers decided to use them for to prove their worth and usefulness to the family.

My father, my uncle, and my two brothers, they made the immediate family. I looked at the four of them; my father and uncle seated in the smelly leather armchairs while my brothers stood beside the pushcart bar stocked with alcohol. We were losing this. My father no longer scared people, he was old. My uncle couldn't scare people himself; he used me. And my brothers were far too concerned with themselves over any legacy. I was surprised I didn't see the twins here too, since they were the ones in college, ready to legitimize the entire family business.

The smell in the room was stale, almost like the progress of this family. I closed the door behind myself. "I couldn't do this over the phone," I told them, taking the bottle of scotch from the bar. I grabbed a glass and blew in it to get the dust out. "Someone tried to frame me again last night."

My father scoffed. "Again?"

"We'll gut the fuckers," Vito added, nodding vehemently.

"It was a cop," I said, gulping back a shot of scotch. "Maybe they were undercover, or maybe they were running drugs on the side. Whoever it was, they were shot dead. Right before I got there. And the worst part is, I'd been watching the apartment all day."

"What?" Sandro straightened himself up. "No."

"Yeah. The guy who took our shipment was a cop. I don't know if they were framed, because their rap sheet for their alias smelled like some DEA sting," I said.

Tommy clicked his tongue. "And you think there's a mole?"

"A mole!" my father slammed his hand down on the desk. It wobbled, almost crumbling beneath him. "No. Vito has already exhausted that path."

I didn't want to tell them that the mole could've been someone in this room. I only told them what I knew. And what I knew was that I was a wanted man, not only by police, but also other criminals. Someone was trying to take the chess pieces off the board, and they were starting with me.

And as I took another shot of scotch to the back of my throat. The crack of a gunshot whipped through the air. It came from outside.

Cal?