27. Dante

TWENTY-SEVEN

Dante

Tristan is sitting at the island counter of Noah's kitchen. He hasn't touched the mug of tea that Noah gave him. He hasn't said a word to me since he told me to be careful. But he hasn't recoiled from me either.

I think he's in shock.

Noah glances at him while he fixes his own tea. Then he glances at me.

Maybe I'm in shock too because I don't feel anything.

Except that's not true, is it? Deep down, I'm terrified. Of what Tristan thinks. Of what he might say.

Noah goes to sit beside Tristan. He doesn't ask me to sit. He knows I won't. I'm standing in the living room with my back to the wall, and I don't think I can move.

Noah asks, "Will you tell me what happened to your brother? What you know, I mean."

Tristan clears his throat. "Evan disappeared when he was fifteen. I thought he ran away. That's what my foster father said."

"You were ten when that happened?"

Tristan nods. "I thought … I thought he left me. I was so angry with him." He squeezes his eyes shut then he looks at Noah, anger in his eyes. "But he was what? Some kind of …"

He doesn't put a word to it. Neither does Noah.

"Evan spent about a year on a remote, private island owned at the time by a group that called itself the Society. It was, loosely speaking, an international crime syndicate. It was complex, involved in all kinds of shit. Politics. Drug trafficking. Human trafficking. Guns. The Island was its private, neutral ground. Members would meet there for business and … pleasure." Noah grounds out the last word.

"Because of the boys they kept there."

"Yes."

"Kept there as …"

"Yes."

Tristan scowls at his untouched tea. He fiddles with the teabag string. "And Evan was one of them."

"Yes," Noah says and scowls at his own mug. "And he was one of those, unfortunately, that I wasn't able to save."

Tristan looks at Noah. "What do you mean?"

"I was an FBI agent at the time. My case had been shut down. I was working off the books. When I finally learned the location of the Island and got a team together, I went to destroy it, to take down any Society members I could and get the boys out. But some of the Society got away, and some of the boys were taken with them. Evan was one of those. He was taken by a mobster named Giovanni Fiero. Fiero kept him and groomed him and trained him as a hitman."

"And Capelli hired him?" Tristan asks, showing that he's clearly thinking, clearly with it. But he never looks at me.

I should be glad. I don't know what expression is on my face right now. I'm trying so hard to not react to Noah's story, to not remember my own part in it. I'm trying to keep the buzz that started inside me at the beginning of it from getting to my hands. I fold my arms and trap my hands against my body, just in case.

I've broken things in this apartment before. I don't want to do that tonight.

Noah explains, "Lorenzo Capelli has— had —connections to the Society and the mafia. He used those connections to hire Evan to kill Dante. Capelli must not have realized that Evan was one of the Island boys, or maybe he thought it wouldn't matter. Whatever the case, instead of killing Dante, Evan turned on Capelli."

"And Capelli killed him."

"Yes."

Tristan stares at his untouched mug of tea. He's not scowling this time. He's worn out. Empty. Emotionless.

Noah, of course, sees it too. He's seen it a hundred times. He gets up and goes into the kitchen. He gets out a bottle of pills. He shakes two into his hand then pushes them across the counter to Tristan.

"Take that."

"What is it?"

"It'll help you sleep."

"I don't want to sleep."

"You need to," Noah tells him. "We can talk more in the morning if you want. But right now, you need to take that. Then I'll show you the spare room."

Tristan looks over his shoulder at me for the first time. Is he hoping I'll leave? Hoping I'll … stay?

He looks so fucking confused he probably doesn't even know. Since I'm not sure, I only say, "I won't let anything happen to you."

He takes a shuddering breath. I want to go to him. I want to put my arms around him. But I will protect him. Even from myself. I have enough control now to understand what that means, what it might require.

I think Noah realizes it too, or at least knows what I'm thinking, because he's watching me from the corner of his eye.

Tristan takes the pills. He lets Noah lead him down the hallway to the bedroom, though he looks over his shoulder at me as he goes. I don't think I physically move, but I feel a wave in my body, like I'm rocking toward him.

Noah comes back.

"What Rafael's status?" he asks as he starts dumping out the mugs of tea.

"He's getting patched up by the doc."

"You should see Anya too. You should've seen her a few times over the last few weeks."

Anya is an old friend of Noah's, a doctor with a small community clinic who helps out with our shit on the side. But I don't like being touched, not as a general rule, not without a contract to put me in control of it.

"I'm okay," I say.

"Are you?" Noah asks, his tone making the question mean something else.

I can't muster a lie, so I don't say anything at all.

Noah knows better than to push, so instead he asks, "Fiero?"

"In the warehouse. Secure. I need to deal with him."

"You need to sleep."

"I'll try to sleep at the warehouse."

"Stay here."

"I can't. I won't be able to leave him alone."

"Dante—"

I push away from the wall. "I have to go."

"He just needs time," Noah says. "He's in shock."

"I know."

"You need time too."

No, I don't. I need Tristan. I realized it the morning that I woke up on the floor of my trashed bedroom after I threw him out.

I knew it as I set things in motion with Fiero to bring everything to an end. All of it already felt empty, my revenge hollow.

I knew it would never soothe me again, not in the same way. Only Tristan can do that.

And without him …

I'll deal with that later, figure out what that means later. I have Fiero to deal with first.