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“I have cameras that need installed. I need to go grab them from my room, if you want to set that up by the front door, I can start there.” I said.

Ian nodded and moved toward the garage door, hitting the switch on the wall to open it as he did. Not sure what to make of his behavior, I quickly went to my room and grabbed the cameras before meeting him on the front porch.

“Thanks,” I said when I got there, noticing the ladder was already in position. “I’ll just get started.”

I started to step around him, intending to climb the ladder and install the first camera. Ian sighed, the sound making his annoyance clear, and gave me a look I could only describeasthe‘dad look.’ Putting one hand on my chest to stop me, he reached the other out and curled his fingers in a ‘gimmie’ motion.

“I can handle installing some cameras,” I attempted to argue, only to have him gently push me back and make the motion again. “Do you know how to wire these up?”

His response was an exasperated look as he snatched one of the camera boxes free from the bags in my hands. Shaking his head, he turned and started up the ladder. Ian didn’t say a word as he worked, only pointing when he needed a tool or turning to stare at me if he needed some instructions. It was comforting in his own strange way, and with each new camera we installed, my mind slipped deeper into memories of the man when I was a child.

As I replayed the memories of growing up with the Innocenti’s down the street in Southside, it didn’t take long for my mind to return to the night I murdered my father. Most of what happened after my mother found me standing over his body, covered in blood spatter, was a blur. But the memory of walking into the Innocenti’s home was still crystal clear.

Dawn and Ian had been waiting for me, opening the door before I could knock and ushering me inside. Dawn had fretted over me with a washcloth for a few minutes before Ian gently grabbed my shoulder, led me into their small living room, and motioned for me to sit. I’d been utterly numb as I settled into their worn-out sofa, not even noticing the large man taking a knee in front of me.

“You did the right thing, son,” Ian said, his deep baritone carrying a hint of gravel in his heavy Southern accent. The sound was shocking enough to startle me out of whatever place I’d gone to in my mind. Ian never spoke. Ever. “We tried everything we could to get him away from the pair of ya, but nothing worked. I’m sorry you had to do what you did, but youdid the right thing. A good man protects his family, and that’s what you did.”

My mouth fell open in shock, and I could only nod. Ian pinched his mouth closed and studied me briefly before nodding and stepping back like he’d never spoken.

“Craig,” that same rough baritone jerked me out of my memories. It was probably the fourth time I’d heard him speak in my entire life.

I looked up to find Ian on the ladder, staring at me in irritation with a hand out. He almost looked pained to have needed to say my name to draw my attention back to our task. Muttering an apology, I handed him the next camera box.

Ian looked past me as he reached for the box. He startled me as he jumped down from his perch atop the ladder to the ground. He brushed past me with surprising speed for his broad body, and when I turned around, he was sprinting across his property. I followed him as quickly as I could comfortably move, drawing up short when Joey came into view.

“What the fuck happened to you?” I hollered, taking in his blood-soaked appearance. Joey didn’t have a chance to respond before Ian started silently checking him over. Turning and handling him like he might a small child as he looked for wounds. He got as far as pulling Joey’s shirt off him while we stood in the front yard before his son stepped back with his hands up.

“Dad… Dad! Stop it, I’m fine! It’s not my blood.” Joey clipped, snatching his shirt back from his father. I could see the tension visibly leaving Ian’s body, and the heavy sigh of relief sounded like it was heaved from his whole body. There was a pause as Joey put his shirt back on, rolling his eyes when he looked at his dad.

Ian’s hand snapped out, and he slapped the back of Joey’s head before settling his hands on his hips and staring Joey down.

“I’m a mobster, Dad. What did you expect?” Joey snarked, rubbing where his father had slapped him.

“Yeah, and so am I. I’ve never come home looking like Carrie on prom night.” I responded with a raised eyebrow. “That’s outside the norm even for our line of work, unless you’re Leighton and it’s fight night.”

Joey shot me a dirty look as Ian shifted his weight and then looked back at his father. It was clear there was some unspoken conversation happening between them that I couldn’t follow without seeing Ian’s face. I wasn’t even sure Iwantedto see his face, having been on the receiving end of his looks once or twice growing up. After a few more moments of silent standoff, Ian jerked his arm out and pointed to where their hose was stored. Joey hung his head and stomped in that direction, reminding me of how he’d react to a scolding as a teen.

Ian sighed again, momentarily tilted his head toward the sky, and then marched toward his son. Without a word, he pulled the hose free and turned the knob on the spigot. He didn’t bother giving Joey so much as a warning look before he pressed the handle and started spraying him down.

“Fuck! Dad, that’s cold!” Joey yelped, jumping back. “A heads up would have been nice!”

Ian groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose, and then twisted the nozzle to the jet stream. Joey practically danced as bloody water streamed below his feet, and Ian continued to spray him with cold water. I stood there, fighting the urge to laugh, as it became increasingly apparent that Ian was prolonging things by focusing the stream on Joey’s shirt. When Joey opened his mouth to say something, Ian raised the nozzleand sprayed him in the face, causing me to lose hold of my laughter.

I regretted it immediately as freezing cold water blasted me in the face in response to my laughing at Joey’s predicament. I raised my hands in surrender and stepped back a few paces. Ian turned the hose back on Joey, motioning for him to lean down, and began to spray Joey’s hair down. Joey scrubbed his hands through his hair until the water was as clear as he could get it without soap.

He turned the nozzle back to regular stream before shutting off the hose and hanging it back on the storage. He jerked his head toward the garage.

“Where’s Leighton?” I asked as we followed behind Ian.

“Don’t fucking know.” Joey replied through clenched teeth. “We got tranq’d and the next thing I knew I was being shaken awake by one of our street guys that Leighton had ordered to head to Harrison’s.”

“You’re lucky our man disobeyed an order,” I murmured. “But tranq’d? That makes no sense.”

Joey jerked his head toward Ian, who was closing the garage door, as we entered. “We’ll talk about it later, with Az.”

I nodded. None of us wanted to get into our work around the parents, and they were happy not to know more than they needed to. Joey reached for the door to the house and froze when Ian cleared his throat behind us. We both turned to Ian, standing there with his arms crossed over his chest and his eyebrow raised. He motioned toward Joey’s blood-soaked and now dripping-wet clothes. His meaning was obvious, and he was right. Dawn would flip if Joey tracked any of that into the house.

“Seriously?” Joey said. Ian gave him a look as if to say, ’Do I look like I’m joking?’ It took everything in me not to chuckle, lest I be punished as well for acting out of turn. Joey huffed andtook his shoes off. He looked at his dad, who motioned to the rest of him. “It’s freezing out here!” Ian shrugged.