Page 55

The pipe bombs were neat, but, like the money, they smelled like garbage. He always kept his stash hidden in the compost heap in his tiny alley garden. Clever way to avoid being robbed, but I wished he’d find a better method; I always had to shower after these meetings.

Juggling the bag in one hand, I peered at my phone.Why is Lulabelle calling me?

My boot kicked an Italian ice container up from the sidewalk; I tossed it into the trash. “Hello?” I asked.

“Hey there, kid.”

I pulled up short.Romeo.“What did you do to her?” I hissed, my mind a storm of awful images.He has her phone, he has her, no. No no no no.

“Oh, so I have your attention.” He chuckled dryly. “I haven’t done anything to her yet. But we all know that’ll change, unless ...”

Through the phone I heard a distant and plaintive cry. “Costello, don’t come here! Don’t—” Someone must have covered her mouth. People strolled by me, laughing and unaware that I was listening to my sister in distress.

My stomach flipped. I reached under my jacket and felt my gun. “If you fucking hurt her, I swear I’ll tear your throat out.”

“Tch, there’s no need for that. Just bring the money to the old mill by South Point Lake. And if you try and gather backup, I’ll carve your pretty sister’s face real nice, so you remember not to stand up to me again. Ciao, little prince.”

The line cut out. Romeo had been telling me to bring him $1 million for two weeks. I’d been willing to take every hit he had, knowing I’d eventually figure out how to make him regret the attacks, because getting him the cash was impossible. Even if I’d wanted to, there was just no way to do it and not get noticed by my father.

There was a streetlight over my head. I watched—heard—as a moth sizzled against the hot glass, dissolving. The noise repeated over and over in my skull.I have to save her. I can’t let her be hurt because of me.It was my worst nightmare, one I couldn’t wake up from.

A new voice rumbled in my head. It smothered the constant rusty squeal of my panic. It smoothed over the cries of my sister. My father spoke to me through the haze of my own fear, telling me what he had for years.

You’re responsible for this family.

Kings have to make the hard choices, and every choice they make, especially when it comes to family, falls on them. On you, Costello.

Family always comes first. Always.

No matter the cost.

He was right.

I knew what I had to do.

The mill was dark except for a single window. Through it I could see the figure pacing: Romeo. I’d already seen them inside—walked the perimeter twice, just to make sure there were no others outside. I wanted to be careful. Ihadto be if this was going to end the way I wanted it to.

Lulabelle was sitting in a plain wooden chair, her mouth and hands covered with tape. Not once did she lift her head, and that worried me the most. My sister was proud ... strong.

Tonight she looked like a dog that had been beaten once and knew to behave.

I would have shot them through the window right then, but it wouldn’t have worked. I could have hit one of them, but the other two would have known to dodge at the sound of the breaking glass.

After that, Lulabelle would be in danger.

I wouldn’t let her suffer any more than she already had.

Pushing through the creaking doors, I marched into the mill’s dusty main floor. The machines had been dismantled for every bit worth selling long ago. On the far side was a staircase that led to the higher floor; it jutted upward like a broken bone.

Romeo and the other two snapped their heads up at the sound of my intentionally loud footsteps. I wasn’t trying to hide from them. No, I wanted them to see me, to remember me.

No one had the right to mess with me or my family.

No one.

“You made it,” Romeo said, clapping one palm against the gun in his opposite hand. He wanted me to see he was armed.

“Here,” I said, holding the bag up. “One million. Now let her go.”