Page 49 of Bitter Poetry

Chris doesn’t seem worried about it so I do the only thing I can and trust my brother to know the man he works with every day.

The sounds of pounding footsteps penetrate the ringing in my ears as Christian helps me lower my ass to my office chair and Leon barrels into the room. His white shirt is splattered with blood, and he’s holding his gun.

Jero is busy securing the man still alive—the one Christian hit with the bat.

“Fuck,” Leon mutters. “Like, what the fuck?”

“Hey, Leon,” Christian says cheerfully. “It’s been a while.”

“Christian? Jesus! What are they feeding you?” Leon turns and pokes his head out the door. “Get a medical kit and some fucking ice, for fucks’ sake.”

A couple of my men enter and help Jero get the grunting thug to his feet.

“Take him somewhere secure and make sure he doesn’t die,” Leon says.

A woman arrives at the door wearing nothing but a silver sequined bikini and five-inch heels. Her hair is long, lustrous, and cherry red. That has to be a wig. It takes me several seconds to notice she’s holding a medical kit. A look passes between her and Leon. If my head wasn’t pounding, I might be able to make more sense of it.

“Someone asked for a medical kit?” she says. Her voice is soft and cultured and doesn’t remotely fit the way she looks.

“Who the fuck let you back here?” Leon says, scowling over her shoulder as if searching for the person responsible for letting her through, before he directs a lukewarm smile her way. “Don’t want to get any blood on your sequins, Cherry. Run along, hmm?”

Leon grasps the medical kit.

She retains her hold and a tug of war ensues. “They asked for a doctor, boss.”

He releases the kit. “Hidden talents, Cherry?” His lips tug up. “Or should I call you Doctor Cherry?” He gives her an up-down look. “Assume your doctorate is in something medical and not twerking?”

“Mr. Barone, I spent a year working in ER. I can stomach a little blood and whatever has happened to your friend. Do you want me to help him or not?”

Christian snickers.

“Yes,” I interrupt. “Let her the fuck through before I bleed all over the place.”

CHAPTER 16

CHRISTIAN

They really did a number on Dante. The one we kept alive is still in his possession, although I doubt he’ll offer much beyond giving Dante the satisfaction of fucking him up.

Jero is tight-lipped on the ride home. I didn’t ask him how he knew it was going down. If he wanted me to know, he would tell me. It’s six in the morning. While it’s not unusual for us to be turning in at this point, today I’m exhausted but also wired. One of the assholes had a hammer with him. I assume they intended to leave Dante maimed in one way or another.

No one fucks with my brother while I’m still breathing.

Carmela.This is all her fucking fault.

At night, when I lay in bed alone, my thoughts drift between restlessness about what’s happening to Dante without me there to watch his back and wondering what Carmela tastes like. I also think about strangling her, not in the dead kind of way, but more squeezing a bit so she can’t quite get enough air.

I watched a video once on how to safely choke someone out during sex—more than once if I’m honest, then I read somearticles. Finally, I asked Jero for some practical advice. Not the during sex part. I figured he would be more inclined to help me if I gave it a different context. You know, more a thug’s guide to safe asphyxiation, and the merits of stopping airflow versus blood flow. A couple of the girls at the strip club are into that and let me practice afterward.

It’s pretty fucked up; I understand that.

This is a fucked-up world, so I guess I fit right in.

“What do you reckon is going on between Leon and Cherry, then?” I ask Jero.

He lifts one brow. “None of our business, mate, is what’s going on.”

I suddenly pay attention to where we are. “Why are we going to Ettore’s house? Please tell me I’m not on Carmela watch today?”