Page 28

LUCA

“Give me some good news.” I pounce on Sparrow with the command before he even has a chance to take a seat. We agreed to meet at a bar down the street from my place, formerly known as the Starlight, but recently acquired by the Morettis and renamed On Tap.

Sparrow flattens his lips and pulls out the chair across from mine. It’s midday, so the bar is fairly quiet, but the bartender knows well enough to leave us to our business.

“What would you consider good ?” He drags his fingers through his messy hair and crosses his ankle over his knee.

I bite back a low growl and level him with a look to let him know that I’m not in the fucking mood today. Anders’s anger is fun. The sad, desperate feeling rolling off of him last night though? Not so much. His father needs to be handled, and soon.

“Ideally that we’ve got the bastard dead to rights on the kind of shit that will send him away until he’s old enough to collect retirement benefits.”

Sparrow’s lips turn down and his eyes flash with sympathy. I grip the table and consider flipping it the fuck over. He doesn’t have that kind of good news, I can already tell.

“I managed to dig up some stuff, but for the most part it’s all petty crimes.

Our best bet is to get him on human trafficking.

The paper trail of the money going out of Anders’s account into his father’s should be pretty solid, along with Anders’s testimony against him.

He’d be looking at twenty to life, assuming they don’t plead him out. ”

My jaw ticks and I drum my fingers on the table, considering the option. Anders will have to go to the police station to report everything. He’ll have to sit in a courtroom and tell the world what his father made him do. His brother will find out, it will be public record for the rest of his life…

“I’ll talk to him about it,” I say gruffly. I already know Anders won’t like that option though, which leaves us with just one. “You’re pretty close with Lorenzo.” If the change of subject throws him, he doesn’t show it.

He shrugs. “He’s not exactly the warm, cuddly, ‘let’s have a slumber party and share our feelings’ type.”

I snort, imagining the stoic boss wearing fuzzy pajamas with ice cream cones on them and one of those gooey green face masks while he and Sparrow stay up late gossiping and having pillow fights.

“As close as Lorenzo gets with anyone,” I amend, and Sparrow shrugs again in response, his expression not giving much away. “You think he’ll go off the rails if I take this matter into my own hands and just end it?”

He’s quiet for a few beats, seeming to measure his words before he responds.

“I think he would get over it.” He drags his hand over his smooth jaw, looking up at the ceiling and then returning his gaze to mine.

“And, hey, maybe someone who doesn’t have to answer to Lorenzo will take care of it for you. ”

There’s a part of me that wants to insist on seeing the life drain out of that asshole’s eyes myself. That thinks the revenge for everything he did to Anders belongs to me . But at the end of the day, who pulls the trigger doesn’t make much difference, so long as my little viper is safe.

I nod and Sparrow raps his knuckles on the table, shoots me a twisted smirk, then leaves without another word.

ANDERS

“Let me guess, you sent me the wrong address for the apartment showing?” I say in greeting, my phone wedged between my ear and my shoulder as I step into my jeans. Finn’s shaky exhale on the other end sends my heart racing before he’s even said a word. “Finn?”

“You said to call if he ever showed up acting weird,” he whispers so quietly that I have to press the phone harder to my ear to hear him.

Or maybe that’s because my pulse is thundering now, whooshing like the ocean during a storm as I fight to keep my breathing even.

The blood in my veins goes hot and cold all at once, and in the background, I hear a loud thud, thud, thud that can only be him knocking at Finn’s door.

“Are your roommates there?” I ask, not bothering to even button my jeans, just rushing out of the bedroom towards the front door.

“No.” The answer is a whimper more than a word. “He keeps asking where you are. He said something about you owing him and you breaking some deal. He’s not making any sense. He sounds drunk.”

I growl, shoving my feet into my shoes. “I don’t owe that prick a goddamn thing.”

“Ands—” Finn sounds so young and helpless, it strips away any ounce of fear inside of me and replaces it with determination. “—what’s going on? Why is he acting like this?”

“I…” There’s another series of loud thuds and muffled shouting I can’t make out.

I should tell Finn to call the police, let them toss our dad into the drunk tank for a day or so.

Hell, if he doesn’t, someone else on his floor probably will any second.

But knowing that dickhead, he’ll be right back at my brother’s door the second the police release him.

“Give him my address.” I rattle off Luca’s address to him.

“I don’t…” He lets out another trembling breath that crackles through the phone. “There’s something wrong with him. I’m not going to just send him to you like this.”

“Finny, listen to me.” I infuse my voice with every ounce of authority I have inside of me.

“I’ll explain things to you later, but right now I need you to trust me when I tell you I can handle him.

I’ve been dealing with this shit for a while now.

” It’s the closest I’ve come to telling my brother the truth about what’s been going on, but every ounce of relief I get from it comes with a few fresh knots tying themselves into my gut.

He’s quiet on the other end for several long seconds. Even the pounding stops for a minute. “Why didn’t you tell me?” Finn asks softly.

A weak laugh tightens my throat, and I drag my free hand through my hair. “I’m your big brother.” The pounding starts back up. “Do it, give him my address. Now.”

“Okay.” It sounds like he utters the agreement through clenched teeth, and then the line goes dead.

Fuckity fuck fuck.

I press my hand against the front door, my fingers curling involuntarily into a fist against the smooth wood as I work to get my heart rate under control.

It shouldn’t take my dad more than half an hour to get here.

But then what? I thought sending him the money would keep him off my back for at least another week or two.

I haven’t missed a single nightly payment since I’ve been staying at Luca’s, but apparently the drunk old man finally realized I wasn’t coming home and decided to take issue with that.

What I need now is a plan. My phone is still clutched in my hand, so I pull up Luca’s contact and press the call button.

It rings until his generic voicemail message picks up.

I hang up without leaving a message. My next call is Sparrow, but his doesn’t even ring before going straight to voicemail.

I growl in frustration and send them both a text telling them that shit is about to go down.

Who knows if they’ll see it before my dad shows up though.

I’m certainly not going to sit around helpless, hoping for the cavalry to arrive and save my ass.

With a deep breath, I shove my phone into my pocket and go into prep mode.

One thing I’m sure of is that I’m not going to let him put his hands on me.

I’ve had enough bruises thanks to my dear old dad, and I’m drawing the line now.

I stride back into the bedroom and pull open Luca’s top dresser drawer, pushing his socks and underwear to one side and then the other in search of any hidden weapons.

He keeps his pistol with him, but surely a mafioso keeps spares lying around, right?

In the second drawer I find a neon pink dildo stuffed behind all of his folded jeans. If this situation were less dire, I might spare a second to come up with a few ways to use that to have some fun with Luca later, but I don’t have time for that right now.

In the third drawer, I strike gold, pulling a small pistol out from underneath his t-shirts.

I wrap my fingers around the handle, testing the unfamiliar weight in my hand.

I’ve never fired a gun in my life, but until recently, I’d never stabbed anyone either.

There’s a first time for everything, and necessity breeds invention, or whatever other clichés apply to this situation, because apparently I’m doing this.

Can I actually shoot my own father? I have no fucking clue.

But at least I’ll have the option if it comes to that.

With the gun in hand, I go back to the front hall and stand by the door.

I feel like I should be thinking about everything he’s done to me, or maybe about all the good times we had when my mom was still around, but my mind goes peacefully blank.

Everything inside of me goes carefully numb as I stand like a sentry by the door, waiting. Waiting. Waiting.

When the knock finally comes, it’s not what I’m expecting. It’s not heavy and stilted like I would expect in my father’s drunken state. It’s a rapid, sharp rap. My heart leaps. Maybe it’s Sparrow.

I unhook the chain and fling the door open, my gun at the ready just in case it is my father. The air punches out of my lungs and my eyes widen.

“Finn, what the fuck are you doing here?”

My brother looks over his shoulder and then back at me. “I told him the address like you said, but he wouldn’t stop. He just kept yelling and pounding on the door, so… I climbed out the window.”

“Fuck,” I mutter, grabbing him and dragging him inside. “So he could be right behind you?”

“Maybe. I don’t know.” His eyes drop to the gun in my hand and he stumbles back a step. “Anders, what the fuck?”