Page 57 of The Enforcer

“No, show me.” Nova was still laughing his ass off and didn’t fight Carlo’s hold on him. “Go for it, puttana. I dare you.”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you not to dare aSicilianoto do something unless you can handle the consequences?” Carlo warned, but the playfulness in his voice changed; it got dark and dangerous enough to give Tino chills as Carlo lifted his head and looked toward the door when he said, “You think I won’t take out family. Think again.”

Tino followed his gaze, seeing Frankie standing in the doorway glaring at them. He hated that his stomach jerked in fear. Even stoned, the terror rushed through him, making all the fine hairs on his arms stand on end.

What he hated more was that he was embarrassingly grateful that Carlo was there. So grateful he wanted to fall to his knees and thank him for being stronger and scarier than his brother. So far, Carlo was the only advantage to being on Team Bastardi in the Moretti Borgata.

Nova was obsessed with this notion that as long as he kept the old man happy, they were safe from Frankie. They would all be protected, and he was working very hard at licking that motherfucker’s boots to earn the privilege of making sure he didn’t ever have to watch Tino almost beaten to death again or know Romeo wasn’t getting sold off to God knew what in prison.

Tino was obsessed with the notion of Carlo, a bastard from Washington Heights, scaring the living fuck out of not just Frankie, but all of these spoiled, suburban gangsters.

“You’re coming back tomorrow.” Frankie arched an eyebrow at Nova, who had sobered when their father showed up. “Social worker’s been asking questions.”

Tino rolled over in bed rather than blurt out that he knew his father was fucking the social worker. He showed them all his back, stitched up in the basement of this mansion that doubled as a makeshift hospital for injured wiseguys. On-call doctors pumped him with bags and bags of O-positive blood and kept him alive whether he wanted them to or not.

It was so state-of-the-art Tino thought he was in a real hospital for two days. Then he figured out he was nearly killed in one Moretti basement and brought back to life in another.

The same way Nova was broken in one and rebuilt into this mafia dog in the other, at the arm of the godfather, whose voice filtered in and out of Tino’s drug-induced dreams the whole time.

“That’s fine,” Nova said rather than argue.

“It better be fine. You think you’re gonna hide up the don’s ass in this place. I don’t think so, chief. You got shit to do at home. The school keeps calling me. They said you need to take placement tests or something. Get it done. Keep the social worker happy. You only gotta toe the line until you’re sixteen.”

“What happens when he’s sixteen?” Carlo asked.

“I can drop out,” Nova whispered, and Tino could hear the pain in his voice.

He turned around, looking at his brother, who was sitting up now. Nova’s arms were folded over his knees as he stared at the wall sightlessly. It was like watching every dream Nova had for himself die right there in front of all of them.

Nova was supposed to do something amazing with the mind God gave him. None of them had been sure of what it was, but it seemed like the possibilities were endless. Back before Ma got sick, when Frankie didn’t give two shits about them, they talked a lot about Nova changing the world. It was such a real and tangible thing, Tino had been excited just hearing about it.

Except cancer was a terrible disease, one that drained not just the soul out of a family, but the bank accounts too.

At eleven, Nova did what he could to help get the money they needed to stay afloat after their ma got diagnosed.

Gambling was so easy for him.

He was able to get the cash, but he exposed himself after years of keeping his gifts hidden. Now their ma was dead. Their brother was in jail, and Nova’s dreams were shattered at his feet.

“Frankie—” Carlo started.

“It’s fine,” Nova said before he could finish. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not important. I want Tino to stay in school, though.” He turned back to Frankie. “If that’s okay?”

“Whatever,” Frankie said dismissively. “I’ll tell ’em you’re coming out Friday to register both of yous.”

“At the same school?” Nova frowned, because he was in high school.

“You’re going to school with Carina.” Frankie turned and left without more of an explanation.

The three of them sat in silence after he left. Then Nova turned to Carlo and asked, “Where does Carina go to school?”

“St. Francis Catholic.” Carlo winced as he said it. “Most Cosa Nostra brats go there and not just our Borgata. They don’t ask questions.”

Nova lifted his gaze to Tino, and the two of them tried to process that. They’d gone to church on and off over the years, but their mother hadn’t been the most devout Catholic in Harlem. Now they were supposed to go to a Catholic school?A mafia Catholic school.

“So if I take Tino in to register him, and he’s still recovering—”

“It’s not gonna fucking matter,” Carlo assured them. “You could go in and tell them Frankie did it. They’re not telling a fucking soul.”