The Holy Ghost

by M. E. Clayton

  “Yes. Young Michael was caught trying to steal a TEC-9. So, of course, he was questioned, and do you know what we discovered?” You could almost hear the drumroll. I knew Ciro had questioned the kid and had taken him to see Luca afterwards. But Luca had given me the night off because he wanted me to get my shit together before he brought Frankie home, so I wasn’t privy to the aftermath of Michael’s error in judgement. “We found out that there were extenuating circumstances behind young Michael’s attempted theft.”

  “Really?”

  Ciro finally let go of Robert Miller’s hair, but instead of his head collapsing, his frantic blue eyes were wildly trying to get my attention. The scent of urine was strong, even from where I was sitting. “It seems that our young Michael overheard his mother talking on the phone with her new boyfriend and, in exchange for drugs and money, she made the unfortunate decision to trade her daughter for those…items.”

  I could feel my body tense, and now I knew why Ciro had specifically mentioned the warehouse when he talked about old times. I didn’t bother to hide the anger in my voice. “And how old is the daughter?”

  Ciro’s voice was ice, and that was a bad thing. Normally, Ciro was a hothead. He often erupted and it was never pretty. But when he was so angry that he couldn’t even express it, that was never a good thing for his victim. But, then, calling Robert Miller a victim wasn’t entirely accurate. “Eight,” he bit out. “Eight fucking years old, Ghost.”

  I almost snorted. Ciro rarely called me Ghost. He was doing it now to emphasize for poor Robert Miller just who exactly had him in their clutches. And it worked because Robert Miller started thrashing about. Too bad for him, that chair was solidly bolted to the floor.

  I stood up, smoothing out my slacks and adjusting my cuff links, as I strolled over to Ciro. Casual was only permitted at home. We always wore suits or dress clothing.

  Always.

  “Let me guess,” I replied. “Michael, overhearing this conversation, wanted to protect his sister and snagging that gun at the last minute was a desperate decision?”

  “Ding, ding, ding,” Ciro sing-songed. “Give the man a prize.” Ciro went back to his tray of goodies. “Robert was scheduled to go by and collect his…purchase tonight, and Michael wanted to be ready and waiting for him.” Ciro smiled at me. “Guess what Robert found instead?”

  I smirked. “You?”

  His grin widened. “Me,” he confirmed.

  I picked up a scalpel. “What happened with the mother?”

  The revulsion on his face turned his otherwise good looks wicked. “She’s been dealt with. And Michael and his sister are now staying with their mother’s cousin, where they will be safe.”

  I put the scalpel down and picked up the mallet. “That’s good,” I said conversationally. I glanced over at the asshole tied to the chair. “And I take it Robert, here, swore it was a misunderstanding.”

  Ciro laughed. “Yeah, but only after I kicked his ass and secured him to the chair. Before that, he was telling me shit was none of my business.”

  I tsk’ed. “Not good.”

  “Oh, well, then you’ll love this,” Ciro added cheerfully. “He also told me I could suck his dick and to go fuck myself.”

  I laughed.

  I couldn’t help it.

  See, Ciro’s claim to fame was a bit unconventional. When someone was unfortunate enough to cross his path, he didn’t order a group of guys to beat his latest toy into submission. He didn’t knock the guy out and then tie him up. Nope. Ciro abducted his prey and then gave the poor soul a chance to save himself. Ciro meets with the guy, one-on-one, and if the guy can beat Ciro, he lets them go. If he can’t, well…they end up in the chair poor Richard Miller is currently sitting in. Ciro had his own code of honor and it didn’t involve kicking a man when he was down. No. Ciro was a man’s man, and he took down his prey fairly, but ruthlessly. In the entire six years that we’ve been doing this, Ciro has never lost a fight. It could be because he was trained in more than one fighting discipline or because he was simply crazy, but whatever it was, Ciro was unbeatable. Unfortunately for the women who’ve crossed his path, they didn’t get that same chance to escape. Ciro wasn’t fond of beating women, so he usually just got down to business and killed them if the job was a female. However, Luca was good at leaving the women to the Benetti members who were able to stomach that shit.

  “Was that before or after he knew who you were?” I asked. “I mean, did the urine stain come before or after you told him The Son had found him?”

  “Before,” Ciro confirmed. “Once he knew who I was, well…I’m just grateful he didn’t shit himself.”

  I put the mallet down and examined ice pick. “That’ll come later,” I predicted because it always did. I looked at Ciro. “No screaming?”

  He shook his head. “Nah, not this time. I got a bitch of a headache what with Frankie coming back.” And here I thought I was the only one on pins and needles. “She’s waited six years to cuss us out. I can’t imagine it’ll be pretty.”

  I didn’t want to talk about Frankie just yet. It was the whole reason I crashed Ciro’s party for two. I wanted to get my mind off the unknown. I jerked my chin towards Richard Miller. “What are you going to do first?”

  Ciro turned to face Richard, and we stood side by side studying the piece of shit, who was still pleading for his life behind the handkerchief. Ciro cocked his head and those amber eyes of his, the ones that have haunted me for six years because they were the same ones that decorated Frankie’s face, narrowed a bit. “Well, since I’m not trying to get information out of him and I’m crunched for time because of Frankie, I’m thinking I might just start at the top and work my way down.”

  “Eyes first?”

  Ciro looked over at me. “You think?” Again, this was all for show. Ciro didn’t need me to tell him the quickest and most efficient way to kill someone. Ciro was the professional torturer here, not me. I was just helping him mentally torture Robert Miller.

  I shrugged a shoulder. “If you’re pressed for time, blinding him will heighten his fear as he won’t be able to see what’s coming next.”

  “Too true,” he commented as if he was in deep thought.

  I made a show of glancing at my watch. “You have good two hours before you have to shower and change,” I told him.

  “Just me?” Ciro knew there was a reason I crashed his party, and he knew the reason was Frankie. He also knew I needed to work out my anxiousness before meeting up with her.

  “Okay. Us,” I clarified.

  Ciro dropped on his haunches, so he was face-to-face with Robert Miller. “Look at you, being all special,” he taunted. “You got me and The Holy Ghost, bud. And that doesn’t happen often.”

  Robert Miller’s eyes were the size of saucers. He started thrashing about again, but he had to know it was futile at this point. No one ever escaped Ciro Mancini. Besides, we’ve already mentioned Frankie’s name and the fact that she was back. That, alone, signed his death warrant. We’d never talk so freely about our family business if there was any chance this guy would live to tell about it.

  Ciro reached behind him and I slapped the ice pick in his hand. “So, I’m going to start by blinding you as Ghost so helpfully suggested, and I’m going to work my way down.” Robert Miller’s screams turned to pathetic whimpers. He knew he was fucked. “However, it’s all going to end in a magnificent show of me pulling your dick out, skinning it back and pouring salt all over it, before chopping it up into little pieces.” Robert started screaming again. “Since we’re here because of your dick, it only seems appropriate that it gets to star in the grand finale.”

  “Have you ever skinned a dick before?” I asked out of curiosity.

  “Nah,” Ciro replied. “But how hard can it be?” He didn’t give me time to answer before the ice pick was already logged into Robert Miller’s right eye. His screams of pain were loud as fuck even though he was muzzled but, blessedly, they were loud enough to put thought
s of Frankie on hold.

  We had two hours with Robert Miller, and I wasn’t about to waste a second of it.

  Chapter 8

  Francesca~

  I never imagined I’d feel this exhausted, but I should have. Emotional reunions were always taxing and catching up with Massimo had been extremely emotional. No matter what we talked about, I couldn’t get past the pain in my heart that he would be gone soon. I hurt for him, myself, all the neighborhood kids he’s helped and all the neighborhood kids he’d never get to meet.

  When I exited his room, I expected the guards, however, I hadn’t expected Luca. I figured he’d be off doing whatever it is he did these days, and he’d have a ride waiting for me. Instead, he stood up from a chair that had been placed outside Massimo’s room. It hadn’t been there when we arrived, so I imagine it had been placed there specifically for Luca.

  When I stopped in front of him, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  I shook my head. “Not really,” I answered honestly. “I…I just can’t believe…” There were no words. I knew it and Luca knew it.

  His nod was short and simple. “I know. We’re all still trying to come to terms with it, Francesca.”

  I let out a deep breath and did my best to regain some sense of composure. “Did you book me into a hotel, or are you leaving that up to me?”

  He scowled. “What?”

  “You said I had to stay in town until Sunday,” I reminded him. “I figured you would have booked me a hotel room or-”

  “Francesca, you are not staying in goddamn hotel room,” he bit out.

  I really didn’t want to stay with Luca, but I also knew I didn’t have a choice if that’s what he wanted. Plus, I was in the wrong here. I never should have discarded Massimo so effectively when I left. If I should have kept in contact with anyone, it should have been him. The way he stepped in and helped me and Ciro after our parents died in that car wreck was more than we were entitled to.

  “Fine,” I replied. “If you have a spare room-”

  Luca shook his head. “Francesca, you aren’t staying with me either.”

  So, I’ll be staying with my brother. It wasn’t ideal because I was still angry with him, but I figured we could spend these next four days fighting it out until we could find a middle ground.

  Hopefully, we didn’t kill each other first.

  “Luca-”

  “Come with me,” he instructed as he grabbed my hand and led me down the corridor. I followed because I didn’t know what else to do. I was doing my best to behave because I didn’t want to cause drama for Massimo, but, also, because I didn’t know this Luca. I knew what he was capable of, because the rumors of The Holy Trinity had reached Cedar Creek and beyond, but I didn’t know who I was or where I stood with this new Luca.

  When we reached the waiting room doorway, I saw Ciro standing in the middle of the room, his hands in his pockets. My stomached dropped as I took in my grown brother. He was no longer a young boy or young twenty-something; he was a grown man at the age of thirty.

  His style had changed but not really. His dark brown hair still lay haphazardly on top of his head, as if he couldn’t be bothered to style it. His amber eyes still shown as bright as the sun. However, his face no longer held any softness. He was all hard angles and all man, like Luca.

  The biggest difference was the suit he was wearing. Ciro had always been a jeans and t-shirt kind of guy, but, now, he was dressed to the nines in a suit that cost more than most people’s rent. The suit didn’t hide his six-foot-one physique, though. You could tell, even through the fabric of the suit, that he was ripped all to hell. That’s another thing that’s changed. While Ciro always took care of himself, his body now looked like a weapon, and it probably was.

  “Frankie,” he whispered, and he looked pained. He looked as if that one word was slicing him to ribbons.

  For one moment, years of anger and resentment faded to the background, and all I saw was my brother. The brother who never left me behind. The brother who never dismissed me. The brother who always protected me. The brother who raised me after our parents died. The brother who made sure I ate, had clothes, and got an education. The brother who was my only remaining blood relative.

  The force of how much I missed him hit me hard. Looking at him, and noting all the changes in his appearance, I was suddenly aching with all the things I missed out on by leaving. By leaving, we had six years of empty memories of each other, and that hurt. It hurt more than I ever thought I’d realize.

  My feet carried me into the room, and they didn’t stop until I was wrapped in my brother’s arms. His embrace felt like I was being squeezed by a vise, but I didn’t mind. It felt good to be in his arms. While my reunion with Luca had been cold and business-like, my reunion with my brother was what it should be, all emotion.

  “Ciro,” I breathed into his neck. Being only five-three to his six-one, I was on my toes as he crushed me, and I still couldn’t meet his height.

  “I missed you so much, Frankie,” he mumbled into my hair. “So fucking much.”

  “And I’m still pissed at you,” I choked out. “So fucking pissed at you.”

  His arms tightened around me even more, if you could believe it, as he said, “I know you are.”

  I blinked the tears threatening to escape away. Now wasn’t the time to hash out our differences. No matter how much I wanted to rip into him, telling him everything I’ve kept hidden all these years, I refused to cause a scene on Massimo’s hospital floor. I could tear into Ciro tonight at his house later.

  His house.

  Another pang hit my chest as it occurred to me that I didn’t even know where my brother lived. Even though the hurt and betrayal lay at his feet, the six years of separation lay at mine.

  I pulled back and looked up at his handsome face. “Well, we have all night to sort it out,” I told him. “It’s been a long time coming, I think.” Of course, I hadn’t been having any of those thoughts until I talked to Massimo this evening, but I did know I couldn’t leave without making things right with my brother. He was all I had. And even if he has changed, he was still my brother.

  His eyes searched mine, and he looked as if he wanted to say something but wasn’t sure. Then he glanced over my shoulder and took a step back. “Uh, Frankie, you’re not staying at my place,” he finally said.

  “Then where am I staying?”

  “With me.”

  My entire body froze. It’s been six years, and though it’s been touched by age, I would still know that voice anywhere.

  Phoenix.

  The pounding in my chest was real, and the punch felt ten times stronger than when I had seen my brother. Maybe it had been naïve of me, but I really hadn’t expected to see Phoenix. There was no need. Reconnecting with my brother made sense. Having to see Phoenix didn’t. It’s been years. Whatever he’s done, whoever he’s moved on with, there was no need for us to see each other.

  None.

  And I knew every second that I didn’t turn around screamed of cowardice, but I didn’t care. These three were blindsiding me left and right, so if I needed a few precious seconds to collect myself, then I was going to take them.

  And then his words registered.

  With me.

  I finally turned around and immediately wished I hadn’t.

  Phoenix Fiore stood just inside the doorway with Luca at his back, and he looked better than any man had the right to.

  Like Ciro and Luca, gone was anything that used to mark Phoenix as soft or young. Though he was two years younger than Luca and Ciro, one wouldn’t be able to tell it. Phoenix stood as tall as Luca at six-two and filled out just as strong. I used to always think that because we were the same age, Phoenix and I were sheltered from the darkness that surrounded Luca, but I was wrong. Darkness swirled around Phoenix like a wild mist that couldn’t be contained.

  He was wearing a suit, much like Ciro’s and the one Luca had on, but that was the only thing gentlemanly about him. Ph
oenix stood tall with his hands in his pockets and his chin up in a challenge. He was waiting for me to defy him, but I was too busy taking in everything that was difference about him and everything that was the same.

  Phoenix had the same dark brown hair but gone was the curl at the ends. It was now kept short and neat. Messy, but in that way most men aimed to style. His hazel eyes, bright with thick lashes, were clear and sharp as he assessed me, waiting for my reaction. They no longer looked like they crinkled in joy. And, like Ciro and Luca, his face was hard angles and clean-shaven. I also knew that if he smiled at me right now, dimples as deep as caverns would render me stupid. They accompanied a smile full of straight white teeth, unless something has changed about his smile in the past six years. And, just like Luca and Ciro, the suit Phoenix wore did nothing to hide what had to be a magnificent body underneath.

  Growing up, Phoenix had never been a pretty boy, but once puberty hit, and he saw what his cut, muscular physique did to me, Phoenix had made it his mission the make sure he always had a terrain of abs for me to run my tongue over. He had always kept in shape, and I couldn’t imagine that’s changed much. My stomach roiled with the quick, unpleasant thought of which lucky woman was running her tongue over his abs nowadays.

  I quickly shoved that thought aside because I had no right to that answer. I was the one who walked away from him. And I was the one who stayed away for six years. Whatever or whoever Phoenix was doing was none of my business.

  Neither of us moved an inch. We stayed planted where we were as I asked, “What do you mean, with you?”

  His chin inched up further. “Just what I said,” he replied coolly, his voice rough and enticing. “You’ll be staying with me at my place.”

  “Says who?” I snapped, this time, my chin up in challenge.

  “Says me,” he tossed back.

  I could feel my lip curl in a snarl. “Over my dead body,” I seethed. Where Ciro had been reasonable and knew we needed to talk, he hadn’t issued any challenges. He hadn’t demanded. Phoenix Fiore was out of his mind if he thought he could demand anything of me after all this time, and after what he did.