by Ashley Jade
“I was joking. But that right there is exactly why y'all women folk aren't allowed to stay here for this conversation.”
After he closes the door behind them Jackson looks at me. “Well?”
I match his stance and cock my head to the side. “Well what?”
I get where he's coming from, but I don't appreciate his attitude. He doesn't call the shots, therefore he has no right to question me about my business.
A look crosses over his features that I haven't seen in awhile...anger. “Gaffney's dead—almost one week to the day that piece of shit Travine went on the local news and declared he was running for mayor.” He takes a step closer to me and I instinctively make a fist. “Now, I understood why you needed to find Lou-Lou and you couldn't go after him right there and then. It made perfect sense to me...but you've had your girl for a week, Ricardo. And somehow, Gaffney's the one who ended up dead.”
He takes another step. “I hate to break it to you, brother...but I think you might be in the wrong profession. Because either you can't pinpoint the right target...or your aim sucks.”
My fist slamming straight into his nose takes us both by surprise, mostly Jackson though, because he doesn't have the reaction speed to deflect it.
I can hear Tyrone yelling in the background when I throw another right hook, this time landing on his cheekbone.
A light bulb finally goes off inside him and he tries to shove me, but unfortunately for him, I've already had the upper hand...twice now; so he doesn't have a leg to stand on.
Especially when I haul him across the coffee table and wrap a hand around his throat. “I'm sorry, motherfucker. What were you saying?”
“I'm saying you're a killer,” Jackson spits. “It's what you do. You're a fucking mobster, a thug who should have already taken care of business.”
His words are like kindle fueling the fire and I can feel the dark beckoning me, even though some part of my brain that I haven't tapped into in a long time is fighting like hell to keep it at bay.
My grip around his throat tightens. “Talk about being in the wrong profession...because for someone who was supposed to be a professional MMA superstar, it looks like you just got your ass handed to you by a thug.”
I reach for my gun and I can hear Tyrone yelling and pleading at the top of his lungs in the background. “And isn't this the pot calling the kettle black, because last time I checked...you're a killer too.”
I laugh and it doesn't sound like me at all, but I can't focus on that because I have pure venom running through my veins.
“Oh that's right, me saying you're a killer probably hurts your little sissy feelings. Wouldn't want you to have another identity crisis.”
His eyes narrow and I dig the gun into his temple. “Just remember who saved your fucking life...twice, bitch. And I can take it all back in a heartbeat...so you better treat me like I'm your fucking God and kneel at my damn feet, because as far as you're concerned I am.”
I lift him by his neck and slam him down again. “And the next time you step to me and inquire about the way I handle business, you better be ready to put your big boy pants on, suit up, and handle it your damn self.”
He spits at me. “Go fuck yourself, DeLuca. I'd rather be a sissy who takes care of my girl...a girl who actually wants me. A girl who doesn't turn my stomach when I fuck her because she didn't spend her time sucking and fucking my dear ol' pop's dick first. And I don't owe you or your fucked up, murdering, warped, devil family shit. I paid my dues, remember?”
I cock my gun. “Say that shit about Lou-Lou one more time and I swear it will be the last thing you say before you leave this earth. Because there's a lot of shit I can say about your girl—like how we all know she's not as pure as you'd like to pretend she is. At least my girl kept her shit locked down to one man and didn't spread it around to more than half the guys in New York and the greater tri-state area. And last time I checked, you still owe us 6 years, 2 months, and 3 days. Don't make me collect.”
“Wow,” he says. And it's no longer the adrenaline running through me or the anger I have toward him that gets me. It's the look of betrayal in his eyes. It's the look telling me our friendship and most definitely our brotherly bond is over.
It's the look in his eyes telling me he doesn't trust me.
And why should he? I have him pinned to a table, holding a gun up to his head...seconds away from pulling the trigger.
Because I would have.
If the sound of something crashing behind me didn't snag my attention.
Tyrone yells in pain and Jackson slams a fist into my chest. I spring up and we both rush over to Tyrone who's lying face down on the floor because he flung himself out of his wheelchair.
Because he was trying to stop me from killing Jackson.
Pure murder is in Jackson's eyes right now and I know if either of us strike up again...someone will end up dead.
We both grab one of Tyrone's arms and heave him back into his chair.
The look on his face is like nothing I've ever seen before. He looks devastated...like someone crushed his spirit.
He runs a hand over his head and looks between us. “Jackson you have no right to demand that Ricardo kill someone. You out of everyone should know the weight that carries on someone's soul...so where the fuck do you get off demanding something like that from him?”
Jackson looks about as shocked as I feel. “Well he—you know what he does. And Travine obviously wants—”
“Lou-Lou,” Tyrone says, cutting him off. “Look, I know you're scared, man. I get it. You got a baby on the way and this shit with Travine has you spooked because of Alyssa's ties to him. But you know Ricardo has always had our backs...always. And even though he's killed for us before...that don't mean you can demand or use him like that, brother. It ain't right. It makes you no better than what you accused him of being.”
Jackson falls back against the wall. “Shit. I didn't—”
“And you.”
Tyrone's eyes turn to me and I've never felt the impact of another man's stare more. “You leave your ghosts at the door when you're here. We don't owe you a damn thing, Ricardo. We paid the DeLuca debt in full...and if you need a reminder—come by and let me show you what it's like when you wake up in the morning—get up out of bed and try to walk...but can't...because you can't move your fucking legs—but for that brief moment when you first woke up, you forgot and tried anyway.”
My stomach knots and shame impales me. “Tyrone—”
He points a finger at me. “You want our loyalty and respect? Well you have it. But not because it has anything to do with your blood family...because we're your real family. You hear me?”
When I don't answer him, he grabs my collar. “The DeLuca's are many things...none of them good. But they're not your family. Now I know you got your demons—and because I'm your brother and not your damn soulmate, I'm not privy to all of them—but don't you ever pull a gun on any one of us again.”
His gaze ping-pongs between us both. “Now apologize...because I can take a lot of shit. Losing my freedom and selling my soul to work for an underground fight club—hell, even losing my damn legs—but I can't take losing my family. We'll never be as strong as we all are together. Momma always told me everything happens for a reason...and that even the worst things can bring about the best things. But I never believed it...not until I met you two...my brothers.”
He gestures to all three of us. “It's supposed to be us against the world, not us against each other.”
“He's right,” Jackson says, looking at me now. “But sometimes I hate you, Ricardo. Or rather, it's not you I hate...but I hate where you come from. DeLuca destroyed not only my life, but the lives of everyone I care about, including yours. Now I know you're not him...but it's hard not to think about what will happen if that switch in you ever flips. It makes it hard to trust you...but Tyrone's right. You've always had our backs, you've never once faltered...and I know you don't kill people because you enjoy
it. You do it because they deserve it. You do it because you have no choice but to kill the bad guys...so in my heart of hearts I know you wouldn't hurt us.”
My stomach twists and he looks me in the eyes. “I'm sorry—I'm sorry I was a dick.”
He runs a hand over his face. “I can't lie, I'd like to know why Gaffney ended up dead and not Travine...but I won't push it, because I know there's a damn good reason behind it.”
He has no idea.
“Sorry for holding a gun up to your head,” I mumble in his direction. “And you two don't owe me or the DeLuca's anything. You're right Tyrone, both your debts are paid in full.”
I get up off the floor and swallow the bitter pill in the form of a lie I'm about to tell them.
“I don't know why Gaffney ended up dead. As far as I know right now, it was an accident.”
People are easy to manipulate when they have a false sense of security.
“But I'm going to find out for sure and I'm going to handle everything. I don't think there's any foul play involved in Gaffney's death, but if I find out there is, then I'll take it from there.”
Jackson sits up straight. “I guess that explains why you're still keeping Lou-Lou locked up for the time being. This way you can be smart about your next move.”
When I nod Jackson shakes his head solemnly. “And she can't know he's alive because of what I'm assuming is a horrible past...and you can't tell her that you're only keeping her hostage right now, not because you want to; but because you're trying to protect her from her father until you can kill him.”
If only it was that simple. If only I could kill him. If only my ultimatum from the DeLuca council and the only solution at the moment didn't involve killing the two men right before me for a chance to save her.
“Yeah, pretty much.”
“Damn, man. Talk about a rock and a hard spot,” Jackson says, getting up. “No wonder you went all ape-shit on me.”
Tyrone's face lights up. “Wait a minute...can't you get the DeLuca council to help you out? I don't know much about them, but I know because you're blood they're loyal to you. So can't they—”
“The DeLuca's don't get involved with certain things,” I lie. “And the DeLuca council definitely won't help protect Lou-Lou from that piece of shit, Travine. They won't harm her...but they made it clear that this is my battle. I have to take care of the Travine situation myself.”
And find a way to do it that doesn't end in both your deaths.
Tyrone scratches the back of his head. “Hold up, I don't understand. Lou-Lou's important to you, so important, she's the reason you took your place. Shouldn't that make her important to them? Hell, shouldn't that make us all somewhat important to them? You know, that whole 'welcome to the family' type shit.”
Not when the outsiders are more important to a mob boss than their blood family it doesn't.
“Theoretically yes...but—” I pause because my heart's now in my throat. “The council won't protect Lou-Lou,” I finally manage to answer.
That's when Jackson looks at me with sadness in his eyes, because he knows exactly why Lou-Lou's no longer important to the DeLuca family council and why they don't care if she lives or dies...although they're really wishing for the latter.
“They're assholes,” Jackson mutters.
Tyrone looks between us. “I don't follow, why—”
“Stop, Tyrone,” Jackson bites out. “That's a conversation for another day.”
Jackson puts a hand on my shoulder and walks me to the door.
“Thanks.” I avert my gaze. “For that.”
“I know you don't talk about it...but if you ever need to. I'm only a phone call away.”
He digs his hands in his pockets and attempts a smile. “Provided you're not gonna throw me over a coffee table and beat the shit out of me and all.”
“Only if you deserve it.”
He shifts his feet awkwardly. “I feel like we should hug or something, make this a special Blossom moment...but I know you hate that shit and I'm not really in the mood for Tyrone to start teasing me about being a sissy. Especially after you—”
“You're not a sissy, Jackson. You're a good guy...one of the best I've ever known and that's a badge of honor you should wear proudly.”
I give him a smirk and walk out the door. “Besides, we need the good guys like you to balance out the bad guys like me in the world.”
He laughs, until his expression turns serious. “Speaking of bad guys. Heard anything about our favorite special agent? Penelope told me he tried attacking her at the hospital that night, but she never gave me an update after that.”
My mind flashes back to the email that was sent to me the other night and I turn back around to face him. “Yeah, Ford's locked up in the psych ward until further notice. He's currently doped up on so much shit, I doubt he even knows his own name.”
“Nice.”
“Maybe for him right now it is. But I'm planning on making a visit soon if you want to come along for the ride.”
The corners of his lips quirk up. “I don't know, Ricardo. You really want a sissy like me there?”
I slap his back. “Of course I do. I can show you how the big boys get down.” I start walking down the hallway. “Plus I feel like I kind of owe you one now.”
“You don't owe me, Ricardo. I'd just like to be kept in the loop every once in a while.” He holds up a hand. “Not because I don't trust you'll do the right thing in the end. But because even though I'm almost positive Travine won't go after Alyssa...there's still a chance he might and my guard is up. I love her...and she's carrying...” his voice trails off but I read him loud and clear.
“I'll hire extra security on top of the extra security I already have for the complex. And as far as Travine goes, I'm gonna take care of it, Jackson. It might take me a little bit to get my ducks in a row, but I'll handle it.”
I sense it the moment I walk in the house. It's like a sucker punch to the gut. Something's off...
Not only is it eerily quiet, I don't see any of the extra maids I hired to help out Marlene tutting about.
The 6 men I had stationed in the foyer are gone as well.
I steel myself and reach for the gun in the waistband of my sweatpants, ignoring the knot forming in both my throat and stomach.
I checked the security footage on my phone just about every 5 minutes, I would have known if something happened.
But this feeling in my chest, this spine-tingling awareness that something is wrong keeps intensifying with every step.
I walk down the hallway and past a few rooms, and other than those being empty and quiet too, nothing is amiss.
Then I take another step and I hear it, hushed yet frantic murmurs coming from the kitchen.
When I make a sharp left...I crash into a sea of people.
Most are the men I had stationed in various places, and they're all forming a circle around something.
“What the hell is going on?” I bark, until I take another step and find out what the cause of all the commotion is.
My heart stutters in my chest.
Lou-Lou's on the ground...she's a shaking, trembling mess. Shards of broken dishes and glassware surround her.
Marlene's on the ground next to her trying to—I don't know, comfort her—but Lou-Lou's holding up a fairly large piece of glass, appearing to be ready to attack anyone who gets too close.
The men I hired for security look at me, unsure of what to do, because although they're under strict orders to protect Lou-Lou at all costs, it's Lou-Lou herself who's the one threatening everyone in this case.
I have no idea what happened, but I do know something must have triggered this incident specifically. I know Lou-Lou suffers from panic attacks, I've witnessed quite a few of them in the past, but this is by far one of the worst ones I've seen.
Someone did this, someone hurt her.
I cut my gaze to Marlene. “What did you do?”
She waves her hands around and gets u
p from the floor. “We were making fucking blueberry pie,” she yells before I yank her up by her arm and pull her out of Lou-Lou's sight.
“Keep your voice down,” I seethe. “The last thing she needs right now is to hear you yelling. She's having a panic attack. A panic attack that was triggered by something. What did you do?”
She turns ashen. “I was keeping her occupied like you said, I swear. We were cooking...making dessert for dinner tonight.”
“And?”
“I—uh. I really don't know. She said apple pie was her favorite and I said blueberry pie was mine, but I told her we could make both.”
She stops for a breath. “She said she didn't know how to make either, but I told her I would teach her because it was my father's favorite. And then I told her how every Sunday we would make them and that he called it our special father-daughter time together. And that's when—”
That's when her memories and flashbacks happened.
I shove her out of the way, I'll have it out with her later and tell her that any and all talks of fathers are off limits.
The security men stiffen and attempt to stop me when I lower myself to the floor, but I motion for them all to get back.
I crawl across the glass until I'm facing her. Her knees are pulled tightly to her chest and her eyes are closed. Her breathing is so erratic, I debate calling an ambulance.
She swipes the hand holding the glass into the air before crying out, “Monsters never die...your monster will never die, Lucianna.”
My heart shatters like the glass surrounding us.
Emotion...all kinds of emotions are lodging in my throat.
Because when I look at her, I see the love of my life.
I see the grieving mother of my child that will never be born.
I see the strongest person I've ever known.
However right now? Right now, I see that scared and broken little girl.
And that little girl has the most power over my Lou-Lou.
It's like a domino effect. And that pedophile piece of shit was the foundation...the first one who destroyed her and pulled her life right out from underneath her before she ever had a chance to live or grow.
