by Lara Swann
It was protection money that we charged, after all. Gave me a perverse sort of satisfaction that we might do some actual protecting for once.
I couldn’t tell whether Valentini was listening or not, his keen gaze caught up in his own thoughts as usual - but knowing him, he’d probably absorbed everything I said, even if he never acknowledged it. Most of the guys here preferred it that way, anyway, finding his unwavering attention a little unnerving.
Sitting behind the large, dark wood desk didn’t show off his height or the firm body that he kept fit despite his position, but there was an imposing presence to him anyway. The sort of thing that made me think he might actually accomplish his ambitions to bring back his family’s power and influence in these parts.
I didn’t care either way - he might be one of the few men in this place I respected, but nothing intimidated me anymore. Probably one of the reasons he liked working with me so much. Or at least, I assumed he did - it was fairly rare for an associate to rise so far in this sort of family business, and there were plenty of rumors flying around about how I’d gained his ear. They amused me - somehow, the idiot dogs didn’t quite understand the simple value in getting shit done.
Of course, the better question was why I’d started working with Valentini – though it was probably a good thing no one cared, and the few people who knew could be trusted with discretion.
Still, high ranking or not, I wasn’t family and he never forgot it – no Italian blood, no shared family name.
It was one of the reasons that I was stood here waiting, instead of being invited to drink with him, and why I never called him Fabio. Little things that some of the guys around us probably weren’t even attuned to, but I always noticed the subtle gestures that said I was associate, not kin.
I wondered whether he knew that I preferred it that way.
His gaze finally came to rest on me, the blue eyes sparking with undeniable passion as he reached his decision. For an Italian, he was remarkably calm and unreadable most of the time - but the determined emotion he reigned back came out intensely in his eyes.
“We’ve known someone down Industrial way has been pulling together those gangs for a while - looks like this is the first move. Probably just looking for some legitimacy.” Valentini grinned and slammed the tumbler down as he stood. “Well we can give them that, and then some.”
I raised an eyebrow, playing along even though I could guess at his response. He continued with the same enthusiasm.
“We’ll crack some skulls together, show ‘em how a real organization responds to a threat - then get ‘em in a room and stake our territory, set the terms.”
I nodded, appreciating for a moment Valentini’s navigation of the politics that these street kids probably didn’t even realize they were playing at.
He’d give them what they really wanted - putting on a show of responding, then acknowledging this new mafioso-wannabe with a negotiation - while maintaining the superior position that would allow him to dictate the terms of their existence. The new boss would accept it, while Valentini came away looking stronger than ever in front of his own people - and he’d get the space and time to build his organization until he had the size and power he needed.
Might even work out better for him this way - when he was ready, crushing one rival group would be far easier than the shifting gangs that had dominated Central before.
“Good - you lead on it, Jason.” He nodded to me and sat, turning back to the papers on his desk in a clear dismissal.
I waited a couple of heartbeats as the air thickened around me, my stomach tightening with anticipation despite the familiarity of this ritual. And its usual uselessness.
I cleared my throat and waited until he looked up at me, his face impassive as always while I asked the one question that kept me coming back to these meetings.
“Ah, about that other matter…?”
“No word, Jason. I’ll let you know if I hear anything.”
I nodded, the small hope fading as I turned to leave.
It had been over a year now since we’d heard anything, and these days I’d started wondering whether I was even in the right place. There’d been rumors the bastard had slipped over the border, and there was no reason to think he’d come back.
But I couldn’t chase a shadow over the border - not without a lead. And the only place I could get that was right here in Cleveland’s ghetto.
“Jason—” Valentini caught my attention as I grabbed the handle of the thick wooden door, and I glanced back at him. “This gang forming might help, you know. Xero and his boys came from that part of town - maybe we’ll find out something from these new guys, one way or another.”
His words were mild, and he turned back to what he was doing without giving me another thought, but that didn’t stop the chain reaction that jolted through me.
Not having a lead to follow had kept me in Cleveland - but Valentini had been the other reason I hadn’t left yet. He was skilled as fuck at stringing me along - at giving me just the right amount of hope to keep going. To keep chasing his objectives.
I knew he was doing it, but the reason it worked so well was because his words rang true. Maybe it was unlikely, but he could be right - and it was all I had.
So I stayed.
For now, I stayed.
Chapter Two
Lottie
My phone buzzed in my pocket. Mom and Dad noticed, and I sensed their dismay as I fished it out. My sister gushed on obliviously about her latest grade 11 project. I tried to pay attention, but the sudden tension shooting through my body made that difficult.
Come in tonight.
Fuck.
I glanced down at the half-eaten lasagna in front of me and gave myself a few seconds to process the demand, working through the nerves that hit me every time that message came until I could glance up casually, calm and self-assured again. I pushed my knife and fork together and inserted myself the next time Leah took a breath.
“Sorry - I need to head out tonight. I’ll be back as soon as I can, promise.”
The abruptness and lack of information told them more than enough. I met the concern that flashed over my parents’ faces head-on while standing up from the dinner table, refusing to show my own.
“Lottie…” My mother’s voice was soft and I could tell she was struggling with what she really wanted to say. “Can’t you at least finish dinner?”
I glanced down at it and my stomach turned again. I wasn’t sure I could, even if I had the time. I shook my head mutely, knowing even as I did that I was making my own feelings too obvious.
“I don’t like this, Lottie. I won’t have it.” My dad’s firm tone and fierce eyes drew my attention, and sparked my own certainty again.
I could never tell whether my unease made him respond like that out of protectiveness, or whether it was a subconscious way of helping me find my own strength. Maybe both - god knew neither of us could work out quite how we felt about this arrangement.
“Don’t start, Dad - I don’t have time for this again. You know why I’m doing it. I’m going to get changed.”
I disappeared upstairs while he was still brooding about it, shrugging on a pair of combat pants and a long-sleeved top while collecting my limited medical kit from the closet. They had better stuff at the old warehouse but I liked to be prepared regardless.
I came back downstairs to silence and tried to avoid wondering what they were thinking about this crazed venture of mine.
“Sorry again about dinner, Mom.”
“No worries, honey - it’ll be here for you when you get back.” She shrugged with a sad smile.
Dad maneuvered himself in front of me before I could reach the door, taking my shoulders in his large, calloused hands before I could shift past him. His walk was crisp enough that I could barely see the slight limp, and only then because I knew it was there.
I grabbed his arms back, his presence making me feel safe in the same way it had since I was little.
I watched those protective, concerned eyes looking up at me from under thick white brows as he spoke.
“You shouldn’t be mixing with that sort, Charlotte. It’s not a good idea.”
I smiled in spite of myself, as for some reason the familiarity of this conversation reassured me.
“It’s alright, Dad - I can look after myself. I even negotiated with Jorge to get the experience I need to apply for college. I’m not doing anything dodgy, just what I always wanted to do - putting people back together.”
He just grunted, knowing that all that might be true - but it wasn’t exactly how this had come about.
Not that I would ever bring that up - it wasn’t his fault, and there was no way I was going to let him think that. If it hadn’t been for the cost of my course, he would have had the money.
“Wrong sort of people - scum like that don’t deserve you.” His voice was rough, but the care there was obvious.
I scowled anyway, the irony of his argument giving me the leverage I needed to end this.
“Want to tell me why we’re still in this neighborhood then, if you don’t believe that you can make the world a better place - show people something other than killing and violence?”
My mother chuckled behind me even as he cursed, shifting his weight onto his prosthetic and glancing back at her.
“Should never have let me spout my mouth in front of the damn girl all those years, Emma.”
“Maybe I like having the two of you - as stubborn as each other, too.” The fondness in my mother’s tone warmed me, and I have her a quick grin. “Go on Vince, you’re not going to win this and you know it. Let her go and save the world, one misbegotten thug at a time.”
He scowled again, but the frustration in his eyes warred with pride and I smiled as he leant in to kiss me on the forehead.
“Take care of yourself. I hope to hell you know what you’re doing.”
“I will, Dad - don’t worry.”
I didn’t tell him that I was desperately hoping the same thing as he gave my shoulders one last squeeze and stepped aside.
Taking a breath, I gave them one last too-optimistic smile and stepped out of the warmth and security of our little house on Outhwaite Avenue.
The freshly white-washed exterior, well-kept front garden and cheerily painted flower pots outside contrasted with the run-down neighborhood and made us stand out, but seeing the results of my parents’ attitude always made me smile. And they were right - they had rubbed off on me.
My father’s pension from the army wasn’t much, but it was enough to live somewhere a little more secure - to have a slightly better life. But as my father had always put it - “I was born on these streets, and I’ll be damned if some upstart gangs are going to kick me out of them. If all the decent people leave, they win.”
So instead, he carved and sold wooden furniture and painted plant pots in the little shop we lived behind - and spent his time and energy fixing up the neighborhood, showing others how to make things better.
I was determined to do the same. If he could fight for his country, spending years in Vietnam and Afghanistan, then deal with the fallout of a bomb taking his leg - I could handle a street gang.
This was my battle, and I could make things better in my own way. Through showing the stupid kids that joined these things that they could have something better - that someone cared enough to patch them up, and there was something better than mindless violence.
And if along the way, I found something out to take down the ringleaders…then maybe we could have these streets back again. Maybe my little sister wouldn’t have so many nightmares.
The nerves hit me again, but I pushed them aside. It was worth it. I could make things better.
* * *
“What the hell happened here?!” My exclamation was out of place in the quiet, echoing warehouse – but on seeing the miserable group gathered in the corner, I couldn’t help it.
“Not your concern, girl. Just get your ass movin’.” Alfonso’s tone was curt, but at least Jorge’s self-appointed second in command didn’t stop long to leer at me this time.
His pinched face seemed too distracted by the group of battered and bleeding guys gathered on sofas and pallets on one side of the large, open-plan space the 55th Streeters had made their base.
I did as instructed even while I tried to keep my eyes and ears open - something was going on here. This last week, the number of guys who’d needed my attention had doubled, and it was more than just street scuffles.
I tried not to be too obvious about my interest, especially as Alfonso had always been instinctively suspicious of me, but whatever was going on was concerning.
With his gaze following me, I caught the eye of one of the kids lounging against the wall nearby, dark eyes watching from an expressionless face.
“Go grab some of the supplies from the closet down there.” Nodding in the direction I meant, I moved towards the men waiting for me.
The kid’s face twisted at taking orders from me, but although my position was a complex, shifting thing here, no one could object to my instruction in this case.
I barely thought about it as my attention shifted to the rough looking group, quickly scanning and registering the cuts, bruises and more.
“This one first.” Alfonso had come up behind me, standing unnervingly close, which I ignored as I glanced over to the man he’d indicated - and the badly broken arm he was nursing.
“Damn.” I muttered, my mind already jumping ahead to how I was going to deal with it.
Setting broken bones wasn’t exactly something nursing training had taught me - but I’d done quite a bit more since working for Jorge, and it was probably the best the guy was going to get. A quick sidelong glance at Alfonso told me this wasn’t the time to suggest he go to an actual hospital.
The guy was pale and sweating as I gestured for him to lie down on a nearby pallet.
“I’m going to need some guys to hold him.”
They’d obviously done this before, as two grabbed his legs.
“You’ll be alright, Matthews - almost done, now.” One of his mates crouched down at his head, shoving a rag into his mouth and squeezing his shoulder.
He only grunted in response as I took position, my fingers running lightly up and down his arm and identifying the break. It was as bad as it looked, but at least I had a good idea how to deal with it.
It was hard to focus with their semi-menacing attention on me, but I was used to these guys now - and while they might throw their weight around and act tough, Jorge’s attitude towards me offered a small measure of protection.
Of course, that came with its own issues, but I could handle that. At least, I hoped I could.
The less I thought about the fine line I was treading, the better.
One of them shifted behind me and I refocused just before their impatience got the better of them, taking a breath and positioning myself over the guy - Matthews.
A muffled scream and a couple of adrenaline filled moments later, the arm was set and I was working quickly on wrapping it securely. Matthews had fainted, but that was probably for the best as I used the makeshift materials available to put together a splint.
When I was done, I glanced up at Alfonso and saw one of those rare, grudging moments of appreciation before he gestured to another guy who probably needed stitches for the gash in his side.
Unfortunately, seeing that look in his eyes only had my stomach sinking further. I’d come to realize they didn’t represent progress or a softening of his attitude towards me - if anything, he seemed to end up resenting me more for actually being useful.
It wasn’t like I really wanted Alfonso’s good opinion - he was a harsh bully with a cunning streak that only made him more dangerous - but it was hard enough balancing Jorge’s moods, let alone knowing that if I went a step too far, Alfonso would be there to expose me.
That risky game was what kept me on edge and nervous at these gathering
s, though I was more than happy for them to think it was just being around a violent gang.
Still, if I could get close enough to really understand—
“What the hell happened here?!”
I deliberately didn’t look up from my stitching, even as one corner of my mouth quirked at the exact question I’d asked earlier. Maybe I was spending too much time with Jorge - his attitude might be rubbing off on me. The idea was as disturbing as it was laughable, but I quickly schooled my expression into one of intent concentration as I heard him storm in our direction.
“Valentini’s boys. Ambushed this lot up in Glenville—” Alfonso was cut off sharply.
“You sure about that, Alfi?” I could almost hear Jorge’s narrowed eyes, but Alfonso just gave a crooked grin, nudging Matthews’ foot where he lay near me. “Yeh, boss - gave Matthews a message. ‘Sides which, after all those recent skirmishes, and us straying up there…who else?”
Jorge grunted as Matthews blearily opened his eyes again, blinking hard when he saw who was looming over him.
My heart had skipped a beat at the mention of the Italian guys and I struggled to keep my eyes on the cut in front of me.
Street fighting was one thing, but despite all his posturing, I hadn’t really thought Jorge was going to follow through on his more outlandish ambitions. The constant gang warfare had been bad enough, but the thought of him taking it further, of these guys trying to control more of the city…I fought back the wave of anger and fear as Matthews grunted and struggled to get up.
“Don’t move that arm!” I snapped it out without thinking as I tied off the stitch I’d been working on, my irritation at the risk to my work letting out some of my sudden tension, even if the hostile glances from a few of the guys told me it might not have been a good idea.
Jorge only laughed, my irate comment drawing his attention away from Matthews’ for a moment.
“I see you’ve patched ‘em up again, girlie. What do you think, hmm? Our expansion must be givin’ you a nice bit of practice.” The arrogant drawl of his voice scraped at my nerves.
