I honestly had no idea, so I told him that. With him, not having answers was fine, and I appreciated that relationship with someone. He took his drink and moseyed toward the door. “Just don’t let it be you,” he said before opening it.
If I hadn’t known Taylor’s chest echoed the emptiness of mine, I would have been touched. “Are you going soft on me?”
He closed the door behind him without justifying my question with an answer.
I shifted in my chair, the heavy weight of the gun giving me little comfort, physically or mentally. The meeting was scheduled for later, but if the situations were reversed, I’d have shown up early, not giving my enemy time to get comfortable.
My phone rang, and Taylor asked if he should kill the guy about to walk in.
“No, better not.” Neither of us had a way to verify the man’s identity, and if Taylor killed him and he turned out to be some flunky, we’d be in a worse situation.
Could I kill a man in hopes he was my enemy? Would my brother or father do that? Whenever I had to check my conscience on something, I asked myself what would Marco do? He’d put a bullet in the man’s brain, no hesitation. But my brother lacked the subtlety I possessed, or my equally evil father.
“Just send him in.”
The grunt he gave me in agreement told me the man had already walked through the door, and since gun fire wasn’t echoing through the office, he complied.
I came around the edge of the desk, unsure what to do. The man had already stripped and taken my territory, nothing I did would change the facts. The only piece I had left was the legal side, only because he likely didn’t know it existed, but I wasn’t ready to walk away from twenty years of work and sacrifice.
I threw my shoulders back as a man entered my office. I’d only seem him in surveillance photos and on phone screens. In person, he was larger. At least a foot taller than me and shoulders twice as wide. I could see tattoos peeking out from his stiff collar and at the perfect presses of his cuffs. Not enough to see any gang affiliations or colors though.
He glanced around the room, and his eyes slid over me like I’d been relegated to a piece of furniture he needed to assess with all the rest. Would he pack me off to storage if I didn’t meet his tastes?
While he inspected everything, I did the same to him. The soft lines around his eyes and the smattering of gray in his hair, and well-groomed beard, told me we were close in age. It comforted me I hadn’t been reduced to ashes by a child.
The silence began to grate on me. “Can I offer you a drink?”
His black eyes flashed to mine for a second and slid to the bar. Instead of waiting for me, he helped himself. Peeing in the corner to mark his territory.
Then he stepped around my desk and took the chair behind it, forcing me to turn to face him or leave my back to a predictor. And I wasn’t an idiot.
“You called this meeting.” It seemed I was willing to promptthisman at least.
He gave me another long and appraising look before gesturing at me to sit. Seeing no point in refusing I took the seat Ashley almost sweated through an hour ago.
He surprised me by speaking first this time. “Twenty years ago, you took a ragtag criminal operation and turned it into an empire. You put your brother, father, and even your lover in prison to make it happen.”
A reminder I didn’t need. “Is there a question in there somewhere? Or are we taking a trip down memory lane. If so, don’t forget to make a right at no one gives a fuck and go straight through to make your god damn point.”
If he planned to kill me, I wish he would just get it done. All this teasing wore on me.
“You’ve got a mouth on you.”
Another non-question, so I didn’t say anything.
“My question,” he took a sip of his drink, “is why? Why betray everyone you loved to overthrow the decimated remains of a has been gang. I researched you thoroughly, and it’s the one question I can’t find the answer to.”
“You came here to ask me why I became a criminal?”
“No, I came here to ask you the nature of betrayal.”
I considered his questions and answered the only way I could. “Go to hell.”
One side of his mouth lifted as if he might smile, but he didn’t go that far.
“I’ve been there,Passerotto. I’d rather tear off my own limbs with my teeth than go back.”
I shifted, uncomfortable for the first time. Not by his graphic outburst, but by the pet name—little sparrow. I tried not to scowl. Black widows are little too.
