What the hell was going on? Had he gotten caught? Even though he was a strong man, he was only a man. And alone. Was he still breathing?
I sucked in a lungful of air, gasping for it, and sat up in bed, trying to catch my breath.
It was only a bad dream.
Just a dream.
A nightmare.
Even though it was dark, and my fan was on, the sweater felt like a sauna against my skin. I was wet, drenched in sweat, and I felt sick.
“Put the gun on the table. Real slow.”
The voice emerging from the darkness made me suck in a breath. The shock sent my heart into my throat and my stomach plummeting.
“Do it,” he said. “Now.”
His voice was full of gravel, but also full of power. There was no doubt that he wasn’t fucking around. When he sat forward a little, the streetlight from outside highlighting his face, it backed up the feeling.
He was an older man with features as sharp as his tongue. It would be a mistake to think this man was in any way hindered by his age. He didn’t have a gun trained on me, but I had a feeling he wouldn’t be a slow draw.
Doing as he said, I slowly reached behind me for the gun, and even slower, I slipped it onto the table next to me.
“Good girl, Rosalia,” he said. “I don’t have to waste my time warning you about going for it, do I?”
“No,” I said, my voice sounding stronger than I felt.
“Smart,” he said, getting more comfortable in the chair. “Which is why I don’t have to waste time with introductions either. You know who I am.” Even though I could clearly understand him, he definitely had an Italian accent. It was just watered down a bit.
“The Boss,” I said.
“You might not remember the rest of the world, but I knew you’d remember me.”
“I don’t,” I said. “Remember you.”
“How do you know who I am then?”
He didn’t sound curious or irritated by my answer, only matter of fact.
I shrugged. “I know the men at Club D who would come for me. One of Aniello’s crew. I also know that this is personal, and you would want me dead more than anyone else; therefore, this job is yours alone.”
“Maybe some part of you does remember, even if your mind doesn’t register it.”
“Maybe. It’s happened before.” I hesitated but then said it anyway. “You believe me. That I can’t remember.”
“I do,” he said. “Or else you would have told my son who I was.”
“He knows who you are,” I said, not understanding, but then his words truly caught up to my mind. He’d said, “my son,” and not in the way a man does when he considers another man his son. He actually meanthisson. “You’re his father,” I blurted.
No wonder he loved Aniello. No wonder he treated him like a son. Because he was.
He opened his arms. “In the flesh.”
“You killed his mamma,” I said.
“Not with my hands,” he said. “I set it up. I made it seem like I’d done something wrong and had been killed. After, she continued to run with my son until she could no longer. I did not think it would take years to find her. She kept the note I left her close, about how I felt my life was in danger, and if she ever needed to send Aniello someplace safe, to send him to the man I knew on the docks. Right before my man sliced her throat, she sent my son to me without knowing it.”
“Why?” There was that dangerous word again, but I wasn’t afraid of it anymore.
