Staring directly into his steely eyes, I said, “Don’t ever put your hands on me again, or I won’t return.”
Gio smothered a laugh behind a cough, and Noah’s face reddened. “All I want for my father is quality health care, and he adores you.”
The way he nearly choked on the wordadoresmade up for his shitty actions.
Not that I was prepared to relieve him of his guilt. “That’s all I want for him, too.”
“There, was that so difficult?”
Noah turned his glare on his father. “We have things to discuss.”
“We should be done soon, right, Sailor?”
I nodded. “Yes, sir.”
“Let me know when you’re alone.”
With that, Noah and Gio left the room. I cleared my throat, picking up Benito’s hand.
“You said you’re feeling better.”
We spent another few moments talking about which ways he felt better and what he needed to do to continue healing, and then I told him goodbye and nearly raced to my car. The entire drive home, my head was full of what I had to report. Who had bombed whom? What Chinese were they talking about? Did thatmean the Chinese government worked with the Costas? Or was it another organized crime group like the Triad?
And would this finally bring the feds any closer to making their case?
Did I want that to happen? Did I want Benito going down when it was clear he was no longer in charge? Obviously, he hadn't been a perfectly innocent man his entire career, and he should pay for whatever he’d done in the past.
Shivering, I thought about how dangerous their lives were on a daily basis, and how closely entangled I now was with them.
Once I logged in to the secure server, I wrote a detailed report of the information I’d overheard. Surely, something as serious as a bombing was already on their radar. Maybe I wasn’t giving them any news at all, but I had to hope it was some juicy information. I made it clear Benito was in no shape to be running things, but based on the way Noah wanted to wait until I left to have a discussion with his father, he obviously deferred to his authority on important matters.
Sometimes, when I tried really hard, I could hear my father’s voice when he talked about his business. He bought and sold something, but I never could remember what it was. It was possible he never told me directly, considering I was very young. My mother’s sweet tone came more easily to my ears, the way she would sing to me when I was sick, and then my heart would ache for what I’d missed out on. Mom’s face came into my mind without effort; why, then, did I struggle to picture Dad?
His presence was there in my hazy memories, but almost always standing behind me. Kind of like someone whispering in your ear, but when you turn your head, there’s no one there.
Which somehow brought Noah’s face to mind. His sneer was branded in my subconscious, and the unusually large frame that made him appear like a hideous monster. So many arms, all subtly waving as he came closer and closer. His eyes glowedamber, then red, and I saw the gun he held aimed in my direction. I tried to run, but my legs were stuck in place. My mouth opened, but no sound came out. Frantically flailing, I watched his finger ease toward the trigger.
At the last second, a scream finally made its way up my throat, but the beastly form spun around, aiming the gun behind him and pulling the trigger until the magazine was empty.
The sound of gunfire echoed in my ears as I startled awake, heart racing and palms sweating. Flushed with embarrassment at the idea of my neighbors hearing my screams, I hurried to turn on the TV and raise the volume. In the sudden noise of a detergent commercial, my racing mind focused on the thing in my dreams.
He’d begun as my father’s shadowy figure, then morphed into a monstrous version of Noah Costa. Angry, always angry with me, for reasons I couldn't fathom. Snarling teeth, fetid breath, glowing eyes, and towering over me at an impossible height.
But the gun . . . in the dream, I knew he was going to shoot me. I felt it in my bones. It terrified me, but I couldn't force my body to move, not even to save myself. Instead, he’d shot at something unknown, bullet after bullet deafening me as they left the chamber.
My hands were still shaking, but I pushed my hair out of my face and sat back down at my desk. There was a new message waiting for me on the computer, so I opened it.
Agent Parkes praised me for the information, telling me they hadn’t known who was targeted with the explosives. Other agents had been investigating it, and I’d given them a strong lead to dig into. And, apparently, now that they had a name to springboard off from, they had an idea of who to point the finger at if it wasn't a foreign entity, as some had assumed.
I was happy to know I’d helped and that I was upholding my end of the agreement. For a moment, I’d begun to stress over whether they’d break their part of the bargain if I couldn't provide them with anything useful. I needed closure so badly that it affected every aspect of my life.
It was part of what kept me from forming friendships and kept me drowning in my emotions of guilt and failure. I could never move on if I didn’t have the crucial answers to what had caused me to lose my family.
Carmine and Sofia Franco could not be erased from the world, no matter how hard Marshal Berkshire had tried to do just that.
Chapter Six
Noah
