But I couldn’t just go without one last thing.
Sneaking into Senior’s office, I opened his safe— I’d overheard his passcode years ago, my mother’s birthday and he had never changed it—to retrieve my mother’s ring. It was the only thing I knew that was hers, the only thing that I remembered.
Senior found me. Tried to subdue me. But I was faster—animalistic. I wouldn’t go back to that room—to that blue prison, full of pain and trauma and swung the closest object at him.
It was an old banker lamp and the man fell. I didn’t stop—just ran toThe Wharf.I knew that was Ferguson’s base of operations, that it was a place to withstand Senior’s wrath.
Now, sitting before him, I can’t help but be unimpressed. He’s old, drawn. Prison has not been kind to him.
He leans against the chair, exhaling when he sees it’s me.
It pisses me off to notice our similarities. The same nose, the same chin. I have my mother’s eyes and hair color, but I’m wide like Senior, tall, imposing with the same warm skin.
The branding on my forearm itches, as if it too is irritated being this close to the man who put it there. The mark of a Bruno property, it was etched on my skin as a child. As soon as I could, I covered the mark with tattoos, patterns and shapes that were once inked on my mother.
Bruno was dead to me.
At once, we both picked up the receiver.
“You.”
“Me.”
He sits before me, the orange jumpsuit bright in a sea of grays and whites.
“I know what your cunt Captain is doing,” he says, voice deep. “She’s using me for the second trial.”
I nod. There’s no use in lying. I’m sure junior knows about the plans and I’m sure Senior figured it out after a few fucked up attempts on his life.That leak needs to be found soon.
“It’s a show of strength.” I shrug, leaning my arm over the back of my chair. “Whoever can kill you, wins this round.”
He snorts, dark eyes looking to the side. “Is that why you’re here? To gloat?”
I can’t help it—I smile.
“Not exactly.”
“Not like I expect you to do anything.” He glances around. “I might be behind bars, but not for long. You can’t touch me in here.”
I shrug. I’m not going to respond. Senior likes his own voice.
I just have to wait it out.
“She told you she did this to me.” He points to the table, brows slashed over angry eyes. “That fucking whore put me here. She’s a damnrat. No honor.”
My blood boils at the need to defend Maeve. She had her reasons—and even if she didn’t, that woman has my loyalty more than this miserable sack of human flesh.
“Why am I telling you this?” He scoffs. “The minute you had freedom, you ran with your tail between your legs to stand behind her skirt. Even now, you’re herbitch.”
“Aw, Dad,” I finally say, rolling my eyes. “I’m not her bitch. You know that title belongs to someone else.”
He sneers. “Fuckingreaper.”
He finally looks at me, assessing. It’s the same look he always gave me, before locking a new man in with me. No escape. No help. I was to behave—I was a commodity. Not a son to him.
The back of my neck prickles with sweat and I shift, trying to ignore the urge to move. To get away from the danger he presents.
“Both of you follow her around like she’s a Goddamn messiah.” He shakes his head. “Real Bruno men don’t bow to a woman. Especially one likeher.”
