“I’m not holding that,” I said.
Vince looked up, cigarette already between his teeth. “Why? Too good to hold a mangled hand?”
“Scared it might drip blood on my shoes.”
He didn’t laugh. He rarely did anymore. But he crouched, picked up the hand, and held it out to me like it was a glass of wine at dinner.
I sighed and took it. Reluctantly. It was heavier than I expected. Still warm. Fucking disgusting.
Vince didn’t look fazed. His bad mood had been stretching for weeks. People were flinching when he walked into rooms now. Rome had gone vegetarian entirely. After tonight, I was starting to understand why.
“Why do you even want this?” I asked as Vince stepped out of the pit and rolled his neck like it had been a workout. “What’s the point?”
“Sending a message.”
“Great,” I muttered. “Another message.”
He dropped the cigarette into the pit.
“Who getting this one?” I asked, nodding to the bloody hand I had the awful pleasure of holding.
“Someone who should keep their hands off things that don’t belong to them.”
That particular tone of his, cool, lethal, was always a problem. It meant the emotion was gone. He wasn’t even mad anymore. He was resolved.
I looked at the blood drying on his arms, knuckles he hadn’t bothered to clean.
“You done?” I asked. “Or should we swing by another alley before midnight?”
He gave me a dry look, one that said he knew exactly what I was referring to and wasn’t going to bite.
He checked the time. “I’m heading home.”
“Good. I’m coming with you.”
He gave me another look.
“No lecture. I promise.” I passed the hand to one of our men who had a bucket of ice. I’d look into increasing their pay while Vince is in this mood.
“You sure? Because if this is about strategy or optics or the?—”
“I swear, Vince. This isn’t a boardroom talk.”
He didn’t answer at first, just stared at the ground like he was deciding how many more graves he could dig before breakfast.
Finally he nodded. “Fine. But I mean it, Nik?—”
“If I mention the D-word, you’ll throw me out your front door,” I finished.“Understood.”
“And no lectures,”
“Absolutely not. You’re the picture of mental health.”
That earned me a smirk. Barely.
We walked to the car in silence. I wondered how many times I’d have to scrub my hands to forget the feeling of holding that.
Vince had a habit of sleeping at the nearest house he owned when he finished the day. I shouldn’t have been surprised that the house look exactly like how it was when he purchased it.
