He chuckles and gives my hand a weak pat. “I know, Matt. You’ll make sure I’m fine. You always do.”
As if summoned by his words, my phone pings in my pocket. I let go of Aron with one bloody hand to check it.
There’s a text from Javier Martinez—Tito’s right-hand man, and, more importantly, Aron’s dad. No doubt he and the don saw the whole fiasco through our surveillance system in the club. I’d wager they’re either on the way to take care of Sal right now, or they’ve hired one of Dad’s men to do the job.
How’s my son?
Typing a response one-handed while Gino speeds through the city is tough, but not impossible.Hit, but okay. On the way to our docs.
Keep me posted, Matteo.
Of course.
Aron’s eyes roll over to the phone in my hand. “Dad?”
“Yep.”
“You didn’t tell him I’m dying, did you? You know Dad can’t take a joke.”
I laugh and pocket the phone. “Me, lie to Javier? I have more sense than that, Aron. Besides, I rather like my head on my shoulders. If I told him his son was mortally wounded, even in jest, I’d be deader than Sal.”
Chapter 2
Aron
It’s not the worst hit I’ve ever taken for Matt. Not the lightest, either. Harrison’s shot nicked an artery, but Matt got me taken care of in time. I just need to “take it easy” for a few weeks while the shoulder heals.
Bah. Take it easy my ass. Matt’s always in danger; I can’t “take it easy.”
Emily’s not helping matters. She’s emotional enough with the pregnancy, but now every time I head off to work she lays into me. “Get another job, Aron.” “This is too dangerous, Aron.” “Think about your family, Aron.” She doesn’t understand that I wouldn’t be where I am today without Tito and Matt Mangione. Those two are the only reason I’m alive to get shot at.
Tito gave my dad a job, a coveted position as his personal bodyguard, when he hadn’t had a penny to his name. I grew up next to Matt, playing with him as kids before I knew the kind of business our fathers were in. When I was old enough to be told the truth of things, it was only natural for me to accept my role as Matt’s guard full-time. I had grown up watching over him, after all. That made my job easy.
I’ve taken bullets for Matt since I was ten. I can’t expect Emily to understand the bond we share, and I certainly can’t tell her the truth of it all. I can’t tell her anything more than the fact that I’m a professional bodyguard, and that Matt’s a businessman who pays me well to keep him alive.
Does Emily suspect? Probably. She’s certainly come close in some of her accusations. But I can’t confirm it. Not if I want her and the baby to be safe. I haven’t even let her meet Matt. Imagine the chaos if she recognized Matt on the news!
It’s best this way. Two halves of my life, separate but equal.
Much in the same way that the two aspects of my life are polar opposites, so are my two main companions. Where Matt is tall, dark, muscle-bound, and tattooed from here to Kingdom Come, with the kind of Italian gangster good looks that Hollywood producers crave, Emily is petite, slender, and delicate, with pristine creamy-white skin. I couldn’t have found a woman less like Matt to marry. The only similarity, one that sometimes haunts me, is their twin sets of sapphire-blue eyes.
Matt’s eyes come from his mother, Lucinda, something Tito has dubbed her “parting gift to the world.” Emily’s are a mystery, as she was adopted as a baby. She never met her parents, and maybe that’s why she’s so hung up on me surviving long enough to raise our kids.
Or maybe that’s what normal people do. They live for their families.
Except Matt’s family, in a way. Tito, too. So which family should I live for?
Sal’s funeral was peaceful, if not a bit strained. If Sal’s wife had any disillusion about his career choices, the funeral would have obliterated them. Between Tito’s appearance and the plentitude of men in crisp black suits standing off to the side to pay their respects, only an idiot would have assumed Sal was in “sales,” as I overheard one mourner say.
The widow almost started screaming at Tito for ordering the hit that ended Sal’s life, but one hard glare from my dad shut her up. Then Tito calmly explained that Sal had outlived his usefulness to the Syndicate, pointed at me and Matt off to the side, and told her Sal was lucky I got hit and not Matt. I guess in Tito’s mind there are worse fates than a quick, clean assassination when it comes to retirement from this life.
I remember a similar funeral when Matt and I were kids. A Syndicate officer who had outlived his usefulness, dead by my dad’s hands.
At the time, I didn’t understand our world as well as I do now. I was maybe five years old, so funerals were formative memories for me. I asked Dad why he killed Tony, unfortunately while we stood just feet away from the widow.
“Tony messed up, son. Uncle Tito and I couldn’t let him live after that.”
“What did he do?”
