It’s the Beast’s favorite symphony.
His severed hand falls to the floor with a squelching thump. Blood gushes from the stump and flows toward the drain in the floor. His head falls forward as he passes out.
I throw the bloody meat cleaver back on the table and pick up a rag. As I scrub the blood from my hands, the soldier comes to stand beside me.
“You want him dropped at the farm, Boss?”
The farm is actually Riverside Gator Farm, a non-profit attraction that has a hundred-acre lake filled with dozens of eleven-to-fourteen-foot gators and plenty of profit from mob donations funneled through straw donors to stay loyal. Gators are very good at getting rid of bodies.
“No.” I toss the bloody rag on the table. “Drop his body back in the 611 territory. He’s a message.”
Chapter 9
Lennon
Ilean my back against the door. I can feel Sandro still standing on the other side of it. I can still smell his scent clinging to me, feel his strong, lethal energy. My body is trembling. I know it’s partly from being held at gunpoint, but also from being in his presence again.
I’m staring into my living room but time… time is slipping from my grasp. My mind keeps drifting to the past. To the first time he walked into this space when I was sixteen, sat on that same couch, and we talked and laughed and couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Those naïve, hopeful kids. I feel sorry for them now.
I blink. The energy has shifted. The apartment feels empty, lifeless. Slowly, I push myself off the door and look through the peephole just in time to catch Sandro’s wide shoulders as he disappears around the corner.
I’m in a daze, numb, as I brush my teeth, wash my face, and slip into my worn-in sleep tank top. I flop on top of the covers, too hot, too restless to get under them. Then I stare up at the ceiling and letmyself think.
Why was Sandro there tonight? Why does he know that I still live in this apartment?
What did he do to the gunman?
No, don’t go there.
Each summer he’d return more sullen, more troubled, with injuries in various stages of healing, injuries that spoke of the violence in his world. But he still hadn’t succumbed to the darkness back then. I see it in him now, though.
Is it partly my fault?
No, I won’t take the blame. The life he was born into is one of shadows and death. There would be no escape from that.
I try to come up with scenarios of why he’d be at the diner tonight. Nothing makes sense. Nothing except he knew I was there. My emotions run from anger to regret to hope to sadness and back to anger.
I stare at the snow globe now sitting on my nightstand. Then drift in and out of a restless sleep all night. I’m glaring at the ceiling again when the first rays of morning light slip between the window blinds.
With a frustrated growl, I fling myself out of bed and hit the shower.
It’s Sunday, my only day off. I should be looking forward to relaxing. But I desperately need something to keep my mind off last night. Off Sandro. I’m stuck in the anger stage now. He’s gettingmarried. He has no right to come back into my life and tear open old wounds. No right to know anything about my life now.
I’m standing in the kitchen, my fists clenched, my breathing labored.
What am I doing? I can’t let him affect me like this again.
I change into my bikini and coverup, dig my keys from the frog planter, slip on my flip-flops, and grab my bag. The beach is my sanctuary. The place my soul and body heal. It's the only place I can think of where I stand a chance of facing the storm of emotions his sudden return has stirred in me.
Only today, as I watch the waves from my towel, letting the sunlight soak into my bones, I sigh in frustration. Sandro is here with me. The memories of all the times we spent together on the beach are sharp and clear.
Yeah, seeing him again has reopened old wounds, and I’m bleeding out.
Chapter 10
Alessandro
I’ve asked Gunnar and Rocco to meet in my home office to listen in on the conference call with The Commission. I’ve sent them the photos and video we got last night, and we’re going to discuss strategy.
