They’re already here.
My phone rings once we’re back in the car. Frankie’s driving and I sit in the passenger seat, glaring out the window, thinking black thoughts. Matteo’s voice doesn’t make me feel any better.
“Spoke with the council,” he says abruptly. “They’re not happy.”
“They’re never happy. What’d they say about Kira?”
“I told you, Stellan, bringing a damn Santoro girl into this is a mess. Half the council think you’re insulting them.”
“Good. I am. What’d they say?”
“Bad shit, mostly.” He sighs loudly. “But they’re going to approve it. This war might be working in your favor. The old bastards are all scared of trying to fight it on their own.”
“They’d rather I took care of their problem for them.”
“Yeah, and they might even hope you end up dead in the process. Two birds, one stone, that sort of thing.”
“That’s real comforting.”
“A Santoro girl! Come on, Stellan!”
“Tell the council I’ll handle the war. Tell them to stop delaying. Give me what’s rightfully mine.”
“Yeah, yeah, I’ll get it done.”
I hang up. Around me, Philly flashes past, a series of quiet lives and miseries.
“They making you Don?” Frankie asks.
“Despite themselves, it looks like it.”
“Congratulations.”
“Strange how I don’t feel good.”
“That’s life in the family.” Frankie grins and shrugs. “Brutal and a pain in the ass. But a lot of fun too.”
I grunt in reply. I glare out the front windshield as the gears continue to turn in my head. Too many moving pieces. Too many ways to fuck this up. “You should know, we’re moving the book after they make me Don. Two nights after.”
“You need me for that?”
I shake my head. “No, I’ll take care of it myself. Just giving you the heads-up.”
Frankie shrugs and stares straight ahead. “Never gets easy, does it?”
No, it fucking does not.
KIRA
There are a lot of reasons to hate my mother.
First reason: she’s a selfish asshole. No matter what you say or do, nothing’s ever enough, because everyone’s out to get her. She’s a victim, but she’s also a user. As in, she uses everyone around her to get what she needs.
Which brings me to reason two: she’s an addict. And not one in recovery. She’s in full-blown addict mode, happy to steal what’s not bolted down to sell for drug money. All my life, I’ve had to deal with the whims of my mother’s addiction, and while I know it’s a disease, I still hate her stinking guts for being such a piece of trash all the damn time.
But those aren’t even the most frustrating reasons. At least, not right now.
Reason three, and the reason I’m most pissed off: my mother can’t organize a damn thing to save her life.
