Smoke was on the verge of spewing from my nostrils.
“I won’t sit by while thatpezzo di merda”—piece of shit—“brainwashes you into—”
“Don’t you dare finish that sentence.” I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth ground together. “I’m getting married. And you’re going to come because that’s what loving brothers do. Right?” I couldn’t counter the gentleness in her tone. “I want you to give me away.”
“Shouldn’t…” I shoved my fingers hard into my temples. “Shouldn’t you just come home for a while? Let things settle. Figure it out after.”
“San Francisco isn’t my home anymore. I can’t go back there, and I don’t want to leave here. You might think it’s sudden, but not for me. This is my life now, and I’m happy with it. Be happy for me. I need this. I want him. Accept it. For me, please.”
Just like that, it felt like I’d lost her again. Nine months of searching. Fifteen minutes of talking. And she was all grown up and out of my life. I couldn’t even fault her for not feeling like San Francisco wasn’t her home after what our father had done. It was all spiraling outof control again.
We hung up not long after. I stared listlessly at my phone for a long while. All that digging, scouring, strategizing, and hunting put to bed in the space of fifteen little minutes. She was found. She was safe, and it was all over.
A loaded silence charged the air.
Tore tried pulling details of the conversation out of me. Jac just nodded and faced forward, accepting that she was well taken care of and nothing else mattered. Vinny let me be.
I was left adrift, collapsing against the headrest a little emptier than I’d been. The one person who mattered the most in my life didn’t need me anymore. She’d been my entire focus. Nine months’ worth of purpose gone just like that. She was protected. She was happy. It was for the best, and I should have felt good. Excited. Triumphant. So why did my chest feel so hollow instead?
Chapter 11
Twomorningslater,afterdropping Lou and Boyan off at their respective summer daycare centers, I rushed back to the Hayes house. It didn’t take long to wrap up a jug of diesel reserved for Charlie’s old clunker and a spout in a plastic bag and tuck them into my backpack. With the coast clear of neighbors, I rushed to the bus station ten blocks away that would take me to Santa Rosa, which was the only town or city in the vicinity where that street and number were located.
My knees bounced in place for the last half hour of the bus ride. I chewed on my lower lip and wiped my clammy hands down the sides of my jeans. Everything was going to be okay. I could do this. I was going to do it.
Renzo Iannelli said he didn’t hurt kids. Well, today I was going to put that to the test. Even if he never knew I had done it, he couldn’t just threaten and kill people without consequence. Not Noah, and definitely not Lou.
It took a while to walk from the bus stop to the street in question, then walk some more, past exuberant mansions worth at least ten to fifteen times my parents’ house. My heels ached in my soft-soled tennis shoes. Hair kept slipping out of myponytail, leaving it a disheveled mess. Finally, I reached the long driveway leading up to Iannelli’s manor.
Guards patrolled the area. You’d think they were protecting the president with how many there were. They all wore suits and scowled behind their sunglasses as they toured the property.
With my calf cramping from kneeling behind a bush, I tossed a rock at a far tree. The soft thunk pulled two guards off the rotation, enough for me to hobble past them, hunched over. I hurried through the yard’s vegetation to the Lamborghini at the end of the driveway, ignoring the assembly of fancy cars to the right of the mansion.
No yells to sound the alarm. No following rushed footsteps. I was in the clear. I sighed against the car in relief. Now for the hard part.
My plan was simple enough: pour diesel into his gasoline tank and fudge up his new high-end sports car. Then I would stop by the post office before taking the bus home and drop off my note.
I unloaded the jug, the spout, and a couple of things borrowed from the Hayes house from my backpack. With a popsicle stick, I lifted the Lamborghini’s fuel door just enough to slip a flat metal icing spatula from Marlene’s kitchen through the opening to force the lock open. When that didn’t work, I switched to a flathead screwdriver.
I almost had it, but the plastic underneath the flap kept snapping back into place. Each time, I spied around the car to make sure no one heard. On my fourth try, the plastic mechanism on the inside broke and clinked against the driveway cement. Now the damn thing was open but wouldn’t close. My sabotage plan was going to be found out before Iannelli even turned on his car if I left things like this.
Reaching under the car to retrieve the bit of plastic, my arm knocked the jug over. The diesel gloop-glooped in gulps out of the container. My head thunked against the undercarriage as Itried to get out and stop the darn thing from spilling everywhere. Fuckity fuck fuck. Pulling the jug back upright, I swallowed a cry of pain, my teeth gritted, cradling my head. When the pain finally went down, I retrieved the broken piece of plastic from the fuel flap and sat back on my heels. How was I going to get that back on?
I scanned my tools. Duct tape was too loud to unwrap and way too bulky, and I hadn’t brought along regular tape. Maybe I could try melting the plastic in place, kind of like wax, with a lighter.
With a glance around, I flicked on the lighter I’d stolen from my older foster brother, below the hooked piece of plastic. My nose scrunched from the acrid smell as the black plastic discolored and deformed. A plume of smoke drifted up.
Then, it caught fire, singeing my fingertips.
One second, I was hopeful. The next, I tossed the lighter and plastic down so quickly I didn’t realize how stupid a move it was. They landed in the spill of diesel right next to the jug. Flames whooshed into existence. Shit.
I scrambled away as shouts of alarm ricocheted through the courtyard. Bolting to my feet, I ran, full on. Guards cut off my path, yelling at me to stop. I went left, but they were faster. I cut right. They blocked the way and raised their guns. Oh god, I was going to die today. Someone fired a shot at my feet, and I skidded to a stop, my hands in the air.
A shockwave boom rocketed from behind and thrust me to my knees. Others fell alongside me. Behind me, flames engulfed the supercar. I cupped my hands over my face. That was not supposed to happen.
A gun pressed into the back of my head, and I froze.
“Get up. Hands behind your head before I decorate the ground with your brains.” I trembled, unable to move. The gun was shoved harder, pushing my face forward. “Now.”
