I’m just at the door when suddenly Nikolas is beside me, having run after me.
“Are you really going to go after them after what he said?” he asks.
I eye him from head to toe; the little lanky teenager has grown some muscle in the last couple weeks but not much.
“I need some air and to talk with Aleksandr,” I tell him, but it’s a lie.
He folds his arms and tilts his head to the side. Something he’s gotten from the other guys clearly. His mannerisms arebecoming more and more like my brothers over the last couple months.
“Really, that’s all?” Nikolas raises a brow.
I sigh. “Look kid, you’re not getting involved in this,” I say. “You wanna help, go convince my brothers that fighting is the better option, then maybe you’ll have a spot in the front line.”
“I think you’re right,” he tells me. “I don’t think talking to them is going to do anything—if they’ll even talk to us. Just like talking to…Eivor…didn’t get us anywhere.”
I see the pain on his face, and I remember that the boy in front of me killed his adopted father just a couple months ago. As hard as I’ve been making it for him and Beau, I nearly forgot that he already has a kill under his belt. A body to count.
“Go tell them that,” I say as I put my hand on his shoulder. “Remind them how fucked up things got all because we waited so long to take him out.”
He nods. “I’ll try.” He turns away from me, but before he does, he says one last thing. “Seriously, like Cass said, don’t get yourself killed.”
It’s not me who needs to worry about dying. It’s the Carvels. Sure, I went out to get air at first. Sat in my car for a couple hours as the sun rose over the horizon and yesterday’s rain started to dry up, but then I remembered who the hell I am.
Tommaso Dresvanni. The gun. The pain. I kill who needs to be killed and I do it without hesitation.
My brothers may be hesitating for some reason, but I’m not. I know what needs to be done and I know who needs to do it. Me.
I don’t give a shit what Carmine told me. I know that trying to talk to the Carvels is only going to lead to death one way or another. It always does in these situations.
Usually if an enemy is willing to step back from their anger and make some kind of deal with us, they do it fairly early into the whole thing. They don’t make deals to kill us, pairing up with other enemies and preparing to fight.
If the Carvels really wanted to partner with us, they’d have made it happen years ago. At the very least, months ago, when they lost their ass and had nothing much left to live for.
Instead, they roamed around looking for money anyway they could find it, until they made this arms deal. Now they were making a deal with the Bianchi family that would get them back on their feet, and even better, get rid of us.
I imagine that once we’re gone, the Carvels would quickly turn on the Bianchis and try to take over their power as well. Try to end up on top of things.
That’s not going to happen.
I follow several of the Carvels from one of the warehouses they meet at for poker. Trailing them until I notice them step into an alleyway to smoke and talk shit. It’s not even noon, and they’re already drunk.
Stepping over to them in the light of day would be a stupid idea….so, instead, I wait.
I follow them around town until the sun is starting to down, and my window of opportunity opens.
14
ALEK
Ilay in bed at the Bianchi estate staring at the ceiling. I can still feel his lips and teeth on my skin…and the marks on my neck and shoulder remind me that it was real. I lift a hand and rub along my neck, feeling the red and purple bruise encased in the fresh marks of his teeth.
There’s a part of me that wishes I had stayed while he slept, instead of getting dressed and sneaking out like it was some cheap hookup.
Perhaps it was. Maybe that’s all Tommy wanted it to be. He had told me we shouldn’t do it again, and then pulled me right into him. Kissed me. Laid on top of me, and let me feel his body against my own until we came undone against each other once more.
Maybe it was meant to be the last time, and we weren’t supposed to talk about it. Just move on. Move onto bigger and more important things.
“Damnit,” I grumble under my breath.
