The line goes quiet for a moment. “I’m just saying, Dré. Maybe it’s fate. Was she with Sapori all these years?” He seamlessly flips the topic.
“Sapori had nothing to do with her until recently. She might be a mafia princess, but she has no concept of the Cosa Nostra.But Frankie—he’s testing my patience. Sinéad is in bed recovering from a concussion after his men paid her a visit. I don’t care who Sapori is or how long he’s known our grandfather for. The fucker thinks he can stroll into Miami wearing his handstitched shoes and do whatever he wants. He can’t—and won’t—get away with it.”
“What do you need from me?”
“Get one of your contacts to track him down. I only need eyes on him for now. His yacht was anchored off Biscayne Bay and now he’s sailed on elsewhere. I won’t do anything until I figure out the extent of his threat.”
“No worries. I know just the guy.”
“I love you, Gio. Stay safe. With Papá’s killer still out there, the threat on our family is bigger than ever.”
“Maybe I’ll swing into the city one of these days and meet the woman who’s changed my brother.” His low chuckle makes me grin.
“Unfortunately, she hasn’t achieved that mission.” I feign a smirk for my own benefit. “I’ll be gray and fucking old by the time you drop by, cabron. Stop talking about it and do it already.”
I end the call and toss my phone, knocking over the framed photograph of me and my brothers taken a few years ago. It’s one of the rare occasions when we were all together. Fixing it, I focus on our youthful faces, each of us harboring our own demons behind the smiles of four powerful men.
Unfortunately, the phone call to Gio wasn’t enough of a distraction. It failed to help me forget the persistent sexual desire or the feeling of my hard dick against the towel.
Despite my self-disgust, I can’t get rid of the horny buzz, probably made worse by my cocaine consumption. The potency of it spikes my temperature and riles my mood. This is not what I’m used to, and it's driving me wild.
My arms work on autopilot, bringing the glass to my lips to sip more numbing liquor. Brick by brick, I rebuild my walls until there’s a forty-foot fortress encircling me.
From this moment on, I’m unattainable. My wife is simply a recreational habit that I’ll use on my terms, and eventually leave the idea of monogamy behind.
28
SINÉAD
Once I’d heard him arrive home, I quickly climbed back under the sheets and patiently waited for the mattress to dip and his body to settle next to me.
It didn’t.
That was an hour ago. Sitting in the middle of his huge bed with the rich sheets swamping me from the waist down, I tease my fingers through my hair and flinch when they brush over a crusty scab. My limbs ache and queasiness rolls over me in hot, sickly waves. I’m not sure if it’s the aftermath of the attack or the fact we’d had a huge argument.
I stare blankly at the bedroom door. Finally, I pluck up the courage and energy to leave the suite and descend the stairs. Hazy tangerine rays of dawn spread over the living space. Letterman lounges on the couch, watching a video on his phone while sipping amber liquid straight from a bottle.
Padding over to him, I gasp when his torso suddenly rotates, bringing the threat of his gun to my chest.
“Christ…” He visibly relaxes when I hold my hands outward. “Why the fuck are you creeping up on me?”
“I’m not creeping. I heard you guys arrive home, but André didn’t come to bed.”
He sits back and mutters, “He’s in his office. I’d give the guy some space.”
I glance across the living room where his office door is closed. “I need to talk to him.”
“At this time of the morning?” He angles his head and wrinkles his forehead at me like I’m nuts. “No one needs to have a conversation at this ungodly hour, especially not Dré, and not after the shitshow we just dealt with. It can wait.”
Letterman lights a hand-rolled cigarette, nips the butt with his lips, unties his laces, and kicks off his filthy boots. “A friendly word of advice, Sin…” He breathes out my name with a haze of smoke. “…go back to that comfy, warm bed upstairs and sleep off whatever shit you want to talk to him about. He’ll speak to you when he’s ready.”
He reverts back to watching YouTube on the small screen. I study him for a beat, noting an ashy streak across his cheek.
“What happened?”
His gaze doesn't falter. “You don’t need to know.”
My gut twists beneath the palm settling over my belly button. “It’s something serious, isn’t it? Please tell me you didn’t kill Frankie.”
