Don’t want to know my pops. I’ll do almost anything to avoid the subject of him.
I almost understood all of what he said. “Zep?”
He blinks at me. “Yeah.” He watches me carefully and speaks with just as much caution. “Your brother.”
What the fuck? I have a brother now?
How many other siblings were going to come out of the woodwork?
“You didn’t know.”
Clearly thrown, I grunt out, “Any others?”
He tips his head back and laughs, openly amused. “Not that I know of.”
“Good.”
And the asshole laughs again. “Had a feeling I’d have liked you. You and me,” he utters a semi-sober, “we’re alike some.”
“So, Mandy and Zep, huh?” I let out a long exhale, shaking my head. “Fuck me.”
Evander’s eyes smile. “You’d best call her Manda. I’m the only one she allows to call her Mandy. Thinks it comes off unprofessional with her work.” At my raised brows, he fills me in. “She’s a doctor, my clever girl, she is.”
A doctor? Shit. Smart girl, indeed. That explains why she looked over the autopsy report.
He walks around his desk, pulls open a drawer and pulls out a cigar, holding it up to me. Never was a cigar guy myself. I decline graciously, and he purses his lips, surprised. When he pulls out a blunt, a sly grin crosses his face, and he extends his arm to me. “Homegrown. My own make.”
When a man offers you a blunt, you don’t refuse. Doubly when he tells you the shit is his own.
I take it from him and run it under my nose, inhaling deeply.
The pungent green smells so good it makes my mouth water. I want it so damn bad, but grudgingly reach out to hand it back to him. I’m not here for pleasure.
Evander inclines his head in understanding. “Take it.”
The blunt is tucked away in my jacket pocket and, reluctantly, I lay out my plea. I run a hand over my mouth and blink down at that monstrous desk of his, choosing my words wisely. “I’m a proud man, MacDiarmid.”
Then, nothing. That’s all I got.
I don’t know where to go from there.
Straightening in his chair, his brow furrows and he leans over the table, looking me in the eye. He gets me. “What do you need?”
“Two of your men are in my way. Conti and Nikulin. I need them to go away.”
He sucks in a breath through his teeth, hissing. He looks torn a moment, before he utters, “And then what?”
“Then I get to go home.” Simple.
“So I give you two of my hardest hitters, lose some major business along the way”—his brow rises in question—“and what do I get in return?”
My lips thin. This is the tricky part.
I don’t want to bullshit this guy, so I don’t. “I have nothing to offer you.”
He stares at me a long moment before his lip twitches, a look of confusion marring his face. “Mighty fucking proposition you make, mate.”
I sit in silence, cradling my whiskey, running my thumb along the delicate crystal, knowing very well I’ve just made an ass of myself. And it doesn’t feel good. In fact, it fucking sucks.
Forever passes before he speaks again. “Listen, pal, I’m a married man. And sometimes that means doing things you really don’t want to do for the sake of your missus’ happiness.” Tipping his glass back, he downs the whiskey and places the tumbler on the table in front of him then glances at me. “If Mandy finds out you came to me and I turned you away, she’d have my balls.” He throws me a knowing look. “And I like my balls, Falco.”
“Okay,” I mutter, because something tells me he wants something from me.
“I’ll help ya,” he says with a firm nod. “But…” He pauses a moment. “…when you’re done with all this, you’re going to meet with Mandy, spend time with her, let her get you out of her system.” He stands, bringing over the decanter of whiskey and pouring another then topping up mine. “You’re going to act like she’s the best thing to ever come into your life, because, fuck me, she will be. You’re going to love her like a brother should. When she calls or texts you, you will make time to answer. She’s going to hug you, and you’re going to hug her back. When she kisses you hello and good-bye, you will give your cheek willingly, because it will make her happy, understand?”
Although this makes me extremely uncomfortable, I’m happy in knowing my sister is well taken care of with this man. “I understand.”
Just when the anxious part of me begins to relax, the door swings open, and a petite, curvy redhead in white satin pajamas shoots through it, sobbing hysterically.
Evander shoots up out of his chair and rushes over to her, wrapping his arms around her. “Mandy, sweetness, what’s happened?”
She has yet to open her eyes as she rushes out, “Dad got a call from Julius. He and his guys wasted the Gambino’s, because… ‘cause—” Her voice breaks. “Gio murdered Miguel.” Another bout of gut-wrenching sobs claw up her throat, and she keens, “Gio. He… he—” But she can’t speak past the jarring pants. Finally, she chokes out, “He cut her finger off, Vander.” Anger takes hold of her as she grips his shirt front and snarls out, “He fucking took Ana.”
Evander’s body stiffens, and I spot his fury in the clenching of his jaw.
This news does not please him.
I think I just found a way to help out. Speaking quietly, so as not to spook my sister, I look to Evander MacDiarmid and ask, “Need another set of hands?”
With her back to me, Manda turns rigid before turning slowly to glance at the audience she hadn’t expected. When she spots me, her eyes search my face before recognition lights in them. “Sweet Jesus.”
I force a smile, but can’t seem to make eye contact with the short woman. “Uh, hey.”
Evander nods. “I do, but we’ve got an issue. Julius is going to want to be there.”
Who cares? “So let him.”
Evander shakes his head. “Julius Carter, you prat. Your best man, the one who thinks you’re rotting away in a cemetery somewhere. The missing girl, Ana… she’s his wife.”
Julius… married? My Julius?
Fuck, I had no idea.
What the hell is he doing in the US? Last I checked, he was still living in Sydney, Australia. “Oh.”
Manda takes a step toward me, as Evander lets out a sarcastic, “Yeah, oh is right.”
She floats over to me, completely expressionless, and when she reaches me, looks up into my face, blinking away the tears that fell only moments ago. “Is it really you, Antonio?”
God, I fucking hate that name. My voice soft, I tell her, “People call me Twitch.”
“I know,” she mumbles in a haze, and her small, cold hand comes up to stroke my cheek. “I know.” Without warning, her lip quivers. “I’m sorry. I really want to be happy right now, but I can’t.” Her hand falls to her side, and she dips her chin, lightly pushing the crown of her head into my stomach, her body shaking with silent sobs, and she croaks out, “She’s my best friend.”
I look to Evander, who mimes a hug and jerks his chin to his wife. Without another moment’s thought, I lift my arms and hesitantly snake them around her tiny body. The second I do, I feel lighter, and in the corner of my eye, I see Evander nod in approval. I allow my little sister to cry into me a short while before I stroke her back and ask, “Where do we find them?”
Evander removes his cell phone from his pocket, curls his lip, and responds, “Like all good dogs, they answer when called.”
Well into the night, a few phone calls and threats later, Evander has the address of Gio Gambino’s private estate, the one he goes to do all matters of nasty shit. A plan is sprung, and MacDiarmid explains that it’s best to see what state Ana is in before he calls Julius to give him the address.
But this is Julius’s wife we’re talking about. And I can’t help but feel that my brother needs to know what’s what.
MacDiarmid, like so many others before him, will
eventually learn that I don’t follow the path laid out for me.
I leave a trail.
As I excuse myself to the bathroom down the hall, I remove MacDiarmid’s cell from my pocket, dial the number and wait.
It rings twice, before he answers a gruff, “What?”
I want to say so many things to him, yet part of me wants to hang up without saying a word. “Ana’s alive.”
Shuffling, then a rough, “Who is this?”
“She’s alive, bro. Gambino’s got a place on Canningvale. She’s there, and she’s waiting for you.” A quick pause. “The fuck you waiting for? Go get her.”