Mal glanced at me and I felt a spike of excitement in my stomach.
“Since I’ve got a reason to worry.”
Carmine frowned, looking between us, and rubbed his face with one hand. “Well, shit. I didn’t think you two fucking was going to be a problem already, but I guess it’s come to that.”
“We’re not just fucking.” Mal glared at Carmine. “It’s more than that.”
Carmine nodded. “I know it is, and I’m happy for you two. But I also need you guys. I’m fucked without your help.”
“We’re here for you,” I said, jabbing a finger onto the table. “I swear we are.”
“Good. Then we’re doing this.” Carmine looked at Mal, who glared back. But Mal eventually grunted his assent.
“With everything Rod said, it should work.” I leaned over the makeshift map of my father’s compound. I’d lived there for months and I didn’t have any clue about some of the entrances and passageways. My father had worked hard to keep me ignorant and under control, and all his little tricks rolled through my memory like smashed marbles.
“Are you okay with this?” Mal asked, watching me carefully.
I chewed my lip. “It’s weird. This was my home for a while, you know? And we’re going there to kill my dad.”
“You hate your dad,” Carmine pointed out.
I frowned at him. He was right, but I didn’t like hearing it from him, even though he had every reason to despise Mauro Balestra as much as I did.
Something held me back. It wasn’t that I cared if they murdered my bastard old man—I wanted my father dead as much as they did. But I’d grown up with him and there were some good memories scattered amidst all the horrors. I took a deep breath and let it out, refusing to fall into the same trap I’d fallen into over and over again.
My dad didn’t love me. It hurt, realizing that. It was like a punch to my stomach. But it was the truth. Dad didn’t love me and he never did. I was always a tool for him, and once I wasn’t useful anymore, he was prepared to throw me away. I was nothing to him, and he had to be nothing to me.
“You’re right,” I said, glancing at Mal. “I’m ready.”
“Tomorrow then.” Carmine turned back to the city. “We’ll keep it small. Iago, Orlan, Danilo, the two of us, and Rolando on the inside. Six men in total.”
“Is that enough?” Mal asked.
“It’ll have to be. We don’t need to slaughter everyone. Just Mauro.”
“Just Mauro,” Mal echoed.
Just my father.
“Tomorrow,” I said, and pulled my knees to my chest. Mal put his hand on my back, and I leaned into his touch.
Chapter 36
Mal
We went late.
The few times I’d been near Balestra’s place, late was better. Fewer guards around. His guys needed sleep. Everyone needed sleep.
Except for me. I was wired. The only thing that got me to shut down and relax was Cap, but I’d made sure she’d stay home.
We gathered toward the back side of the house. The woods there were dark enough to hide us. The three cartel guys seemed calm. They were armed with small sub-machine guns and Kevlar vests. They looked like real professionals.
“Where’s your gun?” Iago asked, frowning at me.
“Mal doesn’t use a gun,” Carmine said, rolling his eyes. “Not his style.”
I grunted and looked away from them. I didn’t need that shit right now.
We kept waiting. Rolando was our man inside, and we’d move on his signal. The waiting was the hardest part for me. I didn’t mind the action. I could run and fight. I could lose myself in motion.
But sitting around? That was hell.
The anticipation was always worse than the thing itself.
Fact of life. I learned that early on. So I tried to find my Zen. Kept myself calm and centered.
The others did the same. No nervous chatter. No bullshit.
The cartel guys were professionals. I was impressed.
A light flashed up near the house. A room on the second floor directly across from where we crouched beyond the fence. It turned on and off, on and off. Five times in total. Then went black.
“Let’s move,” Carmine whispered and went forward.
Rolando’s signal. We surged over the fence like a wave. There were no guards. Rolando swore there wouldn’t be if we waited for him. We hurried across the lawn, running fast, but keeping quiet. I could hear my breath in my throat and the wind whisper across my ears. Nothing else. No shouts or alarms. I kept waiting for light and gunfire, but there was nothing.
We reached the back door. It was a side servant’s entrance. A lot like the one Balestra used to kill Falsone. Carmine reached it first, tried the handle, and cursed.
“Locked,” he whispered, teeth clenched together. “He swore it’d be open.”
“Wait,” I said.
The cartel guys pressed themselves against the wall. We went still and found shadows. The dark was thick, but we were in the open.