“What’s wrong?” he asks.
I shake my head. “Nothing. Just a last-minute adjustment.”
“Really. I need to tell you.” Charlie’s panicking. I can hear it in her breath and her twitchy fingers. I want to push her into finally speaking, but Damon turns and waves at the car.
“That’s our cue,” Calvino says and takes a deep breath. “We’re either about to get shot or about to have an extremely uncomfortable family conversation. Probably both.” He steps out and slams his door, which doesn’t make me feel better.
“We can’t go out there,” Charlie hisses with wide eyes. “There’s something you have to know.”
“It’s okay. We’ll get through it together.” Because there’s no other choice. I want to stay and make her finish what she was trying to tell me, but Charlie’s too far gone, panicking like a spooked horse at this point, and Damon and Vince look impatient, so I step out of the car and help Charlie follow.
The guards glare at the pair of us like they want to open fire. Vince is red and practically apoplectic. Damon seems exhausted by the whole thing, like this danger is a mere inconvenience.
“We’re here to talk,” Calvino says, putting himself between me and the big boys with the death machines. Charlie clutches my arm, hyperventilating. “I want to hear your side of the story, brother.”
“Brother.” Vince sneers and hocks the word like sick phlegm. “Since when did brotherhood matter to you?”
Calvino bristles, his back up. “Everything I’ve done, I’ve done for the family.”
“Except for that one.” Vince nods to me. “Little Grace. You know, I have the strangest memory. I’m sitting on a couch in the back room of your strip club, half-asleep, and there’s your little girlfriend digging through my pockets.”
“Do we have to do this here?” Damon asks impatiently. “We can go inside, you know. Much more comfortable without all the guns.”
“I want her to admit it,” Vince presses. “I want to hear her say she slipped something in my drink and tried to rob me blind.”
“You don’t need anything from her,” Calvino says, taking a step forward, but the guards twitch and that’s probably not a good thing. He stops moving. “What Grace did or didn’t do isn’t the issue here. You are.”
Vince shows teeth. It’s like a grin, but the sort of smile you’d give a venomous snake. “The terms aren’t up to you.”
“I did it,” I say and push forward though Charlie tries to hold me back. “Is that what you want? I did it because I knew you had something to do with my cousin’s death, and now—”
Calvino grabs me by the other arm and yanks me forward. Charlie stumbles and it’s like a chain reaction. He hugs me against him, and Charlie rams into me, and we’re one nice little family all smiling at each other and airing our grievances.
Vince snorts once and shakes his head. “I don’t know what my wife told you, but she’s out of her mind. Did you know she’s been taking crazy pills? I don’t know how you’d believe her over me.”
“Antidepressants,” Charlie says quietly, an embarrassed frown. “For my post-partum depression. Not crazy pills.”
I didn’t think Vince could be more of an asshole, but obviously I was wrong.
“Enough of this,” Damon says. “Inside, everyone. Right now.” He glares at Vince, daring him to object.
But he doesn’t, and the group moves forward. Up the steps and in through the big doors. I spot Rella and Susi standing on the stairs watching, pale and white-knuckled and sweating like they’re scared everything’s about to end in a big, bloody climactic battle, like we’re in some Western movie and the two pissed-off boys with guns are standing face to face at high noon or whatever. Vince takes everyone through a side room and into a large library where he stands behind a massive oaken desk like the master of the house holding court. Damon pours a drink.
Charlie shuts the door with a click.
“You killed two of my men,” Vince says, glaring at Calvino. He leans forward, hands on top of a leather mat covering the smooth wood. “I didn’t particularly like either of those fucks and they failed to keep your little girlfriend from escaping, but still. It’s a big deal.”
“You were going to torture Grace. Let’s call that one even.” Calvino’s voice could melt ice.
Vince snort-laughs and shakes his head. “How fucked is this, brother? Trading lives for lives.”
“It’s what we do,” Damon says with false cheer and sucks down some whiskey. “And Calvino has a point. You were going to torture Grace.”
“I was going to ask her some questions.” He hesitates. “After some mild psychological pressure.”
“You blindfolded me and tied me to a chair.” Not strictly true: he bound my wrists, but I wasn’t stuck to the seating.
“Poor girl.” Vince sneers, very Vince-like, another way of saying he’s a true douche. “You would’ve survived.”