Never Truth

25

She was absolutely breathtaking—and clearly a bit tipsy. She’d had several glasses of champagne. Between that and the excitement of the day, she’d succumbed to the lure of sleep. As much as she claimed she didn’t trust me, she was comfortable enough to fall asleep in my presence. That bit of information was far more telling than any arguments she could give. I knew it. Her subconscious knew it. Even her body was still victim to the inexplicable connection between us. It was only a matter of time before her heart followed suit. She was too peaceful to disturb, so I made my way to the meet site and parked the car in the shadows where the lights wouldn’t bother her. I hadn’t been sure how I was going to explain my errand, so I was relieved she was going to sleep through it. One of the tasks I’d started to handle as capo was to meet with some of our contacts who kept eyes and ears on the other families. The Outlaws Motorcycle Club had been around forever. We understood the value in maintaining a working relationship with them and several other gangs whereas the old-school mafiosos would have turned up their noses at associating with anyone they considered a thug. From my experience, the club members varied greatly, meaning some were more tolerable than others. This particular meet was necessary to check in on the Gallo family. After Sal’s little setup made us look like we’d put a hit on one of theirs, tension with the Gallos had been through the roof. Inside the family, we used iPhones and weren’t worried about wire taps, but communications outside the family were best done in person. If we needed information, it meant a trip across the tracks. I exited the car as quietly as I could, double-checking that I hadn’t disturbed Sofia before walking over to where Preacher and Dutch waited for me. Gabe had brought me along on his last meet to introduce me, and I’d been relieved to find the bikers intelligible, grounded guys as far as I could tell. These situations could be dangerous, so I appreciated having reliable contacts. The two men stood in their leather cuts leaning against a brick building not far from their bikes. No matter how cold it was outside, you could always count on bikers to display their colors where they could be seen— even if that meant over a jacket or ten different layers. Their culture wasn’t for me. I preferred our more understated existence, but I found it intriguing. “Preacher, Dutch, it’s good to see you.” I held out my hand as I approached, shaking with Preacher whereas Dutch opted for a casual fist bump. “What’s happenin’, Nico?” replied Preacher, the spokesman for the twosome. “Not much. Wanted to know how things were looking in waste management.” The Five Families each specialized in a distinct field. In some areas, they overlapped, but for the most part, lines were drawn so that boundaries were clear. The Luccianos ruled the construction industry in the city. Early on, the Gallos had cornered the market on concrete, but their main gig was waste management. If you didn’t want your dumpsters overflowing, you needed to play nice with the Gallos. “It’s been quiet; almost unusually so,” the older man offered in a gravelly voice that could only be achieved with a lifetime of hard living. “Any word from the old man?” It was no secret that the Gallo boss was a lunatic. He’d been quiet in recent months, but his years of erratic behavior kept everyone wary. “Not a sound.” “What about Sal?” “He’s in the wind. Don’t know what hole he’s crawled in, but it’s deep.” He paused for a second, eyes peering around. “Rumor is the Russians are lookin’ for him too. Sounds like they ain’t too happy with you neither.” “We’re aware.” I nodded. “Appreciate the information. You hear anything else, you know the drill.” “Always a pleasure doin’ business with you fellas.” I could see a smile peeking through his heavy goatee as we shook one more time. As I walked back to the car, my mind was busy calculating the mounting dangers and how to keep Sofia safe. It was a small relief that she would let me near her, but to do a thorough job, I was going to need to stay by her side, and that would not go over well. When I slid into the driver’s seat, Sofia was no longer asleep. What I found turned my stomach in a way I hadn’t experienced since my sixteenth birthday. Sofia sat with her knees pulled tightly to her chest, eyes wide as saucers, and her skin completely drained of blood. She didn’t acknowledge me when I got in the car. Her terrified stare was glued to where Preacher and Dutch were mounting their bikes. “Sof, baby. What’s wrong?” I reached over and turned her face toward mine, forcing her gaze to lock with mine. She panted in small, shallow breaths—she had to be seconds from hyperventilating. Seeing me helped pull her out of whatever nightmare she’d slipped into, which resulted in a flood of emotion. Her eyes darted around my face, and she reached a shaking hand out like she couldn’t believe what she was seeing. An instant later, she launched herself at me, lips colliding with mine. She didn’t just kiss me, she devoured me, hands pulling me close like I was her last meal and she couldn’t get enough. As much as I wanted to lose myself in her touch, I knew something was horribly wrong, and I needed to address the issue. When her frenzy eased, I delicately pulled myself away, holding her face gently in my palms. “What’s going on, Sofia?” I asked softly. Her eyes drifted shut, and a look of devastating pain crossed her shadowed features. “They killed him … I just watched, and they killed him.” What the hell is she talking about? I slid my seat back and lifted her into my lap. She settled easily in my arms, nestling her head beneath my chin. “Ladybug, I need you to explain,” I pressed, feeling my frustration growing. It wasn’t easy keeping my cool, but right now, helping her was more important than losing my s**t. “Who was killed?” “Marco.” The single word held a lifetime of heartbreak. It was sorrow and remorse weighed down with a heavy dose of longing. Though I’d only heard mention of him a few times, I knew Sofia’s brother was named Marco. Considering her despair, I had no doubt that was who she was referring to. Her brother had been killed when she was little, but I had no idea she’d witnessed it. “Did you see your brother get killed?” It was a heart-wrenching question to ask, but I needed to know.