Page 19 of Mafia Kingdom

“Fine,” I lie, not wanting to talk about Danny. “Any word on the street?”

“No one’s talking,” Baz replies. There’s a pause, heavy with unspoken words. I can’t help but wonder if it was an inside job. Could Baz be involved? No, he’s been my friend since childhood. But still, doubt creeps in.

“What about Sasha’s dad?” I ask, changing the subject.

“He’s fine,” Baz says. “How’s Sasha?”

“She’s asleep,” I say quickly, not wanting to discuss it further. “I’ll call you tomorrow.” Before he can ask more, I hang up.

The dog looks at me, head tilted. I reach over and scratch behind his ears. “Guess it’s just you and me now, huh?”

I keep driving, the city lights casting fleeting shadows across the car, until I know I have to go home. Driving around is fucking stupid. I’m nearly out of the city when I see a guy on a street corner. He normally wouldn’t have caught my attention, but the way he passes small packets to the local drug addicts, and the bandage across his nose makes me stop.

Dave. After everything I said, he was back dealing within hours. I pull up across the street, and when his next client walks away with a hungry look in her eyes and unsteady feet, I get out of the car. A slow drizzle begins to fall, but I dart across the empty street. He’s stuffing something into his pocket and doesn’t sense me until I’m right on top of him.

“Marco?” He tries out a smile like we are old friends.

I grip the scruff of his neck and drag him deeper into the alleyway.

“Look, man!” he starts as if he can explain away disobeying me.

“I gave you a warning that you didn’t heed,” I say.

He opens his mouth to protest.

I release his neck and, in one quick motion, grab his head and snap his neck. The moment I release him, he falls to the ground of the alleyway. His body joins the rubbish and a stream of dirty water.

I don’t linger but feel a sense of satisfaction—a release from all the anger that’s coursing through my veins. I climb back into the car. The dog watches me as I pull away from the curb.

When I pull up to the house, I see Lucas sitting on the front steps, his face a mixture of concern and frustration. He stands as I open the car door, and the dog jumps out, tail wagging.

“What’s with the dog?” Lucas asks, his eyes darting between me and the black setter.

I ignore the question, heading inside. The dog follows close behind, his nails clicking on the hardwood floor. I grab a bowl, fill it with water, and place it on the kitchen floor. Then I rummage through the fridge and find some leftover chicken. The dog devours it, hungry and grateful.

“Marco, why haven’t you been answering your phone? I’ve been ringing you nonstop,” Lucas says, his voice rising with each word.

I can’t look at him. If I do, I’ll lose the fragile grip I have on my emotions. I focus on the dog, running my hand through his fur. “I just needed some time,” I mumble.

Lucas sighs, the frustration evident in his posture. “Dad’s called a meeting. First thing in the morning.”

I nod, acknowledging the information but not really processing it. My mind is elsewhere, caught in a whirlwind of memories and pain.

Lucas looks at the dog again. “So, whose dog is it?”

“It’s Sasha’s,” I admit, finally meeting his gaze. “I couldn’t just leave him there to starve.”

“He won’t,” Lucas says, his tone sharp. “Sasha will be home tomorrow, and she can take care of him.”

I know what he’s really saying. She isn’t your problem, Marco. What the hell are you playing at? But I can’t let go, not yet. Maybe not ever.

“I don’t know what I’m doing, Lucas,” I say quietly, feeling the weight of my own words. “But I’m not letting her go. Not now.”

Lucas shakes his head, running a hand through his hair. “You’re making things complicated.”

“Maybe,” I reply, feeling the truth of it. But complications are the least of my worries right now. The dog nudges my hand. I rub his head.

Lucas turns away, heading toward the door. “Just be ready for the meeting,” he says over his shoulder.

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