Page 92 of Caught Up

My anger flared. “Well, I did have to find out about our father’s disappearance from someone else, and in the less than ten minutes that I’ve been here, you’ve insulted me, belittled me, and then revealed that you’ve been holding on to another pretty important piece of information for god knows how long, so excuse me if it feels that way sometimes.”

“What was there to even tell you?” she asked, her voice rising. “Hugo has no idea what actually happened, he just thinks someone finally offed Tommy, because the last time anyone saw him, he was with Nico Trocci.”

I sat back in my chair, stunned. “What?”

“Nico? Trocci?” Kristen said, like I was stupid. “Dad of that asshole you fucked in high school?”

“I heard the name,” I said. “Why is it important?”

She shrugged. “Because according to Hugo, his guys are Lorenzo’s cleanup crew.”

“Cleanup crew,” I repeated. My ears were ringing, and I could barely hear anything over the sound of my own pulse.

“Jesus Christ, you’re slow today,” she said, twisting her voice into something ugly and mocking. “He takes the people and makes them gobuh-bye.”

“I have to leave,” I said, struggling to my feet.

“Great visit,” Kristen sniped. “Thankssomuch for coming.”

I turned on her. “You know what? I don’t care that you’re pregnant, and I know that by saying this, I’ll probably lose all visitation rights with your kids, because that’s the kind of bitch you are, but go fuck yourself, Kristen.”

“Auntie Lawen?” a sleepy little voice asked.

I wheeled around to see myfour-year-oldnephew, Enzo, standing in the living room doorway, one hand rubbing his eye, the other clutching his favorite blankie. Shit. We’d probably woken him up with our arguing.

There was no coming back from this, was there?

“Get out,” Kristen said, pushing up from the couch, fury replacing exhaustion.

“Sorry, bud,” I told Enzo, and then I left, stumbling down the stairs and out of the store.

The sun bore down on me, hot and oppressive, but despite its rays, my skin felt clammy and my head spun. Was I about to pass out?

I leaned against a light pole, trying to catch my breath. I’d convinced myself that I needed to hash things out with Kristen, thatthatwas why I’d come over here, but deep down, I’d also been hoping to get some answers about Nic. Thanks to Hugo, my sister knew more about the mob than anyone else in my life, and part of me had been planning to find some way to bring Nic up, mention that I’d been seeing him again. But then Kristen had dropped that bomb, and now I wished I hadn’t come to see her at all. I felt like the last bride of Bluebeard discovering the forbidden closet, only instead of finding Nic’s other wives inside, I was staring down at the corpse of my father.

Tommy went missing, and suddenly, after ten years, Nic came waltzing back into my life. I felt like a fucking idiot for not seeing the connection sooner, but up until today, I’d honestly thought Tommy was just lying low for some reason. That he would show up again when he was ready to. Because that’s what happened every time he’d gone “missing” before.

Oh, god, was any of it even real, between Nic and I, or was I some sort of pawn? Did Nic and his family think I had information on Tommy that they planned to trick me into giving them? Or were they just trying to keep a close eye on me because I was an easy mark and the best shot they had at learning about the inevitable investigation into my father’s disappearance?

Anger replaced my terror. If it was all an act, and Nic planned to abandon me again as soon as he got what he wanted, or worse, do to me what they’d done to my father, I would spend the rest of my life, or afterlife, depending on the outcome, making him regret it.

Starting now.

29

Junior

According to Tyler, McKinney likedto tell people he lived in the penthouse apartment of his nicest building, which sounded extravagant but in reality was much more mundane. His nicest building was only six stories tall, narrow, and sandwiched between a parking garage and a row ofnew-buildapartments that were still undergoing construction.

The security was abysmal. It had one of thoseolder-modelbuzzer systems, and I didn’t even see a speaker on the panel. I lifted a hand and pressed it against the top row of apartment buttons, slowly dragging downward over them, ringing every single one because therehadto be someone waiting for a delivery or a friend or—

The door chimed. I turned and pulled it open. Inside, the foyer was surprisingly decent, the terrazzo tile in good condition, considering its age. A wall of mailboxes stood to my right, the art deco–style bronze detailing on them harkening back to a time gone by.

The elevator was dead ahead, but I decided to take the stairs to get a better look at the place. I kept my eyes peeled, but I didn’t see a single security camera. McKinney was either too cheap for them, or too lazy. He was also stupid, because a lot of insurance companies required them these days and wouldn’t pay out unless you had video proof to show that you weren’t personally responsible for the damage. Too many slumlords had fucked up their own property hoping to cash in, and the adjusters in the city had cracked down on everyone else as a result.

I reached the sixth floor and stopped on the landing, looking left and right. There wasn’t one door up here, but three, so either McKinney had been lying about having the penthouse, or these doors all led to the same apartment. The numbers on them were different, though, and Tyler told me McKinney’s was 600. Guess that meant 601 and 602 belonged to other people.

I rapped my knuckles on the door with the 600.

---