Page 2 of Jayson
He raises an eyebrow. “Do you have any questions?”
I shouldn’t. Men like him don’t like questions. But the words slip out anyway.
“Why me?”
He doesn’t flinch.
“It’s time you step up,” he says. “I hear you’ve been wasting your talents playing chauffeur for Mason Ironside.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Hard enough to taste blood. Because he’s not wrong. But he’s not entirely right either. Because Mason Ironside deserves my loyalty. Hell, the whole Gatti outfit deserves it.
“What comes after this?” I ask.
Dante tilts his head slightly, like he’s assessing me.
“The organization’s growing. Faster than expected. We’ll need people who can carry that weight. People we can trust. The kind who don’t hesitate to spill blood—and don’t flinch when it’s their own.”
Then silence. No promise. No reward. Just the test. If I want a permanent place at the table - I’ll need to bleed for it.
The doors shutbehind me with a whisper. But the weight? It’s the same. Dante Accardi doesn’t give orders—he delivers verdicts. And mine was just sealed.
I step into the elevator and say nothing. Just stand there, motionless, as the city rises around me in steel and glass. My reflection stares back at me from the mirrored walls—sharp suit, emotionless face, dead eyes. The gun under my jacket suddenly feels heavier, like it knows what’s coming.
I’m being trusted with blood. Again. And all I can think about… is how much I’ve already spilled. Not in hits. Not in executions. But in the wreckage I walked away from.
I haven’t thought about that in years. But now it slams into me—hard and fast and uninvited.
The car smelled like strawberry lip gloss and cigarette smoke.
My sister, Lila, was crammed between me and Mom in the backseat, seatbelt off like always, legs tucked under her, head thrown back in laughter.
She was singing off-key, loud and unapologetic.
She never cared if she got the words wrong—she just sang like the world was hers.
Mom was in the passenger seat, arm out the window, fingers slicing through the wind like she could catch something better out there.
And me?
I was behind the wheel, trying not to smile—pretending Lila’s voice didn’t warm something hollow in my chest.
We weren’t going anywhere. No destination.
Just… driving.
Mom had said we needed air.
“We need to breathe,” she told us. “Even if it’s just for a little while.”
I never saw the other car. I just heard the scream and felt the spin. And tasted blood in my mouth when the world finally stopped moving.
They didn’t make it. I did. That’s the part that never lets me sleep. I survived.
I crawled out through the broken window, lungs burning, vision smeared with red. I remember reaching for my mother’s hand—and realizing it wasn’t moving. That her neck wasn’t whole anymore. That Mia’s face had gone pale, her mouth open in a silent breath that would never finish.
And I remember screaming. Once. Twice. Then I locked it down. Because what the hell else could I do?
They buried them side by side in a cemetery I never visit. Not because I don’t care. But because I do. Too much.
