Page 96 of Golden Touch
He shakes his head. “No, thank God. Connor was the only one in the loading dock when the guy threw the thing through the window—a Molotov cocktail. Landed near the cardboard packing cases. Lit up like a flare. Connor started shouting, and I ran in there. Grabbed the extinguisher. But we couldn’t beat it back.” He puts his grimy face in his hands. “Dude, I’msosorry. Can’t imagine who’d do this to you.”
“I can,” I mutter, staring at the antique building. The flames form a corona that’s so bright my eyes are stinging. And wouldn’t you know? This is the first moment of my adult life when the wordsfamily legacyreally click for me.
God damn it, but this hurts. Like a wound on my soul.
And my poor father. He’ll never get over this.
CHAPTER 42
LIVIA
The first thing I do when I wake up is listen. That will never change.
Fortunately, I’m napping at Benito’s safe house, and Razor is in prison. So there are significantly fewer things to panic about than there were a few days ago.
Still, old habits die hard. And my heartrate revs when I hear a car outside.
I sit up on the couch and wait until I hear the knock. Then I rise and walk noiselessly to the front door to peer through the peephole.
Since Razor’s arrest thirty-six hours ago, the cops have been on a tear, charging over a dozen criminals and interviewing a dozen more. With every passing minute, the threat against me retreats, but I’ll probably spend the rest of my life being cautious about opening doors to people.
Benito stands on the porch, waving at me from the other side of the steel door. “Anyone home?”
He knows I am.
“One sec!” I call, needing a moment to hastily finger-comb my hair and pinch some color into my cheeks. I’ve spent the last couple of days crying, and it shows.
When I’m good and ready, I open the door a crack. “You’re alone, right?”
“It’s just me and this pizza.”
I open the door all the way. “Thank you for the pizza.”
He steps inside. “You are very welcome. Did you speak to Nash today?”
At the mention of Nash’s name, tears threaten again. “No,” I mumble.
Benito chooses his words carefully. “You’ve got to talk to him eventually, right? The longer you wait, the harder it gets.”
I say nothing, because I’m not going to argue with him. I don’t know what to say to Nash. Or any of the Giltmakers. The brewery is gone, and it’s my fault.
The only saving grace is that Nash had to go to Boston yesterday. It wasn’t until Benito told me that he’d left town that I could finally sleep through the night. I’ve been so heartsick that I can barely close my eyes. Every time I do, I see images of the brewery burning. They’re all over the TV. Bright orange flames. Black smoke.
The worst clip of all is from the moment when the hundred-year-old ceiling fell in. They’re calling it a total loss.
That’s what I did to the Giltmakers—caused atotal loss.
Benito crosses to the dining table and sets the pizza down. “Hey, have a seat?”
I pull out a chair and sink down into it. The pizza smells good, but I’m not hungry. I haven’t really been able to eat much at all.
Benito leans back in his chair and sighs. “Honey, nobody blames you for the fire.”
Oh please. “They should.”
He shakes his head. “Razor had a guy listening to the police scanner. They planned the whole thing ahead of time. When he heard the clubhouse got raided, he threw a Molotov cocktail through the window on the loading dock. And that was that. If anyone is to blame, it’s me.”
That’s a lie. But I know he’s only putting it like that to make me feel better. “Did you get the guy who did it?”
