Page 170 of Dagger in the Sea

Mishap’s big eyes flicked up to mine. His specialty.

“It needs to look like the Tantuccis did it,” I continued. “It has to have their signature. I have a former soldier of mine I want clipped, and I want you to use his dead body any way you see fit. There’s a Tantucci snitch I worked over recently you could use as well.”

“The target?” Finger asked.

“Mauro Guardino.”

Mishap stilled, his body tightening, his focus.

Finger said on a low whistle, “Not a small request.”

“I know.”

“Gotta ask why? All these years you’ve risen in the Outfit.”

My chest expanded. “Just a puppet with a short shelf life. He tried to have me killed, came after my family. I have to stop him before he does it again.”

“Runs deep,” Finger murmured. “Know that one. Know it real well.” His dark, almost metallic eyes held mine. “By the way, I liked the way you sent Med to hell.”

“My pleasure. Did it myself,” I said, my voice low.

His eyes narrowed, his jaw tensing, the long lines of his facial scars deepening. Scars that Med had put there. He averted his gaze for a moment. He knew I’d done it forher. Had he found her? Were they finally together again? I hoped so, for both their sakes, but fuck it, it wasn’t my business. I was here for one reason only.

Mishap took out a pack of Marlboros, theclickof his lighter the only sound between us. Finger’s dark gaze found mine again. “You gonna take over Chicago now? Be the fucking king?”

“King?” I let out a laugh. “I have something else in the works. And whoever survives is going to hate it.”

Finger’s lips tipped up at the edges. “You starting a war, DeMarco?”

“I’m ending the goddamn war.”

Chicago

51

Turo

I madeit back to Chicago with Mishap on his bike, and I’d had my suitcase FedEx’d to my mother’s office. Being a former Special Forces soldier, Mishap knew how to tape me up properly for the trip, and I swallowed the last of my pain meds. Riding on the back of his bike from Colorado had certainly not been the most comfortable, but that was meaningless. I got to Chicago undetected, and that was key.

“I don’t have no guest room. Couch okay for you?” Mishap bolted his door behind us, his heavy boots tracking through the stuffy basement room that was his apartment.

“That’s fine,” I said.

The acrid odor of pot and tobacco was thick in the airless room. We got on the phone with Finger for updates and further refining of our plan. After, I called Marissa and told her to meet me at Rush.

Mishap and I got on his bike again, helmets on, and he took me to the hospital in the heart of the city. He would shadow me, wait for me until I was done.

I pushed open the door to my mother’s room. She was motionless. Face bruised. Lips pale pink. One arm had burns, a leg fractured. Lung punctured. Lots of blood lost. Lots of blood transfused. Tubes and cables connected to her, bleeping, monitoring.

“Mom.” I slumped forward on the rails of her hospital bed, my head dropping, my shoulders giving way. “Dear God. Mom.” A groan escaped my lips.

This wasn’t my Erin Cavanaugh.

This pale, lifeless, helpless form was not my mother. My heart thudded loudly in my chest. She couldn’t die. She couldn’t. I still had to tell her that I regretted hurting her, that disappointing her had pained me.I wanted—

I took her cool hand in mine and stroked it. Leaning in close to her, I whispered, “Mom? Mom, it’s Turo. I’m here.”

An eyebrow jumped. Yes, she heard me. Recognized me. I knew she would. I knew.

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