Breathless & Bloodstained (The Chicago War #4)

by Bethany-Kris

  “Who are you?” Serena asked.

  “The man you raised, Ma. Your worst fucking nightmare. You did this—don’t be so surprised. This was a long time coming.”

  “But Laurent … y-you shot him in the face. You did it yourself. Are you frightened of me, Tommas? Does the thought of killing me yourself hurt you that badly inside?”

  “No,” Tommas admitted. “I feel nothing for you. I don’t even want to touch you, or breathe your air. You’re nothing to me, Ma. With Laurent, all I felt was rage. It made me fucking hot inside, it made me sick to my stomach. I couldn’t shove that gun into his face hard enough. I couldn’t make him cry or beg loud enough. I broke every one of his teeth with the barrel of my gun. I made him vomit because he was sobbing so hard.”

  Serena choked on her grief, but it flew right past Tommas.

  “He begged for you, Ma,” Tommas added. “If that helps—if you care at all. He begged for you. But do you know what you were doing? You were upstairs while he was bleeding and begging on the kitchen floor for his life and for yours. You were passed out upstairs in a puddle of your own piss, too drunk to care about anything but yourself. That, Ma, is our life. It has always been our life.”

  “I’m sorry,” Serena whispered.

  “Maybe you are. But I’m certainly not. I just don’t care anymore. Pick up the blade, Ma. Finish the job that you’ve been working on for years.”

  Crying, Serena did as she was told. Tommas felt his back hit the door and his ass hit the floor as the first slice was made. Serena’s hands shook. Her blood spilled.

  The water turned red.

  Not once did Tommas try to stop her.

  Tommas pulled the front door closed and locked the house. He walked, numb and cold, to his Jaguar. Once he was inside the car and the heat was turned on full blast, he finally began to blink awake from the daze that he’d been in.

  Pulling out his phone, he called his cousin.

  Damian picked up on the second ring.

  “Well?” Damian asked without even a proper greeting.

  “It’s done,” Tommas said.

  “You’re sure?”

  “Positive.”

  Damian let out a quiet sigh. “Good.”

  The sound of a car starting echoed through the phone. Down at the end of the block, Tommas took note of a familiar blue Porsche pulling out of a driveway.

  “You didn’t have to stay,” Tommas said.

  “Maybe not, but I wanted to.”

  “In case I couldn’t do it?”

  Damian chuckled. “No, in case you wanted a familiar voice when it was over. You never mentioned a thing about Laurent to me, and I just wondered …”

  “Don’t,” Tommas said. “There’s nothing to wonder about, man.”

  “Seems we’re good at this. Too good, maybe.”

  “What is that?”

  “Killing,” his cousin answered quietly.

  “I’ve never taken a life that didn’t deserve to go where I was sending them,” Tommas said.

  “I wish I could say the same.”

  Tommas sucked in a heavy breath of air. “Terrance?”

  “And a few others.”

  “But mostly him.”

  “Mostly,” Damian echoed. “It still makes me wake up at night. I’m still angry that I let myself get put in that position, Tommas. He was good to me, the boss, I mean. He treated us well growing up. I fucked that one up big time.”

  “But he wasn’t really all good,” Tommas replied quietly. “He overlooked abuse. He didn’t help people like Theo and Dino, or us for that matter. Terrance Trentini was too busy trying to cover his own mistakes in his family that he was willing to pretend like the foulness around him wasn’t happening as long as others turned their cheeks, too. He helped to perpetuate that generation of people and their misdeeds.”

  “I’d never looked at it like that.”

  “Stop feeling guilty, D. We’re cleaning house. There is no middle ground here. There is no dead-man’s zone. You can’t be a little good and a little bad. You’re one or the other.”

  “We’re not exactly the good guys here, Tommy.”

  “But we’re not that kind of bad, either.”

  “Truth.” Damian hummed under his breath before asking, “What did she tell you at the end? Did she say anything to you at all?”

  “To go to hell.”

  “Damn.”

  Tommas smiled. “I told her that I would meet her there.”

  Tommas barely got his shoes kicked off and his coat hung up before his cell phone rang. He shot a look at the decorative clock on the wall. Who in the hell would be calling him at four-thirty in the morning?

  He’d left his mother’s body in the tub, hoping the cold water would fuck up the time of death enough that no one would suspect someone else’s involvement. Really, his only involvement was not stopping her. Nonetheless, he didn’t expect a call about Serena’s unfortunate death until mid-afternoon the next day when the maid was scheduled to clean the house.

  Tommas would have to remember to put an extra bonus on the girl’s final paycheck. Finding Serena’s dead body in a tub full of bloody water wouldn’t be an easy sight to forget, that was for sure.

  Tommas dug the phone out of his jacket pocket and picked the call up on the sixth ring. “Rossi speaking.”

  “Evening, Tommas. It’s time to chat.”

  Tommas straightened like someone had shoved a metal rod up his spine. The familiar voice on the other end of the phone call was not who he expected. In fact, it was the very last person he thought would ever make a phone call to him.

  “Joel,” Tommas greeted with forced civility. “I can’t say this is a great time for you to be calling, but what do I owe the pleasure.”

  “Nothing, I simply thought it was time to end this nonsense.”

  Swallowing back the distrust that left a bad taste in his mouth, Tommas took Joel’s words with a grain of salt and nothing more. He wouldn’t give any faith to the man. Joel had a terrible habit of biting the hands that fed him.

  The moment someone turned their back to Joel Trentini, the man stabbed them.

  “End it, huh?” Tommas asked.

  “Yes. A truce. How does that sound to you?”

  Like you’re working on something.

  “Why, Joel? What’s changed?”

  “The attention on the Outfit is heavier, for one thing,” his former friend answered.

  “And for another?”

  “My mother was killed in all this, Tommas. The families are two words away from going at one another again. Is that what you want? Another street war? Your cousin’s wife is pregnant. My sister is due for her baby soon. Should those women be left without husbands to care for their children simply because we can’t work something out?”

  Each word that Joel spoke felt falser than the one before. None of it rang true to Tommas. Joel cared nothing for the people around him. He would slit the throat of anyone who stepped in his way of getting what they wanted.

  Yes, the man was definitely planning something.

  Tommas just didn’t know what.

  “Tell me about this truce,” Tommas said.

  “Well …”

  “I don’t have time to waste, Joel. You either want a serious discussion about whatever it is you’re considering, or you’re prepared for the next wave of hell that I throw at you. I can do this forever. Or at least until you’re dead.”

  Joel chuckled. “This is why we were such good friends all those years ago. I like the way you think, Tommas. You never failed to disappoint me.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Very,” Joel replied. “The truce, like I said, would benefit us both.”

  “Unless it ends with me taking the boss’s seat, I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “It does, actually.”

  Tommas stilled while a drop of tension crawled down his spine. Again, the whole conversation felt entirely wrong to him in some way. Why, after all that J
oel had done, would he give Tommas the seat?

  “Now you’re just trying to lull me into some sense of comfort, Joel,” Tommas said. “Let me call your bullshit out before you go any further. No one but Joel Trentini means a damn thing to Joel Trentini. If you’re going to use other people as a reason for why you care enough to stop the war, then you might as well just go right on ahead and use your own name and not someone else’s. For another thing, you want it too much, Joel. The Outfit, the families, the control, and the power—it’s yours, right? That’s what you’ve always said.”

  “It’s not that simple.”

  “Don’t treat me like I’m an idiot, Joel. You’re trying to trick me into a situation where only one of us comes out alive. I know your games. I have always played them better. This one is no different.”

  “I’m proposing a truce that benefits us both,” Joel repeated calmly.

  “I don’t believe that.”

  “That’s because you trust no one.”

  “I wonder why,” Tommas murmured more to himself than to Joel. “Tell me your offer. I’m listening, but my attention span is only as long as you can keep me interested, Joel.”

  “Two organizations,” Joel said quietly. “Split the families, and the territories, or let them choose. Two bosses. Peace on the streets. Simple.”

  Tommas took the information in. Joel’s voice held every ounce of serenity and solemnity that it could.

  “You’re serious,” Tommas said.

  “As a heart attack. You’re right, I care little for everyone else. If I thought it would benefit me somehow, I could easily kill them all or force them to kill one another to get me where I want to go. The bigger problem, Tommas, is that doing so will leave me with nothing. In the end, once the dust clears and the blood is washed away, I will be left with little but a struggling organization that can no longer stand on its own two legs.”

  “What good is a boss with no family to run?”

  “Exactly,” Joel agreed. “I’ve had a while to think all this over. I would rather have a piece of a large pie, than nothing at all. Are you amicable to sitting down and having a proper discussion about this offer?”

  No.

  Tommas still didn’t trust Joel.

  The situation still felt bad.

  “The last sit-down we had didn’t exactly end with either of us getting what he wanted,” Tommas mused. “What makes you believe this one will?”

  “We can arrive at the same time. Outside at a location of your choosing. Men, decided on beforehand, from both sides can check for weapons. Whoever you and I choose to bring to the meeting can be there. Have your cousin bring his wife if you want a female to ensure the peace.”

  “Right, because that would deter you, I’m sure. Don’t even try it, Joel.”

  But, Tommas was listening. Joel had essentially offered Tommas a lot in a few sentences. He’d given him control over where, how, and when the meeting could happen. He’d allowed Tommas all the power.

  “You’re amicable to separating the Outfit?” Tommas asked.

  “Yes,” Joel replied.

  It sounded like the truth. Tommas knew nothing with Joel was truthful.

  The bigger problem Tommas faced was figuring out exactly what Joel was planning. It would be damn near impossible. He also had to consider Abriella. He promised his girl a forever—one of their own choosing and making. No matter what, he needed to give Abriella her forever with him.

  Tommas only really had one option.

  “I’ll call you with the details within a couple of weeks,” Tommas said.

  “I look forward to it, Tommas.”

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  “Dad?” Abriella called down the long hallway.

  Her father didn’t answer. Concerned for Peter’s emotional health, Abriella slipped into the wing that had always belonged to her parents and shut the connecting door. Peter had taken the murder of his wife harder than Abriella thought he would. Her father had rarely left the Trentini mansion since they buried Sara, and he had yet to return to his law practice.

  She knew her father loved Sara. She simply hadn’t realized how much.

  Almost every day, Abriella made her way into the other wing of the mansion just to sit with her father so he didn’t feel alone in the large space. When Joel wasn’t around spreading his usual nastiness, Abriella went over to cook for her dad and to eat with him.

  Peter, for the most part, was quiet. He didn’t speak a lot. He didn’t cry in front of Abriella, either. But his heartbreak, his grief, was palpable.

  Even walking through the wing in search of her father, Abriella could practically feel the man’s pain embedded into the walls.

  Did he cry when he was alone?

  Did he talk to her mother?

  Did he want to follow Sara?

  Shaking those thoughts away, Abriella trekked into the kitchen. She found her father sitting at the table with a full cup of coffee between his hands and his expression unreadable. Blank like a white piece of paper.

  Emotionless.

  Dead, even.

  A cold shiver rolled across Abriella’s shoulders.

  “Hey, Dad,” she said quietly.

  Peter glanced up from his coffee, his hands tightening around the mug. “Morning, Ella.”

  She smiled, but it didn’t quite ring true. “Do you want me to cook you something for breakfast? Eggs, bacon, toast? Whatever you want, Dad.”

  “I’m not very hungry right now.”

  Abriella crossed the room and pulled out a chair to sit beside her father at the long oak table. Reaching over, she grabbed her father’s wrist and held tight. The side of her hand brushed the coffee mug, but it wasn’t hot. In fact, it was cold.

  “How long have you been awake?” Abriella asked.

  Peter stared down at the black coffee. “I didn’t go to sleep, I guess. I’ve been thinking about a lot of things. I must have lost track of time.”

  “Oh, Dad …”

  Her father winced. “Don’t do that, Ella. Don’t worry about me.”

  “Kind of hard not to.”

  “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t be causing you any stress. You probably have enough to deal with where your brother is concerned.”

  Abriella laughed bleakly. “Joel’s craziness is nothing new. He’s old news. It’s you that I’m worried about, Dad. I know you’re sad and that you miss Mom, but—”

  “More than you know,” Peter interrupted softly.

  The heart in Abriella’s chest, the one she was sure had frozen over long ago, cracked with a splinter of pain. The wetness in her father’s eyes was enough to melt even the coldest of souls.

  “How many more?” Peter asked.

  “I don’t understand what you mean.”

  “How many more people have to bury the ones they love for this chess game the Outfit plays?” Peter shook his head and rubbed at the spot over his heart like it was aching, and he wanted to soothe it somehow. “My youngest child is going to make me a grandfather soon, but I can’t even see her because your brother hates her husband. My other daughter is being set on the sidelines until something good comes along, and she can be used to benefit her family’s name. And my oldest, the boy who isn’t really mine even though I tried to love him like he was, is the cause of it all, Ella.”

  “Dad—”

  “We failed,” Peter murmured. “Sara and I, we failed at taking care of the babies we brought into this world. We weren’t always given a choice, we were forced into a marriage, into a life we didn’t ask for, and we tried to make the best of it.”

  “You didn’t fail, Dad.”

  “We did, Ella. We never fought to have our own lives and control, and by default, we lost. I’m sorry that we weren’t better for you.”

  Abriella grabbed her father’s wrist harder. “You’re the best dad.”

  Her parents had certainly made mistakes throughout the years. They had overlooked things, let others have the control over their family and children, and
they followed the herd like they had been told to do.

  She didn’t blame them for that.

  They didn’t know any different.

  “I love you,” Abriella said, wanting her father to know. “Alessa loves you, too. Please don’t feel like we blame you for the way our lives have turned out. We don’t, Dad, and we never have.”

  Peter smiled sadly. “You’re a good girl, Ella.”

  Abriella snorted. “Not highly.”

  “You’re good where it counts. I wish your brother would see it, too. You deserve the world and so much more, sweetheart. I want to see you happy, Abriella. All your mother ever wanted was to see her children happy, not confused and heartbroken like she had been for most of her life.”

  “I’m happy,” Abriella said, lying in hopes that her father would feel better.

  How could she possibly be happy with her life in shambles like it was? How could anyone be happy in the midst of a war that just kept on taking and killing? She was struggling to breathe day after day, and missing something vitally important for her happiness in her heart.

  Peter stood and patted Abriella on the cheek with a gentle, loving touch as he passed her by to go to the sink. He dumped the contents of his cold coffee before turning on the electric kettle to boil more water.

  “I think I will have some breakfast after all,” Peter told her. “How about waffles instead of eggs and the usual?”

  “Sure, Dad.”

  Abriella stood from the table and helped her father gather the things they needed to cook. As they worked side by side in silence, Abriella felt closer to her father than she had in years. They were both still heartbroken. They both missed people—one dead in the ground, and one just beyond reach.

  Maybe it was a kindred thing as much as it was their shared blood.

  For a moment, Abriella did feel some sense of happiness. But she needed more. She wanted more. She craved peace. She was hungry for the safety of those she cared about and for the friendships that had been forced away. She missed dinners filled with friends who cared, and the familiar connection of people who lived a lifestyle that no one on the outside could ever possibly understand.