by Leah Holt
I was going to be his judge, jury and executioner.
Me and only me.
“Dante, what can you tell us about what happened?”
“I don't know shit, sorry fellas.” Opening my hands, I let them drop back to the table. My eyes twinkled with a shit-eating grin, lips pushing out to pout. “I haven't been around for quite some time, you know that.”
Both the men twisted to face each other again, flicking their eyes right back on me. Detective Jones slowly opened the folder, teasing the edge of the hidden papers inside.
“Do you know what I have in here?”
“Nope, and I don't care.”
“You sure about that?” His brow arched high, head pitching down into his shoulder.
“Am I under arrest?”
“Have we read you your rights?”
Swallowing hard, my hands balled up on reflex. This guy was starting to piss me off. I had other things to do, better things to do besides sitting here, getting taken for a ride on his carousel. I wasn't here to play, I wasn't here to feed them the shit they needed.
If they were such good detectives, they wouldn't need me to solve their case.
Steepling his fingers, Detective Carol's elbows slid forward. “Dante, we're not going to get anywhere if you won't help. You want whoever did this as badly as we do. We know your father wasn't an A-class citizen, but he still deserves the same justice.”
Fuck you. He'll have justice.
“Are we done here guys?”
Jones held up two pictures, placing them gingerly on the table then pushing them forward. “Tell me what you see here?”
Rolling my eyes, my head fell back as I sighed. “If I'm not under arrest, you can't keep me here. If I am, I want my lawyer.”
“Look at the pictures, Dante.” Jones pounded the photo with his fist as his voice trickled out through closed lips. “Look at it.”
Temptation to just stand up and walk out made my feet twitch and rattle against the floor. They hadn't read me my rights, they didn't put me under arrest for anything. As far as I was concerned, that door was looking pretty good.
Carol caught my gaze, his head following my eyes. “If you want to leave, we can't stop you.” Holding out a single finger, he dropped it into the center of the picture. “But you need to know that we won't go away, no matter how much you want us to.” Using the tip of his finger, he slid the photo closer. “But do us this favor and just look. Better yet, do your father this favor and just look.”
Ah, the ole good cop, bad cop routine. Jones was playing the tough guy, while Carol was trying to connect with me on some lame emotional level.
Good luck with that one, dick.
Did he really think that his gentle poking and prodding would tug at my heart strings, giving them the upper hand?
Dumb-ass cops. They didn't know shit about me, even if they tried to play that card, it would never work. They obviously hadn't done their research.
If they had taken the time to look closer at my father, maybe they would have seen how little he deserved as far as a favor would go.
A favor to my father was nabbing a guy that owed us money coming out of a bar, it was throwing him in a trunk and driving him to the safe house. A favor was stringing that piece of shit up, grabbing him by his hair and holding the sweet taste of metal to this temple.
And when that was all done, and we had our answers. . .
That favor ended up at the bottom of the ocean.
“Look, this has been fun guys, really, but it's getting late, and I'm getting hungry.”
“Dante, just give us this one, and look. We need to know.”
Know what?
What the hell were they trying to get me to confirm?
Sighing under my breath, I let my shoulders roll forward, eyes dropping down the glossy finish. I felt a lump draw up in my throat, it bobbed against my Adam's apple, blocking the air from flowing in.
Swallowing hard, my eyes scanned the image. “Where'd you get this?”
“We have friends, some you may know, some you might not.”
I wanted to tear the picture into tiny bits and burn the small fragments.
“Do you recognize that man?” Jones scooted in his chair, tapping the man's face. “Because it seems to me you do.”
“When was this taken?” I asked, lifting the thick paper in my hand. My chest hurt as a spark of rage ignited, my fingers fumbled around trying to keep still and not cut the face in two.
“About six months ago. We're trying to fit the pieces together, but we think he might be the one who called the hit on your father.”
They're wrong.
These guys had no fucking clue, they weren't even close.
“Nope, don't know him.”
I lied. Yes I knew who was in that picture, but would I ever give them that?
Fuck no.
“You sure about that? I mean, that is your father, so you must have met the other man at some point.” Detective Carol spun his pen in his fingers, flipping it over and over again. “Why don't you take another look.”
Dropping the picture back to the table, I leaned back in the chair and folded my arms. “Don't know him.”
It took everything I had to not react to his face. Just seeing him there made me want to kill him again. After what he tried to do, after what he had said to me. . .
He deserved to be resurrected, just so I could watch the look in his eyes when I killed him a second time.
It was Tony. He didn't have shit to do with my father's death. But what he tried to do to Ivy still burned me deep. Bastard.
These guys were so far off the map, it was like they were reading it backwards, leading themselves away from the treasure.
Nodding his head up and down, Jones slid the other photo over the table. “How about this one, do you recognize anyone in there?”
Flaring my nostrils, my patience was running thin. Really fucking thin. Glancing down, my heart stopped, muscles shaking deep against the bone.
“You're aware we found a note on your father, we think this might be Celia.”
Grinding my teeth, I shoved the picture away. It was my Ivy, not his Celia. The picture cut through me, slicing in every direction, turning me from just frustrated and annoyed to fuming on the inside.
The image was small, pulled off a security camera. It was from the night we stole her, the night I breathed life back into her soul. Tony had his back to the camera, Vince had Ivy folded over his shoulder like a bag of sand.
“This came to us the other day, sent in anonymously. We think that's the same guy that was in the other picture.”
Cocking out my jaw, I pressed my palms into the table and stood up. “Look, it's been fun, but we're done here.” Rounding the table, I held the handle in my hand. “Good luck on your case guys, if you need me again, you can call my lawyer.”
“Dante. . .” Jones spun in his chair, tapping the tip of his pen against his jaw. “We know that your brother had been locked up for a while, we know that your father was really good at making sure people who screwed him over got what they had coming.”
Holding the knob, I spoke into my chest as I kept my face against the wood. “What are you getting at?” My arms started to shake, rage-filled tremors breathed life into the sinew.
What the hell is he thinking?
A smirk teased his lip, fingers rolling the pen like a log on a rushing river. “I think you know what I'm saying, I think you know exactly what I'm saying.” Leaning back, he lifted his leg over his knee. “Maybe someone else decided to strike first.”
Snapping my head over my shoulder, my eyes emptied into bottomless pits. “You might want to be careful with that one, the wrong accusation could land you on the other side of the fence.” Slamming the door as I walked out, my face fell, expression stiff and unwelcoming. I didn't have time for their shit.
Sesto wasn't involved. Even if he wanted to be, no one would back him. So unless he hired an outside hit, they were reaching at
straws. The fucking detectives were so far in their own asses they would never see the real killer.
For the first time ever, I was actually happy that I knew who had done this. If I had to rely on the brilliant work of the Hoboken police department, we'd be running in circles, biting at our own tails.
They weren't looking in the right place, they were looking at our own guys. Sesto knew better than that, and he would never have been able to convince Tony to do it for him. Their star suspect was already disposed of, gone, turned into cement.
Tony hadn't killed my father, that guy couldn't take a piss without someone giving him orders to. The whole idea was ridiculous.
And having to see that picture of Ivy, out cold, defenseless, with Vince's hand on her ass. . .
It fucking pissed me off.
I had to get home to her. I wanted to kiss her, hold her, tell her I was sorry for sending those scumbags to get her that night. I hadn't thought about what they could have done to her before they brought her to the pit. I hadn't even considered the idea of her being out cold and unaware of their hands as she was brought to us.
The thought ascended on my body, taking my warming heart and turning it stone cold. Ivy needed me, the baby needed me.
And knowing she had needed help when I wasn't there to protect her. . . I was ready to rip Remo's head clear off.
I didn't need help from anyone to finish this.
I was hard enough, cold enough, and dark enough to do it on my own.
This was what I was bred for; slow, painful destruction.
Ivy was worth dying for.
I tore out of the parking lot, tires screeching as they dug into the pavement. These assholes had come and whisked me away from the store, nabbing me when I came out. The officer had cuffed me, threw me in the back of the car and said it was for his own protection.
I had to walk six blocks just to get back to my car. It was late, I had been gone for way too long, and I had no way to call Ivy.
I spent every dime I took with me on the list of shit she gave me. Not that it'd matter, pay phones were a thing of the past now.
My foot fell like lead down onto the pedal, my hand shifting gears in a frenzy of pulls. The engine choked with each shift, bucking from the quick jerks. I had to get home, home to my family.
The blackened tar lit up under my lights, guiding me down the long and winding roads back to the house. I couldn't get there fast enough. The tires gripped against the road, holding on through each turn, bearing down the harder I pushed it.
My brain was strangled with thoughts of her. Everything she had gone through, everything that had been forced on her; it wasn't fair. Ivy had been stripped of her voice, what she wanted didn't matter, what she needed didn't matter.
She deserved so much more than what was passed onto her by all of us. By her father, by Remo. . .
By me.
I was no better than the other assholes who took advantage of her and used her for gain. My stomach cringed at the thought. I had been just as selfish as everyone else. It was wrong.
Ivy meant more to me than she could ever imagine. I had to tell her that I was different, that I changed. I would never treat her like an object.
I loved her.
But I didn't have a choice either. We were both forced into this.
And I never expected to find something so precious, so amazing, that my world would never be the same if she wasn't in it. We had created life together, that had to mean something.
It means that your not who you think you are.
It means that your life was never carved out by hand.
It means I had created a different path to take.
The driveway crept up on me as my head fought with my heart. Slamming on the brakes, I whipped the car onto the thin dirt road. Dust billowed up in the rearview mirror, immersing the darkness in a cloud of filth.
The house lit up like a Christmas tree as the car crested over the hill, the lights illuminating out, reaching for me. Throwing the car into park, I left the engine running and jumped out. I didn't take the time to shut it down or close the door. I had to see Ivy.
My feet hit the ground with force, tearing up the gravel with every step. Using my shoulder, I plowed through the door, cracking the hinges as it burst open.
“Ivy!” My eyes frantically searched the living room, heart racing inside my chest. “Ivy!” I yelled again, anxiously straining to hear to voice.
Climbing the stairs by two, I reached the bedroom and threw myself in. But she wasn't there.
Where is she?
Where the fuck is she?
I couldn't think straight. My head was spinning, my lungs were heaving. Each breath was like inhaling thick paint fumes. I couldn't breathe, my chest felt heavy and soiled.
She had to be here, she couldn't go anywhere. But she wasn't answering me. Fear had stained me in red and white. I was afraid she had gotten hurt, that a panic attack had latched onto her while I was gone, and now she was hurt, curled on the floor someplace inside.
“Ivy! Fuck, Ivy where are you!?” Turning the room upside down, I checked the rest of the house.
She's gone.
She's fucking gone.
My hands clenched by my sides as I doubled check every single room, trying to wrap my head around what was going on. Walking into the hall, my toe kicked something hard. Stopping dead in my tracks, my head dropped to the floor.
No. No. No.
Stooping over, I picked up my phone. The screen was black, cracked in the corner. Turning it on, I scrolled through it and spotted a number I didn't recognize. It was incoming, three calls, three calls from a number I had never seen before.
He took her.
He fucking stole her from me!
A footstep echoed over my shoulder, my ears popping at the soft noise. Reaching for my gun, I felt nothing but naked skin.
Shit, I left it in the car.
Tilting my head, I balled my hands, ready to spring to life. I was going to fight, eager to unleash this rage inside of me. If Remo thought he could just come in here, come into my home and take Ivy—take my baby. . .
He was fucking wrong.
Spinning on my heel, I threw my arms up, charging forward. A deep rumble left my lips as I lunged forward. Running at full speed, I didn't look up, I didn't make eye contact, I just charged.
The intruder toppled backwards, landing on his back. His hands came up to block his face as my fingers curled around his throat.
“Dante! Dante! It's me, it's Sesto!” Using his fingers as a shield, he ducked in and out of view. “It's just me!” His voice came out hard and gruff through tight lips.
Freezing, my fingers were rough, tempting his throat to stay open. “Why the fuck are you here?” Squeezing down harder, I spoke low. “I thought I told you to never come back?”
“I'm here to help.” Sesto's hands splayed out, holding up a white flag. “That's all, I'm here to help you.”
“Why the fuck should I believe you?” I wouldn't let him go, I couldn't.
He had betrayed us before, he could be doing the same now. I didn't trust him for shit.
But I didn't have time for this right now, I had to find Ivy. Slowly peeling my hand off his neck, Sesto rubbed the swelling muscle.
“Dante, you and me, we want the same thing. I can help you.”
“Yeah, right. You can help me like you helped yourself, asshole.” Leaning back, I stayed static on his waist, not letting him up. “Ivy's gone, I need to find her, I don't have time to play therapist with you, Sesto.”
“I know, I know she's not here.”
My mouth went taut, rolling into a deep frown. “What the fuck do you mean you know?” Lowering my face closer to his, I threw my hand into his hair and yanked his head back. “How the fuck would you know?”
Sesto's teeth ground down as his face cringed. “Will you just let me up, I'll tell you everything. Fuck, Dante, I'm not the enemy here.”
Throwing his head down, it hit th
e floor hard. The thud vibrated up my legs as I stood. “Start talking.”
Sitting up on his elbows, Sesto rubbed the back of his head. “She went to Remo's, I sa—”
“Fuck you!” I yelled, shoving him back down. “You're a fucking liar! I knew you were a fucking liar! He stole her! He came here and took her!” My fist was pulled back to my ear, ready to barrel down into his face.
There was no way in hell she would go there willingly. How the fuck could she?
Why the hell would she?
She might have hated him, but she wasn't stupid. She knew better than to go there by herself, she had to protect our baby.
I didn't believe a fucking word of it, Sesto hadn't seen shit.
Holding out his arms, Sesto lifted his chin. “Go on, do it, fucking hit me. But I'm telling you the truth. She took mom's car, drove there herself. I watched her, Dante, I saw her go in.”
Stalking around his body, my thumb dragged across my jaw. “I don't believe you.”
“Go look, check the garage.” Fanning out his arm, Sesto kicked his head towards the door. “Go, see for yourself.”
Contracting my lips, I grunted in anger. Flicking my eyes between where the garage was and my brother, he nodded again. “Go, Dante, I'm telling you the truth.”
Dropping my chin into my chest, I shook my head. “Don't fucking move.” Heading down the hall, I was hit by a cold breeze. The door was wide open , the musty garage air slapped my face.
And as I flicked on the light, my heart stopped. He was right, the car was gone. I didn't want to believe he was telling me the truth, I couldn't. Ivy wouldn't endanger herself and our baby that way.
Would she?
Glancing at him over my shoulder, I walked straight at him. Sesto stayed down, his knees bent as he clutched them against his chest. “I told you.”
I didn't answer. Stepping over him, I made my way back upstairs and headed for my parents old room. My jaw dropped the second I turned in. It looked like a fucking tornado had been dropped inside.
This room had been vacant for so long, that I never expected she'd come back in. Ivy had only been in here once. Had I actually taken the time to look inside instead of just yelling through the door into blackness, I would have seen this.