Two brisk pats on the arm jolt me from sleep. “What?” I snap angrily and roll over.
I’m nudged again.
“Fuck off,” I growl. My body smells like ass, my mouth has the consistency of bark, and I think there might be superglue in my eyes. In my hand, I feel him. The soft, snuggly, matted fur of Mr. Whiskers. I take a deep breath and cuddle him up to my chin. Ahh. He smells like Ivy…if Ivy strolled through a campfire.
“Wake. Up.” Smoke flips on the lamp.
Like a vampire burned by daylight, I cringe. “I will shoot you,” I seethe through gritty, foul-tasting teeth.
Smoke sits on my bed and slaps my arm. I peel open an eye. He hands me a water. Why won’t the fucker just go away?
Fine. I sit up, certain that any minute now I might puke all over him. Still, I drink, grateful to wash away the nasty flavor of butthole left behind by the scotch. “Are you waking me up because Enzo is wounded, maimed, or dead? I’ll gladly get up to dance on his grave.”
“I got the blood test back,” he says, despondent. He tosses an envelope on the bed. I rub my eyes and blink until the blur of words come into focus.
“Inconclusive?” I shake my head. “What the hell does that mean? It’s a paternity test.” I poke the pages hard. “I’ve seen the talk shows. They fucking know.”
Smoke frowns. “It’s not a paternity test because we have no one paternal whose blood we can use. It’s a sibling test to see if we share common traits. I thought mine would clearly establish that we’re not related. But—” he shrugs—“we kind of are.”
“Kind of?”
“We share common traits.”
I mock him. “I didn’t realize Ivy enjoyed coffee enemas, too?”
“Fuck off.”
I reread the results, trying to make sense of the medical lingo and percentages. “With these scores, are you siblings?”
He puffs air into his cheeks. “Maybe. But maybe I wasn’t careful with the sample. Maybe I contaminated her blood with mine.”
“Is that possible?”
“Fuck, I don’t know. But now, we have another issue.” He rubs his neck. “Sin.”
“Sin is back?”
Smoke nods. “I’m seeing him tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“He sent an email to our side and Andre’s. First thing tomorrow, he’s petitioning the court on behalf of the estate. And brace yourself.”
I hold up Mr. Whiskers. We both brace for impact.
“He’s representing Ivy.” Smoke gives Mr. Whiskers a sideways glance. “You and Enzo really have it bad for Ivy’s little toy.”
I look down at him. Ivy’s toy. We all know why I’m clinging to him like he’s my last shred of sanity. Because he is. A sweet, little Ivy memento that moves my obsession with her from sweet to stalkerish.
But what’s with Enzo?
Sunlight breaks through the curtains. It’s early, and Enzo will be up soon. I strategically pivot Mr. Whiskers to balance him, placing him dead center on the table. It’ll be the first thing that asshole sees. And if he pisses me off, maybe the last.
From down the hall come the footsteps. I count them. From his bedroom to here, it’s twenty-three steps. Plenty of time for me to twist on the silencer, take a seat, and wait.
Enzo walks into the room, the epitome of money and power in a ten-thousand-dollar suit. He smiles like the world is his diamond-studded oyster. It’s funny how fast my Glock can wipe away that grin. “Good morning, shithead.”
He raises his hands in surrender. “Put down the gun, Z.”
I don’t say a word, and my position stays steady.
It takes him a minute to see the toy. “I didn’t know it meant that much to her,” he says apologetically. I narrow my eyes and he begins to babble. “She’s nobody. You said it yourself, she’s a liar. A threat to our family. A—”
I shoot a piece off the chessboard without even looking.
He flinches. “For fuck’s sake, Z. It’s just a goddamned toy.”
“Is that what it is? Just a toy?” That shuts him up. I pick up little Mr. Whiskers, lifting him high in the palm of my hand. “And yet, he was important enough to burn.” His Adam’s apple bobs as he swallows hard. I aim for that next. “You’ve got sixty seconds, Enzo. What is it?”
“A toy,” he says, shrugging. “For God’s sake, it’s a toy,” he says, drawing out every word as if I’m an idiot.
I lower my weapon to his crotch. “Fifty seconds.”
Silence.
“Forty seconds.”
He moves a nervous hand in front of his dick.
That makes me smile. “Your hand isn’t bulletproof, dipshit. Thirty seconds.”
“All right, all right. It was Trinity’s!” he shouts, closing his eyes.
“Trinity made you do this?” That’s an atrocious lie. I should put him out of his misery for that.
“No, not that it was Trinity,” he explains with an eyeroll. “It. Was. Trinity’s.” He sucks in a breath and exhales loudly. “It’s her toy.”
I look at Mr. Whiskers. He simply stares back. “What do you mean this is Trinity’s toy?”
He shrinks where he stands. “I recognized it.” Cautiously, he snatches the little guy from my hand, flips him over, and unzips the small compartment. He holds Mr. Whiskers up so I can see.
Something is stitched under the label, but I can’t make it out. “What is that?”
“The letter T. Trini stitched her initial into all of them. This toy was part of a set. There were a dozen, I think.” Enzo curls his lip down the way he always does when he’s got more to say and won’t. I fire a round so close to his ear, he jumps. “Goddammit, Z.!” he shouts, clasping that side of his worthless fucking head.
My smile is sadistic. God, I love this. “It’s confession time, Enzo. What else do you know?”
Enzo slumps into a chair. “We used to have a summer picnic every year. All family. Even Uncle Andre. And the occasional plus one. The whole place was a fucking carnival. Elephants and zebras and shit.”
I circle my gun in the air. “Get to the point.”.
“It was loud and noisy, and Trinity was being a pain.” I narrow my eyes. “What? She was five. I was twelve. ”
“And?”
“And I snatched her grubby little toy from her and escaped for a little quiet time.”
I nod in understanding. “You slipped away to smoke a joint. Go on.”
“I headed for the alcove under the stairs. Uncle Andre caught me. Took the toy. Took my weed. And left.” He points to Mr. Whiskers with a scowl. “Trini had a million toys, which were damned near everywhere. You’d think she’d hardly miss one. Yet she did. No one believed me when I said Uncle Andre took it. And I was stuck reading bedtime stories to her for a month…all because of that stupid toy.”
“So, Ivy…is a D’Angelo?”
Enzo pinches his brow. “You don’t get it. No, Z., she’s not. That’s our story. Period. Because if she is, everything our family has built collapses, and I can’t let that happen. How about we negotiate?”
“How about I blow off your fucking head? That’s usually how I negotiate.”
“That’s enough,” Smoke’s voice booms as he enters the room.
“You heard?” I ask.
He nods. “You were right, Leo. Unfortunately, so is Enzo. Everything he said about what our family built is true.” He pats Enzo’s shoulder as they exchange a look. Without a word, Enzo leaves, and it’s just me and Smoke. “There’s more you need to know, Leo—about our grandfather’s will.”
As Smoke lays out the details of Vito’s will, I already know where this is going. “You’re going to screw your own flesh and blood?”
“I never said that.”
“No, I did.”
“If Ivy goes through with this, she gets nothing. All she’s managed to do is wipe away our inheritance. D’Angelo Holdings. The estate. They all go to Andre.”
“This is exactly what she was afraid of. Rejection. Abandonment.” I stand and stare in disbelief. “Goddammit, Smoke, she’s your sister.” Smoke stares back, pensive and silent.
Smoke has been my best friend for the better half of ten years. We stood beside each other at Antonio’s funeral. Swapped shifts when Trinity first returned from the hospital. I’d kill for him. Die for him. We’re not as close as brothers. We’re closer.
And still, he stands there, hands in his pockets with nothing to say.
I collect every raw, angry emotion and ball it up, then swing, hard, and send a punch straight to his jaw. He staggers back. “Fuck. You!” I spit.
When he doesn’t move, I hit him harder. So hard, he plummets back to the floor.
“And what happens to Trinity?” he shouts back. His eyes lock hard with mine.
Neither of us have an answer.
It takes a minute for Smoke to get to his feet. I don’t help the sack of shit, but I don’t punch him again either, so maybe that’s progress.
He spits some blood on the floor. I’m not sure who he’s expecting to clean that up. “I need you to do something. No arguments. And if you want to hit me afterward, by all means.”
I ball a fist. “Fine. I’m listening.”
“Stay away from Ivy. Stay away from the court. At least for now.”
“Why? Are you going to ambush her?”
“No. Because you’re too goddamned close to her, that’s why. I don’t know what will set you off, and between Andre and the judge, you have to stay away.”
He studies me because I want to tell him to go to hell and that there is nothing that would keep me from being there for her. Protecting her. Maybe even loving her.
But he knows what I know. Even Aunt Grace knew it, too. I’m chained to a vow I made to Antonio. And when there’s a choice to make, I don’t hesitate. He’s asked me to protect the family—even if it is by my absence—and he knows I’ll do it.
It was all Smoke had to say to earn one final, colossal punch.