Page 67 of The Beast Who Broke Me
But the smile is gone.
For several seconds, neither of us says anything. My robe hangs off his shoulder. There’s still a faint red line on his throat where the collar sat. One of his hands is curled around the opposite wrist, holding on too tight. He’s upright. Composed, even. But only because he’s holding every broken piece of himself in place by will alone.
He covered for me. To the Morelli Underboss. After three days in a collar in a dark basement, after what I did to him down there, he stood in this room and gave the performance of a lifetime to protect me.
I can’t figure out what angle he’s playing.
He walks past me toward the stairs. No last jab. No spite. No parting shot. He just brushes past me, and then he’s gone.
I stand there. The fire pops behind the grate.
He’s playing me. He has to be. He’s running a longer game.
That’s the only explanation that makes sense.
CHAPTER 23
DAMIANO
I letCaligula sleep right through to noon the next day, and when I hear Rosa in the hallway again, I take the lunch tray from her. She still hasn’t forgiven me, giving me another cold look. I wait until she’s back on the stairs before I head to my bedroom, pause, and knock awkwardly on the door, balancing the tray on one arm.
I’m knocking on my own fucking bedroom door.
No answer. I walk in.
Caligula is sitting up in bed, looking pale. His eyes travel over to me before his face turns, and it’s unnerving.
He doesn’t speak.
I put the tray across his lap and look down at him. He’s wearing one of the t-shirts I bought for him—one of the ones he left here when he left me.
“Eat,” I say, gesturing at the tray.
After a moment, he picks up the spoon and starts pushing stew around the bowl. Good enough. “We need to figure out what happens next.”
“What happens next is that you kill me.” His voice is calm. I almost wish he’d keep up the silent treatment.
“I haven’t decided what I’m doing with you,” I tell him. “But someone’s been trying to take you out since before I bought you, and he ain’t gonna stop. As long as he’s still out there, and you’re still in here, my people are at risk.”
There’s a pause before he asks, “Are you going to let me go? Turn me over to the Morellis?”
“Is that what you’re hoping?” I scoff. So that’s his play—turn himself over to the Morellis. But that doesn’t make sense, because— “You could have told Fontana everything,” I say suspiciously. “Why didn’t you?”
He looks at me for a long time. Then he says, “The Morellis will kill you if they think you disobeyed a protection order from theCapo dei Capi. Rosa and Vito and Sammy don’t deserve to lose their home over what happens between you and me.”
“Oh, sonowyou give a fuck about them?” I growl.
He doesn’t fire back. The old Caligula would’ve had a response loaded and aimed before I finished the sentence. This one just takes the hit, and then asks, “Why am I still alive?”
I don’t answer.
“You know I lied,” he says in a mechanical tone, poking and poking at the stew and not eating it. “You know I used Rosa and Sammy and Vito as a bluff. You had every reason to kill me down there. Why didn’t you?”
My brain can’t find the words I need. “It’s like you said, you’re still under a protection order from the Morellis,” I say at last. “Luca D’Amato’s got some soft spot for the great Clemenza legacy. Don’t ask me why. But one day he’s gonna figure out you’re not some sad-eyed wannabe, you’re athreat, and he’ll pull that protection.”
“And then?” He’s watching me closely. “You’ll do it then?”
Why can’t he just shut up? Why does he always have to push and push andpushuntil?—
