Page 74 of The Beast Who Broke Me
His breathing evens out after a few minutes, and I sit there watching the shape of him under the covers and trying to figure out what the fuck I’m supposed to do now.
I need him back.
Not for—not because I?—
I need hisbrainback. His strategy. Without the Clemenza running at full capacity, I’m flying blind while everyone under my roof is at risk.
I need to find a way to un-break what I broke.
But I’m so much better at breaking things than fixing them. Always have been.
I meant to leave, to go back to the guest room, but the next thing I know, I’m waking up with a crick in my neck from sitting up against the headboard all night.
Caligula is awake. Lying on his side, looking up at me. The lamp is still on, and I don’t know what the hell time it is. The security shutters are still down all over the place, but my phone tells me it’s coming up on eight in the morning.
Caligula looks rested, which is more than I can say for me. But still pale. “You stayed,” he says.
“Didn’t mean to.” I rub the back of my neck, grimacing.
He’s quiet for a moment. Then: “Dami. I’m sorry.”
I look down at him. “For what?”
“For using your household against you. For threatening Rosa, Vito, Sammy.” He says it simply, looking at the bedspread rather than at me. “I was sure you were going to kill me, so I used the only leverage I could find. But it was wrong. They’re good people, and I’m sorry I used them like that.”
I wait for the angle. The pivot. The moment where the apology turns into a negotiation, whereI’m sorrybecomes so here’s what you owe me now.
It doesn’t come. He just lies there, looking at the bedspread.
I get off the bed and stretch. “I’m gonna get coffee. You want some?”
He nods.
I go downstairs, and Rosa is already pouring out two coffees like she’s psychic. She gives me a look when I come into the kitchen, but just tells me breakfast will be ready in fifteen minutes, and where do I want it?
“I’ll let you know,” I tell her. And then I carry those mugs all the way back up to my bedroom, relieved at least that Rosa is still here, even if both Caligula and I have been relegated to drip coffee for now.
Caligula is sitting up against the pillows. He takes the mug with both hands and drinks like it’s the first warm thing he’s had in days. Which…I guess it might be.
“We need to talk about what’s next,” I tell him.
He looks at me over the rim of the mug and waits.
“Whoever’s sending these guys after you, they’re not gonna stop. Yesterday was sloppy, but sooner or later someone less sloppy is gonna show up, and I need to know who I’m up against before that happens.”
He nods slowly.
“Your brain ain’t—” I stop myself. Start again. “You said you couldn’t figure it out yesterday. In the car. The stuff about the hit men not being professionals.”
Something flickers across his face. Not anger. More like shame. “I know,” he says quietly. “I couldn’t…think.”
“Yeah. And I need you thinking.” I take a sip of my own coffee to avoid looking at him. “So here’s what I’m gonna do. I’m gonna call that asshole Strike Ferraro. Set up a meeting with your Loyalists.”
His head comes up.
“Don’t look at me like that,” I mutter. “This ain’t a gift. You got people out there who might have heard something about who’s targeting you. Ferraro claims he knows nothing, but the others might. Could be intel I can’t get from my own network. And maybe being around your own people will?—”
I don’t finish that sentence.Will fix whatever I brokeisn’t something I’m saying out loud.
