Page 73 of The Beast Who Broke Me
Yeah, I should go make those calls. Instead, I buzz Rosa on the intercom to bring up something light to eat, and then I sit on the edge of the bed and put my head in my hands.
I know you hate me, he said.I know I deserve it.
The old Caligula Clemenza would never admit in a million years that he deserved what I did to him.
And in the car, his brain couldn’t finish a thought. His mind is the most dangerous weapon he has and it was grinding like a seized engine. He couldn’t connect the dots. Couldn’t get from A to B.
Worse, he stood on the stoop with a gun aimed at his head and didn’t move. The guy who told me he’d do whatever it takes to survive, who even crawled back to me because he figured that the devil he knew was better than the one he didn’t.
That guy just stood there and waited for death.
I think…
I think Ibrokehim.
The thought lands hard and the ripples of it just keep spreading out, making it worse.
Not bruised him. Not rattled him. Not pissed him off the way I’ve pissed him off a hundred times and watched him come back sharper.
But broke him.
Months living on the street couldn’t do it. The Bratva selling him at auction couldn’t do it. And whoever’s tracking down the Clemenzas, they couldn’t do it.
But I’ve done it.
I found a hairline fracture in that armor of his, and then I twisted and twisted until…
Until he broke.
He lied to me about my people. He used Rosa and Sammy and Vito as pawns. So I broke him for it.
That’s fair.
That’sjustice.
That’s what I wanted from the start.
So why do I feel bad about it?
Rosa comes up with a tray of sandwiches, and a few minutes later, the shower shuts off. He comes out of the bathroom a few minutes later, hair damp, wearing a towel, and he stops at the sight of me, like he wasn’t sure I’d still be here.
He drops the towel and gets into the bed, still looking at me.
“Eat,” I say, handing him one of the sandwiches. He takes a bite, and then another and another, but only when I watch him. “Here,” I say, handing him another. I take one of my own, and we eat in silence.
“You should go to sleep,” I tell him after. My voice comes out rough.
“Will you stay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “Just till you fall asleep, though.” I take off my shoes and sit up on the bed, back against the headboard.
“When you go,” he says, “can you leave the lamp on?”
I made a twenty-one-year-old man afraid of the dark.
I’m not proud of it.
“Yeah,” I say again. “I’ll leave it on.”
