Page 90 of Damaged Beast
“Stop.” He doesn’t sound like he means it.
“This is what he fucking does. You’ve seen it happen a dozen times, haven’t you? It’s what he tried to do to me back when I was a kid and got my friend instead. When you outlive your usefulness, you’re nothing to him anymore. There’s no loyalty. There’s no love. Fontana takes and that’s all.”
Alfonso rubs his face hard. “Shawn. I remember him. Good kid. Wrong place, wrong time.”
“I carry that every day.”
“You can’t let the bodies you left behind drag you down with them. They’re in the grave, Prime. Shawn’s dead and it wasn’t your doing. Hell, I’m more to blame.”
“You shouldn’t say that.”
He grunts, drinks more wine, and stretches his back. “There’s no point to this. I am what I am, and that’s too damn old to change a thing. Whatever you have cooking with Fontana, leave me out of it.”
“I might call on you. I might want to talk to some of your unhappy friends.”
“I won’t pick up.”
“We’ll see.” I finish the glass and stand. I slip the gun back into my waistband. “You got a nice life here, Alfonso. You should be proud of it.”
“Sometimes I am.”
“I’ll be in touch.”
“I wish you wouldn’t be. You always were trouble, Prime, even back in the day. I used to think I was your mentor, but we both know you outgrew me faster than either of us wanted to admit.”
I turn my back on him. The dying embers of the old days. “I still owe you. That’s why you’re not dead. I’ll be in touch.”
I leave Alfonso, or whatever’s left of him, and find my way back to my car. I sit behind the wheel in the darkness, replaying the conversation over and over. And I keep coming back to the way his hand shook.
It wasn’t fear. I can see it now. Alfonso’s an old mafia head. He wouldn’t be thrown by a fucking gun.
No, that was rage.
Real anger still bubbling under the old man’s surface.
And if he’s mad, what about those others he mentioned?
Fontana’s worse off than I realized. Much, much worse, like maybe his whole outfit’s on the edge of tearing itself to pieces.
And my pipeline’s payments are the only bulwark between him and losing everything.
I’m propping up my god damn enemy.
But it also means I have leverage.
CHAPTER 33
DEANNA
How many times am I going to do this?
Sit up late wondering if my husband’s coming home.
Once is too many. I’m a mess as the sun rises and he’s still not back. I make coffee and stare at a blank TV. My reflection is dire: black bags under my eyes and my hair a frizzy tangle.
I swallow a scream when the door opens. I rush over, clutching my mug, as Prime bolts it shut behind him.
“Where have you been?”
