With a deep, calming breath, I center myself and consider the situation rationally.
Is there any way I can turn this to my advantage?
I can’t be what Dom wants me to be. I’m not looking for a sugar daddy of any kind, let alone one who would have a detrimental impact on me still breathing after this is all over.
And the look on Cannon’s face? Lord, I don’t know if I’ll ever forget that either. He was furious, but underlying it all was concern for my safety ... and maybe something else.Jealousy?
No. I have to be imagining that. If he’s with Tanya, there’s no way he gives a damn about me, other than he probably doesn’t want to have to hire someone new and start all over again.
But why do I like the idea of him being concerned about me for other reasons?
It’s a dumb thought, so I shut it out of my head. I don’t even like him. Hell, if he had something to do with my father’s death, then I’ll smile as they lead him off in shackles.
I wander through my apartment, barely noticing the blank white walls, bare of any pictures or anything personal that could possibly reveal my identity.
What the hell should I do now?
Tanya said not to come into work tomorrow without getting a text telling me it’s okay. But what if it doesn’t come? Normally, I have a plan B, C, D, E, and so on. But in this scenario, a completely unsanctioned investigation, I’ve only got my wits to lead me down the right path. And that path isnotleading me to Dom Casso’s bed.
A shudder racks my body, and this one I don’t have to hide.
Wanting to forget all about tonight, I head for my counter, grab a bottle of red and a wineglass, and stroll toward the bathroom.
Bubble baths may not heal all wounds, but they’re where I do some of my best thinking. And right now, everything is on the line.
13
Cannon
Dominic Casso could have upgraded from the brownstone at the edge of Hell’s Kitchen decades ago if he’d wanted, but he elected to stay in the same place he’s held court from the beginning of his reign. A sentimental man would assume it’s because he wanted to stay close to his roots, but a sentimental man wouldn’t last long in the Casso organization.
No, Dom chooses to stay here because he’s a creature of habit in all the ways that won’t get him killed. Not that there has been anyone with big enough balls to attempt that in the last twenty years. Still, for purely selfish reasons, I wish he’d sold this brownstone.
As I cross the street to walk up the steps to the entrance, a scene flashes vividly in my mind—the body of my mother, bleeding out from three gunshot wounds to the chest on these very steps.
That was the day I became just another kid dangling off the bastard branch of the Casso family tree. No family was eager to take me in, and I had a negligent father who only summoned me to his desk when he needed something.
Shortly after my mother was buried in a cemetery on Staten Island and my aunt was fretting over what would become of me, Dom sent a car to get me, and it dropped me off right here.
The scene of the crime.
To this day, I’ve never figured out if it was a test. Maybe he thought they’d bring a sniveling brat crying for his mommy up to the boss, and he could wash his hands of me for life with the ease of his signature across the bottom of a check for my upkeep. For the right price, my aunt would have been willing to make me her problem until I was eighteen. But that’s not what I did.
My mother taught me from a young age that life wasn’t kind to people like us. We existed on the goodwill of others, and it would behoove me to learn as much as I could as fast as I could, with the hopes that I’d be useful to someone higher up the food chain. I listened, studied hard, and watched everything around me, constantly wondering what scraps the world would throw my way.
It came that hot-as-hell summer morning, when Dom told me what my new role in life would be.
“You’re going to boarding school, and not because I think you need that kind of fancy education, but because you’re going to find a kid named Creighton Karas. He’s the same age as you. Make yourself indispensable to him. Become his best friend. Keep tabs on him. Make sure nothing happens to him. And whatever he does, make sure you’re a part of it. Then you’re gonna report every goddamned thing back to me. Understand?”
I didn’t understand, but I nodded anyway. That’s all he needed from me before he sent me home to pack my stuff, carrying an envelope of cash for my aunt.
I’ve spent the rest of my life knowing I was sold to the mob for $2,500.
Twenty-five hundred dollars, and I never saw my aunt again, but my mother’s words never faded. I made myself useful. Creighton Karas became my best friend. It wasn’t too long before I realized he was my brother. I reported every goddamned move he made back to Dom.
Which subjects he excelled in—all of them.
Which teachers he didn’t like—all of them.