Page 4 of Deadly Little Sparrow

“That’s what I’m wondering,” he agrees, kneeling to get his first aid kit out from under the sink. I would chalk the tightness of his tone tonight up to the fact that he hates nothing more than being roused from a peaceful slumber. But I know better. He’s always like this when I show up with an injury.

“It wasn’t really Fitzpatrick,” I assure him, and he grunts in acknowledgment. It’s a waste of words anyway. I would never be so flippant about a run-in with the boss of a rival family. That’s the shit that starts all-out wars.

He hands me two tampons, and I dutifully stuff them into my nostrils one at a time, worsening the throbbing but stopping the bleeding—for the time being, at least. I drop the soggy, bloody rag onto the pristine white marble bathroom floor, earning another deadly glare.

“Look up,” Enzo commands, moving to stand over me. I do as he says, tilting my head back and squinting against the glare of the bathroom lights. He puts his thumb against the bridge of my nose on one side, and I hiss through my teeth. “Hold,” he instructs in a deep, authoritative voice.

His tone sends a calming wave through me, relaxing everything inside of me. I don’t need to figure anything out right now, I just need to do what he says. When you spend most of your time making life and death decisions, there’s an indescribable peace in just letting go sometimes. A soft hum escapes my lips as I replace his thumb with my own so he can rip a few pieces of bandage tape.

“Good boy,” he murmurs, and I let loose a single huff of laughter.

“You don’t have to do that.”

“I know, it’s not very me. Is it?” he agrees absently as he makes quick work of setting my nose and bandaging it the best he can.

It’ll likely be a little off center, but it’s fine. Vanity has never been my deadly sin.

Is the Dom thing Enzo? Fuck if I know. We’ve been friends our whole lives, but I can honestly say I’ve never given a second of thought to which side of a power dynamic he would fall on. Clearly he’s read me like a damn book though.

“It was some vicious twink,” I answer his earlier question, mainly because I feel like I need to vomit up the thoughts swirling through my mind right now. “He walked into D&C like he owned the place, and then nearly cut Travis Grayson’s tongue out with the jagged end of a broken bottle.”

He lets out an impressed whistle and steps out from between my legs to put away the tape and other supplies. I tug the tampons out of my nose and toss them into the nearby trash, sniffing to check that the flow has finally stopped.

“I’m guessing he’s floating downriver as we speak?” Enzo asks as I stand up.

I clear my throat and focus on shrugging my jacket back on and buttoning it, avoiding his heavy gaze.

“He took off.” I manage a casual tone.

He makes a disgruntled noise. “You let him break your nose and walk away?”

“It’s… complicated,” I mutter.

“He was pretty?” Enzo guesses, and this time I’m the one who glares.

Pretty or not, I should have made an example of him. I should be hunting him down as we speak, and fuck, I want to… but not for the reasons I should.

“Thanks for patching me up, boss.” I give him a hug, patting his back before I let him go.

“Any time, fratello. Why don’t you stay? I have some leftovers in the fridge and we can watch one of those stupid movies you like so much. I even have a pair of footie pajamas you can borrow,” he offers blandly. I chuckle, even though I’m sure the suggestion is genuine, minus the pajamas… I think.

“Thanks, but I’m going to head home and put some ice on my face.”

Enzo nods and walks me back to the door, waiting in the doorway until the elevator doors slide closed behind me.

I have every intention of driving straight home like I told him, but I find myself parking outside Death & Company again. A quick lap around the neighborhood won’t hurt anything.

SPARROW

The mouth of the tequila bottle rattles against the rim of my glass, evidence of my unsteady hand that three shots haven’t managed to cure yet… or was it four? I down this one and wipe the back of my hand over my lips.

I can’t let one little fuckup throw me off like this. I can practically see Casper’s bored expression drilling its way into my soul, his steady voice telling me that mistakes aren’t what end people, distractions are. Emotions are. According to the infamous assassin himself, feelings are nearly as deadly as he is.

I huff out a breath and nod my head jerkily. No fear. No hesitation. No mercy.

I can’t unbreak a mobster’s nose. And lying low for a few days isn’t an option. So, I’ll plow forward. Maybe this will end up working in my favor. By this time tomorrow, that greaseball will have used his very-much-still-attached tongue to tell every other criminal in the city that I’m not someone to fuck with.

I shuffle across the single-room apartment, misjudging the placement of the bed and stumbling as I pass it. Maybe the tequila is doing the trick after all. I snort a laugh at that, catching myself on the heavy window that leads out onto the fire escape. It groans as I push it open, letting in the relatively cooler night breeze so I can breathe in a lungful of air that doesn’t smell like mildew and weed.

---