Page 5 of Deadly Little Sparrow

I brace my hands on the windowsill and lean out. The sounds of the city seem far off from here. The traffic whizzing by on the freeway is a calming white noise, drowning out the voices of noisy neighbors and the drunks in the alley below. I give in to the temptation and haul myself through the window. The rusty fire escape wobbles under my weight, failing to convince me that scaling it would be a preferable alternative to burning alive inside if it came down to it. But once it settles its swaying, it’s not so bad.

I scoot up to the edge and let my legs dangle over the side while I fold my arms on the railing and rest my chin on top of them. I blow out a breath and look out at the sea of taller buildings blocking my view of the city skyline. Lights flicker in many of the windows—the blue glow from tv screens and the dim orange gleam of cheap light bulbs.

Just across the alley, I spot a man dancing naked in front of his window. I smother a laugh as he helicopters his dick and shimmies his hips. In this part of the city, there’s every chance he’s a violent criminal, but right now he’s just some dweeb flopping his flaccid cock around. There’s something strangely comforting about that. Like no matter how dangerous any of the men I’m after might seem, there are bound to be moments when they let their guard down. That’s when I’ll strike.

The thought is a satisfying one, settling warmly into my chest. Just like I can’t unbreak that man’s nose tonight, I can’t do a damn thing to bring my brother back from the dead. What I can do is make sure the men responsible for it suffer the way they deserve to.

I swing my legs mindlessly and Déjà vu washes over me, a memory of a life that doesn’t feel like it has any connection to this one. Benny and me sitting on the second-story landing, letting our legs dangle through the railing, listening to the sounds of a lavish party going on down below. If we were good and stayed upstairs, our nanny Priscilla would bring a plate of treats up for us. I was always the one having to physically restrain Benny from going down the stairs to investigate the party for himself. He never had a hell of a lot of impulse control.

Maybe I took the whole protective big brother thing too seriously when he was alive. All I ever wanted to do was protect him, but I might have pushed him right into the life that ultimately killed him. Not that my parents are blameless. And, of course, the fucking Reapers have the bloodiest hands of all. But I’m adult enough to admit to myself that wanting some control over the people and things I care about might just be my toxic trait.

The sound of footsteps from below draws my attention. I squint into the dark and notice a shadowy figure wandering out of the same alley I came down earlier to get home. It’s impossible to make out much from my perch, especially without any real light, but something about the way the figure moves with so much confidence has my heart forcing its way into my throat. It’s him. I don’t know how I know, but I do.

I pull my legs up as quietly as I can manage, keeping my eyes trained on the man down below. He pauses briefly before he keeps moving, heading down the alley until he disappears from sight again. I exhale slowly, adrenaline along with a mixture of fear and rage making my whole body vibrate.

No fear. No fear. No fear. I chant the words in my head until the feeling drains from my body, leaving me still and focused with ice around my previously racing heart. I’m not going to wait around for retribution. If I see him again, I’ll kill him. Simple as that.

The thought leaves a sour taste in my mouth as I climb back through the window into my apartment. Maybe I’m wrong. Maybe it wasn’t the same man down there in the alley, looking for me hours later.

And maybe this whole operation is bound to end in disaster. But it’s too late to turn back now.

Chapter 3

XAVIARO

I reluctantly slide my sunglasses off as I step inside the dark club, tucking them into my suit pocket and pausing for a moment to smooth out my jacket. Not that anyone is going to notice a wrinkle in my clothing while I’m rocking the raccoon look.

My nose swelled overnight, along with some lovely purple bruises under each eye. The lack of sleep didn’t help things. At least the bandage Enzo applied last night is holding up. In a day or two, I should be fine. The interrogation I’m about to face will undoubtedly be worse than a measly broken nose. But I can handle that too. They don’t call me the Ice Man for nothing. Alright, fine, they don’t actually call me that. But they should.

I tip my chin at the pretty half-naked man behind the host podium, then stride past him without pause. The scantily clad men who strut past me on my way to the table might as well be wallpaper for all the interest they hold. Enzo’s pet project, Wild is the only all-male strip club in the state, drawing men so beautiful it almost feels illegal to lay eyes on them. But eye candy only goes so far.

I’m the last one to arrive for our weekly meeting, four heads swiveling in my direction as I approach. Alessio, Lorenzo’s favorite Capo and childhood friend, has his feet up on the table, his chair reclined precariously on its back legs as he flashes me a friendly smile before noticing my nose and raising both eyebrows questioningly.

“Getting too slow to dodge a fist?”

I allow a twitch of a smile before pulling out the chair next to him and lowering myself into it. Lorenzo leans across the table, looking me over silently for a moment. He’s traded his puppy pajamas for a tailored black Armani suit and a red silk tie.

“Okay?” he asks, and I nod.

“Can’t smell a damn thing. But last I checked, I’m not a bloodhound, so it shouldn’t be a problem,” I answer dryly, and the corners of his lips tilt in a subtle grin.

“What happened?” Elio, Lorenzo’s younger brother and the underboss of the Moretti organization just comes right out and asks the question I’m sure they’re all thinking.

I suppose I should be proud of the fact that me turning up with an injury is worthy of front page news. I adjust my tie and cross my ankle over my knee.

“Your dad plays rougher than I expected.” I keep my expression deadpan and Elio furrows his brow.

“My dad is dead,” he reminds me with the kind of charming ignorance only Elio could pull off.

“Zombie sex,” Salvatore says with a snort, and Elio’s frown only gets deeper.

“He’s being evasive,” Allessio helps him out. “Probably would have landed better if he’d picked a living relative.”

“Well, the joke hardly works if I say I fucked his brother. And it seems wrong as a gay man to claim to have fucked his mom. It’s straight appropriation,” I reason with a shrug.

“The Angel of Death himself finally joins us,” a familiar, cheerful voice says from behind me. I crane my neck to see the blinding smile of the club’s most popular dancer. There’s something about his dark features and sultry energy that brings people in like a siren luring sailors towards the rocks. “You want a drink?”

“Slinging drinks instead of lap dances today?” Elio asks.

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