Page 75 of Brutal Power

“She’s rich, you dumbass.” I stare at the ceiling, annoyed that I’m having this conversation again. “Listen to me. This money is important. I paid a contractor to do a job. An extremelyimportant job. One which very well might save my life. I can’t tell you more right now because there are too many moving pieces, but I need you to trust me.”

Seamus squints and rubs his chin. “You paid acontractor? As in a hitman?”

“Something like that. I need patience, bro.”

He’s quiet for a few seconds. I can tell my explanation took some of his steam away. But he finally shakes his head. “That’s not good enough. Two million is too much.”

“This two million might end up buying ten times that.” I hate this damn position I’m in. I want to tell him everything, to make him understand my deal with Santoro, and how I’m going to pull all the strings together and tie a nice lovely noose around the old Italian bastard’s neck, but I can’t risk saying anything. Not right now. Not when Seamus is still so emotional about this situation. I’m not sure how he’ll react if he understands just how narrow this knife’s edge path I’m following really is.

It’s a dangerous game balancing crime family factions against each other.

Seamus takes a deep breath. I can tell he’s struggling to maintain his patience, but my brother’s never been the kind of guy who’s good at squashing his emotions.

“I get it, you’re involved with the Biancos now, and that means shit’s ten times more dangerous than it was before. I tried to get you to see reason when you started in with this war shit earlier, but now it’s like I don’t even know what the hell you’re doing. We’re supposed to be afamily, Brody.”

“I swear, when the time’s right, I’ll tell you everything. I just need you to trust me for a little bit longer.”

He shakes his head and looks disgusted. “At least with Dad, I could understand why he didn’t tell us anything, but I thought you were going to be different. I thought we were going to be better. That’s why we believe in you.”

My gut clenches. That breaks my fucking heart, the way he says it, because on the one hand, Iwantto be like Dad. I want the power, the stoicism, the intensity, the blind loyalty. But I know what Seamus means, and I have no interest in boxing him out of my decision-making process. Except for this one time.

“We are going to be better, and that’s why I’m doing what I’m doing.”

Seamus only shakes his head and turns his back on me. I almost wish he’d stay and argue—at least then he’s still engaging with me and hasn’t completely given up. But the way his shoulders slump tells me all I need to know.

I’m left alone in my office for a while. I should try to get some work done, but I can’t seem to concentrate, and I don’t want to work up the energy to commute into the main office downtown.

There’s a knock at the door and I hope it’s Seamus back with a vengeance, but instead it’s Mom with a cup of tea. “I thought you might need this.”

“Thanks.”

She places it down in front of me and I take a big sip. I can tell there’s something on her mind, and I’m worried when she sits down in the chair across from my desk.

Mom doesn’t come in here much. At least not if she can avoid it. I watch her glance around, her eyes lingering on all the changes I’ve made, and I feel like shit all over again. I can see the weight of time pressing down on her and the hole in her chest where Dad used to be. Seeing me here behind this desk where her husband and partner of thirty years used to spend all his time must be really hard.

“You’re doing it again,” she says, her tone very soft, and I have to lean forward to hear her right.

“I’m doing what?”

She sighs and smooths her jeans. “Seamus wouldn’t tell me what’s going on, but I got the gist. You’re taking it all on.”

“Mom—”

But she cuts me off. When she looks up, it’s the mother I remember from growing up: fierce and strong, the woman who took no bullshit, but also picked us up, wiped off the dirt, and soothed all the hurt away. I fucking miss those days sometimes.

“Ever since you started working with your father, all you’ve ever done is try to hold it all inside. And in some ways, it’s been good. I remember one day we were at the pool and you kept screaming and yelling because the goggles you wanted to wear hurt your ears and pulled your hair, but you also refused to go into the pool without them.” She smiles slightly at the memory. “I wanted to kill you. There was nothing I could do and you refused to calm down. Eventually your dad showed up and he started asking you questions and making jokes and it distracted you enough to make you forget all about the goggles, but that’s how you were. Every feeling was a big feeling. And I know that boy’s stillin there, only you keep him hidden away, and it’s not healthy, Brody. It’s not healthy at all.”

I pull in a deep breath and lean back in my chair. I stare up at the ceiling, trying to remember that day, but there’s a hole in my memory where that afternoon used to be. I have other snippets of being a kid, other summer days covered in sunscreen and running barefoot through grass. Flashes of painful memories, like that time I stepped on a bee, or that time I fell off the swings and broke my arm, but also flashes of good memories, like when I did my first flip off the diving board.

Mom’s right, I was an emotional kid, but I’m not a child anymore. I experience everything, and sometimes I struggle to suppress those big, overwhelming feelings, but it’s part of the job now.

“I’m only trying to be like Dad,” I tell her, leaning forward. The feeling of the steam from the tea lifts up against my chin. “He kept it all together, didn’t he?”

Mom gives me a strange look. “Do you think your father ran this family alone?”

“No, of course not, but?—”

“Honestly, Brody. Your father had help all the time.”

---