Page 22 of Protecting Charity

We all sat around her table, drinking wine and eatingCacio e Pepe, while Charity retold her Russian story. We had heard it a million times, but she loved to brag about getting out of the impossible situation she had gotten herself into. Calling a Russian a chauvinistic pig wasn’t one of her brightest moves, even though it was an accident. She may have had the shit kicked out of her, but she made him cry for every bruise she bore.

“This is amazing,” she said between forkfuls.

Charity wasn’t afraid to eat. Hell, she wasn’t scared of anything really, but this, in particular, was what we liked about her.

“Glad you like it. How’s your finger?”

“It’s throbbing, but I’ve had worse.”

“She’s too stubborn for her own good,” Max said. “For instance, if you hadn’t gone into the Russian’s home without me, he wouldn’t have had the chance to hit you.”

“That’s not stubbornness, big guy, that’s impatience. You took too long, and I was feeling itchy.” She smirked, clearly teasing him, but he wasn’t playing. There had been one too many close calls with her where Max was concerned. It would be him who found her, or he who paid should anything befall her on his watch.

Max growled. “Much like today, then?”

“No. I just didn’t want someone fucking about in my home. Can we not fight about this? I thought this was over.”

Max ground his teeth, and Nico piped in, halting the argument from going any further. “So, about this party… Adams said it was a masquerade, and many high-profile people are expected to attend.”

I finished the last strand of pasta and listened as Nico ticked off all the pertinent details while Max clenched his teeth and Charity forked her food over her plate—no longer interested in eating. Max had confided in Nico and me again and again about his fear for her. She lived on her own wire of fate, and she dared to throw the balance bar away too many times to count. Each time she would do this, it was Max that was close by. The one time he wasn’t, was when she was on that fucking date with the hippy that couldn’t afford to pay his shop rent. Now that he was dead, he really couldn’t afford his rent.

Charity stood and gathered the plates from everyone and tossed it all in the dishwasher while Max and Nico talked about the latest in sports. I excused myself and joined Charity in the kitchen.

“So you benched me?”

“Come again?”

“Today. Max had work, and you benched me.”

“Yep, I wanted you locked in my basement for all eternity, but they saved you from that fate.”

She stifled a laugh. “Like you could do that.”

I crossed my arms against my chest and narrowed my eyes. “If it meant that was what I had to do to protect what was mine, then yes… I would.”

Her expression softened, and she looked away, chewing on her lip. I wondered how she interpreted what I said to her. It wasn’t the reaction I expected her to make, especially for me, having just confessed she meant something to me. Was I not clear?

“I need to take a shower,” she said and walked out, leaving me to question if this was yet another situation I mishandled with her.

Max and Nico began arguing about who was the better quarterback and who should have been on the field in the final ten minutes. I sat on the couch and sent off a text to Vito.

Me: Did you get her home?

Me: Did you pick up Addy?

Vito: Yes, boss.

Vito: No. She refused, saying she had other things that were more pressing than to be at your beck and call. I’ll try again.

Me: Give her an incentive.

Vito: On it.

Addy was like another Charity, but with less appeal. The difference was, Addy wasn’t a killer. I needed her to help find Josh and a few other things. I wouldn’t take no for an answer.

Giovanni was supposed to be keeping tabs on Josh, but when he became busy with his personal vendetta against my family, he let Josh slip through the cracks, and the fucker disappeared into the great abyss and hasn’t made an appearance yet.

When I get my hands on the fucking junkie, it’s going to be a bloodbath for the hell he put his sister through.

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