Page 31 of Darkness and Duress

“Love you too, sweetie pie.” I hopped out and slammed the door behind me, lingering long enough for the rest of the crew to join me before we stepped up onto the sidewalk. With a nod, I led the way to the door and walked in like I owned the joint. Confidence was key. I felt anything but.

“Welcome, gentlemen. Welcome.” The air was full of cigarette smoke and the scent of stale liquor. Through the dimly lit fog, I clocked six men in a loose semicircle facing us at the door.

“Glad to see you were expecting us.” I sauntered in with my guys at my back. “I'm here to collect the dough. I hope that's ready, as promised?”

A faint ripple of laughter echoed through the room and set my already anxious nerves into hyperdrive. I was instantly relieved that I won the battle of wills with Luca as I scrutinized the surroundings to discern what had them laughing and me feeling so on edge.

“Silly boys playing grown up games. I figured you would have learned by now.” The oldest man, a familiar face in the underworld, snapped his fingers with a grin. “Ah well. It's a shame, really.”

Movement out of the corner of my eye had my spine stiffening and my mouth opening without conscious thought. On pure impulse, I shouted. “Go! Back to the car!”

Footsteps scurried behind me as the same sprinted from the side. I backtracked and crashed straight into a body that smelled of rich leather and warm jasmine. Fucking Jericho. Of course he would be the one to ignore my call and stay behind. King was nowhere to be found. I could have laughed if I weren't so shitscared. Of course he’d send his dog to safety and stay behind. Self-sacrificing fucker. We were going to have words after this.

“NYPD! Hands up!” We were surrounded in seconds that stretched like eons. I was no fool. My hands shot skyward so fast, I felt my shoulder pop. Behind me, Jericho did the same.

“On your knees!” Staring down the barrels of half a dozen NYPD pistols was not how I expected to spend my evening, and I definitely wasn't planning on getting to my knees for anyone but Marc. Nevertheless, that's where I was—on my knees and hating every fucking second of it.

“The others got away, Sarge.” Relief flooded my system as a voice called from the front door. We sent Samson and Hughes in squad cars.

“Call’em back. I don't want to waste the manpower. Cuff these two.”

“Say nothing.” Jericho’s whisper was just the faintest breath over the chatter and clamor filling the room.

“No shit, Sherlock.”

“Pleasure doing business with you, Officer.” The bastard in charge had the nerve to wink at me as he handed a bundle of bills to the cop everyone had been calling Sarge. My blood boiled, even as I kept my expression cool as a cucumber. I hated cops. I hated dirty cops worst of all. Even when they were on our ‘side.’ Frankly, even that was iffy at best, especially when I thought back to the asshole that put Marco behind bars. I turned my gaze to the officer who was holding our money and seared his features into my brain, even as my arms were jerked behind my back and the cold slap of metal squeezed around my wrists.

This fucker would pay. One way or another, he was going to pay. Just like the last one that fucked over my family.

Chapter Fifteen

Marco

Bang. Bang. Bang.God, my heart was pounding so loud. Loud enough to startle me awake. The fear was instant, adrenaline already pumping. Nightmares. Fuck, not the nightmares again. I thought I was past them. I thought they were gone, but as the last vestiges of sleep fell away, the hazy recollections of long-buried memories clung. I was fucking done with them. I needed them gone.

I flinched again as the banging started all over. That wasn't my heart—that was someone at my door. Nerves that were already on high-alert ratcheted up even higher as I scrambled out of bed and stumbled, disoriented and dizzy, through my apartment. Fuuuck, my head hurt. Squinting through the peephole offered a small solace. It was my mom. My mom was here? I slowly unlocked the door and pried it open, peering through the narrow gap as I used the barrier to hide the fact that I was wearing only boxer briefs.

“Ma? Hey…”

“So youarealive.” She eyed me and pressed her palm to the surface with a shove. I folded like a house of cards, staggering backward as she forced herself into my home.

“Yeah?” Debatable on some days, but that was neither here nor there. “What’s up?”

“We've been calling. For hours.” She scanned my face with a hardened expression that melted into something softer as she reached out a hand to cradle my cheek. “Get dressed, love. Your father wants to see you.”

My nerves crackled back to life. Ma looked so sad, so tired. I leaned into the touch like a glutton before drawing my walls back up and taking a step backward.

“What's wrong?”

“Just… get dressed.” She sighed and turned, her gaze skittering away.

Reluctant to move and still bone-achingly tired, I headed to my room and mustered up the small amount of energy I had, digging out black jeans and a t-shirt. I couldn't fathom dressing in a suit and tie. The fact that I was even dressing at all was a small miracle given how intense the desire to crawl back into bed was. After taking the longest piss in history, it took forever to find my phone and I swore under my breath when I found it—completely dead—inside my abandoned, vomit-covered clothing from the night I could only remember bits and pieces of.

I glanced at the clock on the wall of my living room as I trudged back to my waiting mother, cringing with the realization that I'd slept through a whole day and night, rising well after I normally would. Fucking depression. It was either soul-crushing insomnia or endless sleep. There was never any in-between. I never felt rested. With a grunt and a nod, I shoved my feet into a pair of sneakers and moved to the door, my mother trailing behind with another beleaguered exhale.

We didn't speak the entire way to their penthouse. The place I used to call home. It hadn't felt like a home for a while. I only went there to discuss business with Pops. I hadn't lived there since I was released from prison, yet another thing outside my control. I'm sure my parents thought they were helping, being nice, but coming home after years of being behind bars would have been a lot easier if I'd had family to surround myself with. Instead, I was handed a set of keys and an apartment number by the goon sent to pick me up, returning to isolation that had only served to set me back further. The silence between my mother and I was a perfect embodiment of the miserable life I led. No matter how much I wanted to reach out, to scream and yell and beg for something, I could only clench my jaw harder and stare vacantly at the wall. It wouldn't matter. Nothing mattered. I didn't matter.

We parted ways in the entryway, my mother disappearing back to the heart of the home. Her kitchen was her domain and I stumbled over my feet with the urge to follow her, to forget all this bullshit and just exist as mother and son for a moment, but duty called. I loved my father, I really did. He loved us, too. He'd always been a good father to us all, but his recent stress and the distance my prison time had brought between us made it hard for me to see us as anything but colleagues sometimes. I honestly couldn't remember the last time we had a conversation that didn't revolve around work or the business—and the worst part was that I didn't know who was to blame for that.

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