Page 92 of Sunrise Malice

“We appreciate that,” Ronan says.

I pick up my phone. “Don’t fuck us again, Marco.”

Then I hang up.

Silence falls on the room. I meet Ronan’s gaze with my own. There’s too much fucking history between us. Too much violenceand anger. It feels like we’ve gone around in a circle, and here we are sitting together and trusting Marco all over again, and I can’t help but feel like we’re going to get fucked.

Chapter 41

Julien

It’s a blustery fall day in the park.

Sunlight streams through yellow and orange leaves. Moms follow kids around on the playground. A couple teenagers kick a soccer ball back and forth like they’re waiting for more players to show up. People jog on the paths, weaving around couples out for comfortable walks.

I spot Don Bianco sitting with Marco on a bench not far from the swing sets.

Bianco soldiers lurk all over the park.

“They’re not even trying to hide,” I mutter, slightly annoyed at how brazen the Biancos are being about it. “Like I’m supposed to believe that huge guy in the leather jacket is reading the New Yorker? With that fucking scar on his face?”

“Relax,” Ronan says, sounding annoyed. “What did you expect?”

“I don’t know. Common decency? I’m kind of annoyed we’re even here.”

“Suck it up. You’re lucky Don Bianco’s willing to meet with us at all.”

“Since when did you want to suck on the Bianco pole?”

Ronan grabs my arm and his fingers dig into my muscle. “Watch yourself, Julien. You need friends right now.”

I shrug myself free. “You’re right. I need friends. Not a fucking backstabbing cocksucker like Marco.”

Ronan’s anger fades as he glances over at where Marco’s waiting for us with the Don. “Listen to me. I don’t blame you for being pissed. But for what it’s worth, I don’t think Marco ever wanted shit to go down the way that it did. He tried to stop it.”

“Yeah? Is that what Valentina says? Your wife was his best friend. Now she hates his guts.”

Ronan starts walking away. “She knows I’m here. That should be enough.”

“Well, you’re right, if the great Valentina Santoro is fine with this shit show?—”

“Careful,” Ronan snarls. “That’s my fucking wife.”

I let it drop. He’s got a point. And I’m not even angry with anyone in this situation except for myself. I’m lashing out and I just need to shut my mouth before I get myself in more trouble.

We approach the bench. Marco stands and nods at us in greeting. He looks good, like he’s been working out more lately. But I barely glance at him. Instead, I study Don Bianco, as he lazily gets to his feet.

The Don of the most powerful crime family in Chicago is in his early forties, graying at the temples, with a big, muscular frameand sharp eyes. He’s distinguished and handsome, if a little rough around the edges, and he’s wearing an expensive suit that seems out of place in a public park.

“Thanks for meeting us, Don Bianco,” Ronan says, extending a hand. I never in a million years would’ve guessed Ronan Hayes would greet the Bianco Don like that, but here we are.

Don Bianco shakes. “Call me Simon. It’s good to meet you, Mr. Hayes.”

“Ronan.”

I nod at him, but don’t offer a hand. “And I’m Julien.”

“I’m glad you two came,” Marco says. “Should we walk?”

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