Page 139 of Bloom: Part 2

“Is that really the reason you’ve kidnapped Bloom? The reason you want me? You already know I have no interest in running the family. I’m a doctor—not a murderer.”

“Still singing that song after over a decade, are you?” He heaved a sigh. “Doesn’t matter. I’m not taking the risk again. I already drove a wedge between you two when I encouraged you to leave the family. Mind you, I had no idea you would go that far. Bishop told me then that I should have killed you. I shouldhave listened to him but I let sentimentalities get to me. Never again. I have the Agosti family in the palm of my hands and I refuse to give it up.”

“I don’t want to be the Don!”

“Doesn’t matter what you want. Your father has chosen you and so I have no choice but to remove you permanently. Next, Marcello will get the best surprise when I give the command and his prison lover shanks him.”

I clenched the steering wheel so hard my knuckles turned white. Uncle Mickey had been like a father to me. More than my actual father. He had taught me how to ride a bike, how to throw a punch, how to stand up for myself. I never thought he’d be the one holding a gun to my head, not even in my worst nightmare.

“You set me up years ago,” I whispered. “You knew how angry I was when Pop killed Aurie. That I wanted to hurt him and to leave the family. That’s when you started planting ideas in my head to leave.”

“Now you’re catching up. In fact, your father wasn’t the one who actually killed Aurie. I did.”

“What?” The word came out shaky. The truth of my life was unraveling before my eyes. All this time I’d thought I was in control, but Uncle Mickey had been playing me like a fiddle.

“Your father didn’t correct you because he also wanted Aurie out of your life. I did him a favor.” He waved to the right. “Make a right turn here.”

No streetlights penetrated the darkness that consumed this winding road. Only the sparse light from the car’s headlights illuminated our path. I followed Uncle Mickey’s directions dutifully, still processing his words.

Please let him be lying about Bloom.

I didn’t mind him lying that he had Bloom to get me to go with him. As long as Bloom was safe, I could face whatever was waiting for me.

Soon, Uncle Mickey pointed at an abandoned warehouse. The same warehouse where he’d taken me the day Bloom and I were at the boutique. “Stop there.”

I parked the car and sat rigidly in my seat, facing forward, trying to formulate a plan. Depending on the condition Bloom was in, there were two of us against three of them. If my brother was also involved. A slim chance that he wasn’t. Even if he wasn’t, he hated me so much he might join to get back at me.

42

BLOOM

The cold of the concrete seeped through my jeans, numbing my legs as I sat, my arms twisted uncomfortably behind me, tied at the wrists. A rope hung around my neck, its weight heavy and uncomfortable. Every time I shifted, my stomach twisted. I hated the fucking thing.

The rope dug into my skin, the coarse material unforgiving against my throat, but it wasn’t just the physical discomfort; it was the memory that dragged with it, clawing its way out of the darkest corners of my mind. Of being chained just like that. Like an animal. Bringing me back to a state that I never wanted to remember.

The man holding the rope gave it a sharp tug, jerking my head back until it cut off my breathing. He’d been toying with me like this since he brought me to the warehouse. My chest tightened as panic surged, and I gulped for what might be my last taste of air.

Logan. Please…

I was small again, barely able to stand. The rough fibers of the rope burned against my neck as they paraded me in frontof the people in the yard, laughing their asses off. One of the men had given me one of the firesticks to smoke, but it made me cough so badly I threw up.

My father’s hand was firm on the leash, yanking me forward like I was some prized animal. I scurried on all fours, the gravel digging into my bare knees and palms, but I knew if I cried, they would only hurt me more. Besides, I hadn’t eaten in a long time. My stomach no longer growled; it simply ached.

“Look at him,” my father said, his voice slurring from too much beer. “Tough little shit, ain’t he? Bet he’ll give that mutt a run for its money.”

The crowd jeered and whooped, the noise was deafening. So deafening I shrank into myself, wanting to run back to my shed and hide in my box. A boot struck me in the backside, and I stumbled forward, sprawled on my belly. I yelped, the sound torn from my throat before I could stop it.

The laughter grew louder, more frenzied.

“Don’t shame me, you mutt.” He yanked on the rope so tight I couldn’t breathe. I scrambled to close the distance to get some slack on the rope.

“Get in there, boy.” Someone shoved me toward the cage they’d set up in the yard. The one I hated but which meant food.

If I won.

Inside, a dog snarled, its lips pulled back over sharp teeth. My stomach growled painfully, the smell of food wafting into my nostrils.

My father tugged at the rope again, hauling me closer. “You want to eat? You gotta earn it. Show us you’re worth something.”

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