Page 13 of Filthy Little Games

Once I’m finally released on bail wearing a white tee and blood-stained suit pants I was wearing when they arrested me, I meet up with the guys on the front steps of the precinct for my first breath of city air.

The sun seems too bright. My skin feels fucking filthy underneath the filthy clothes, and…it feels wrong that Carmine isn’t here with the four of us.

The three men stare at me in their own wrinkled clothing, looking like I feel after three days inside, waiting for me to breakdown or lash out. Hell, they probably want to do the same.

“I know what you’re thinking, Creed. Shit feels…wrong without Carmine,” Dre says as he pulls me into an embrace. “I don’t know what the fuck else to say. I’m sorry. Fuck, I hate this shit.”

“I do too,” I agree. “And I’m sorry you might lose your law license.”

“I don’t give a fuck. It’ll be nice to be free for once to do whatever the hell I want with nothing holding me back.”

“Right,” I mutter, clearly seeing the blatant lie through his tough words. Dre worked hard as hell and went to college and law school for seven years to get his law degree. It’s impossible to forget what a pain in the ass he was all those months he was studying for the bar exam.

Slapping his back, I release him, then clasp Lorenzo and Tristan on the shoulder. “We’re going to find out who set us up and make them suffer a thousand times over for what they did to Carmine and Jasper.”

“Just let us know what you need, boss.” Tristan nods, his eyes glassy.

“It has to be one of the other families, right?” Lorenzo asks.

“That’s my assumption. But we can’t even think about drawing any blood without concrete evidence.” I want to play this smart so we don’t end up in prison for the rest of our lives or start a mafia war. The rules are simple, no bloodshed between the families without proof of betrayal. “You three get the word out to every single one of our men that they better keep their heads nice and cool until further notice. No retaliation against anyone, even the cops, without my permission.”

“Where are you going to start with this mess?” Lorenzo asks.

“First, I’ve got to…” Clearing the emotion from my throat, I’m finally able to speak the words. “The first thing I have to do is plan Carmine’s funeral. Then I have an idea about a few leads.” If I can get my hands on Carmine’s phone, I can send the image of that woman to one of my private investigators. Failing that, there should be some club footage to go through while Roscoe works on the list of names involved in the raid.

“What do you need us to do?” Dre asks.

“After the funeral, the four of us are going to split up and watch the families. Alone.”

“Watch them? Follow them around? All of them? Alone? Do you really think that’s smart? What if they see one of us stalking them without backup?” Dre asks.

“We’ll just have to be careful and not get caught because I want to know where everyone is going, who they see, and what they’re up to. Worst case, we get some blackmail material. Best case, we find our rat.”

“Worst case, they finish the job and kill you while you’re on their turf!” Tristan exclaims.

“Exactly. Why can’t you just hire a few PIs to do that shit for you and report back?” Dre grumbles.

“Because after last night, I’m finding it very fucking hard to trustanyoneright now,” I snap and let that sink into his skull for a moment.

I can’t afford to trust anyone. Not even Dre, Tristan, or Lorenzo. Not completely. Not when my brother is dead, and I don’t know who the hell is responsible. I doubt it was one of them, but then again, it would be one hell of a way to throw me off their scent if it was with them getting charged with gun possession too.

I know Tristan isn’t smart or savvy enough to pull off such a betrayal.

But Dre…he’s not only smart and savvy, he’s also ruthless. And now that Carmine is gone, he’s my underboss. My second in command. My heir if I were to be assassinated.

For the first time in my life, I find myself questioning everything, including my closest friendships with men I thought woulddie for me. Men who took oaths of not only silence but loyalty until their deaths.

After all, Dre left the main floor of the club right before shit went down, like maybe he was trying to stay out of the gunfire.

Goddammit. I need some sleep and a shower to get my head straight.

I hate even thinking such a fucked-up thing about my cousin, one of my closest friends. But I can’t afford to let my guard down around anyone, not when I’ll never get to see my brother again. I’ll never be able to hear his taunts or teasing voice. He could always find a way to make me lighten up and laugh, no matter what serious shit we were dealing with.

At our father’s funeral, after everyone had talked about what a good man the asshole was, Carmine went up last in front of a packed church. Hundreds of people had showed up to pay their respect to the ruthless bastard. He began normal enough with — “Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death” — which was then followed by him reciting the entire first verse of “Gangster’s Paradise,” all with a straight fucking face.

I had to walk out of the church, where I laughed until tears soaked my cheeks — the only tears I ever shed for our old man.

A decade later, it’s still impossible to think about Carmine’s audacity in that moment without smiling.

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