Page 26 of Alliance

Anthony only shrugs. “Sometimes, when she’s mad, I’ll give her a hug and tell her I’m sorry. Did you try that?”

It sounds so simple when the kid says it. An apology should fix everything, set everything right in the world. That’s what we taught him, right? I can’t even remember all the times I’ve made the kid apologize in his eight years of life. Respect, humility, all the traits we wanted the kid to have. And he does. My heart swells at how sweet he is.

But he’s also naïve.

And maybe that’s because we made him that way.

We told him to be honest, to admit when he’s wrong, and to hurt no one.

But where will those traits actually get him? Zipped up in a body bag or at the bottom of the ocean? My throat constricts at the thought. At what point do we all go from being naïve little kids to selling drugs on the street corners? When does it all change?

“I haven’t tried that,” I tell him, sucking in a breath and willing myself not to cry in front of my nephew.

“You should,” he tells me in a matter-of-fact way. “You should always say you’re sorry, Uncle Naz,” he scolds me with a phrase I’m sure he’s heard from me a million times.

“I know, buddy,” I whisper. “That’s good advice.”

But sorry isn’t going to fix this one. I don’t get to sayoops, sorry, I slept with your fiancé and your daughter, but I didn’t mean to.Davis and Damien don’t give a fuck about my apology. Men like them only seek vengeance.

And as for Ma and Elly, the only apology they’ll accept is for me to quit, but I can’t do that either. You don’t walk away from the mob, especially when the only reason I’m alive is because of Sam Costello. No, I’m stuck in this now, in this thing for life.

My only hope is that Sam remains true to his word. Once he initiates me, it’ll be better. Once I have my button, the name of a made man, I’ll be safe.

That’s all I have now.

Chapter Thirteen

THERE’S NO REASON FOR MEto be in bed at eight pm on a Saturday. Except, I haven’t started working for Sam yet and I’m not dealing for Marcus. So I’m jobless and purposeless.

The money that selling drugs made me bought this whole apartment. My own renovated studio. Having a place of my own felt like such an accomplishment. I was no longer slum from the West side; I felt like fucking royalty.

Now these four walls feel like a prison.

I’m trapped inside the brick, waiting for someone to tell me it’s okay to leave. Waiting for the scabs marking my skin to heal. Just… waiting.

It feels like an anvil is sitting on my chest, pushing me down onto the bed and not letting me move. My breathing is shallow, lungs too compressed to suck in enough air.

But there’s nothing I can do, nothing will change my current situation.

So I bear it.

At first, I ignore the sudden knock on my door. I’m too deep in my spiral to get up, anyway. But it doesn’t stop. It’s probably Elly, pounding relentlessly so she can come in here and scold me.

It takes effort to pull myself out of the bed, leaving the warmth of my mattress and comforter behind. I trudge to the door, scrapping my bare feet along the hardwoods.

“What?” I ask, swinging it open.

Except it’s not Elly there. Instead, I come face to face with Lana. Her hazel eyes are dark as they scan my body, lingering on the waist of my gray sweatpants for too long. Her hair is swept up into a messy bun and her face is bare of makeup. She wears leggings and a big t-shirt with a pair of canvas shoes covering her feet. A bottle of Jack Daniels dangles from her fingertips.

“Are you going to let me in?” she asks, lifting the bottle in a gesture ofI brought whiskey to solve all our problems.

My brain shoutsno, you stupid fuck.But my hand pulls open the door wider, and she steps through the threshold.

This is stupid.

This is how I end up with a bullet in my skull.

But how do I push her away? What words would I use to tell her no? That I’m too scared of her family to provide her any comfort?

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