Page 21 of Rotten Men

“You do what you have to do, and so will I. Let’s see who is going to get you out of that disgusting jumpsuit and back home where you belong,” I advise adamantly.

“What are you talking about?” he questions suspiciously.

“You can’t stay here, James. Both you and I know you weren’t built to be incarcerated. You need the wind in your face and the sun on your back. This place and thesenormalswill steal it away from you,” I sneer.

“Normals?You mean people? Haven’t heard you say that word in a long time,” he counters, crossing his arms over his chest and scrutinizing my every detail. “You haven’t done anything stupid, have you? Like, oh, I don’t know, take a trip to talk to people who may want to see you dead?” he adds, his quirked eyebrow now high on his forehead.

I lean back in my seat and mimic his statuesque, disapproving form in reply. He leans closer to the table, with little amusement in his dark brown eyes.

“Don’t do it. Not even for me, Selene. Don’t go to Chicago,” he pleads, and my eyes cringe at the sides at his aversion to my past life.

“I already did,” I deadpan with no remorse whatsoever.

“Sweet baby Jesus. You really are fixin’ for a game day, aren’t ya?” he scolds, eyes wide in fear. “They’ll murder, ya! Is that what you want? Leave me to mourn another death and—”

“Enough!” I shout and immediately bite my lip as my outburst gains unwanted attention from one of the guards. I produce a sweet, fake smile at the beady-eyed man and gather my composure to the placid, well-mannered, southern lady they believe me to be.

James looks thunderous in his worry, but I have little time for that as the bell rings, announcing the end of this short visit. He gives me another hug, this one tighter than his first, revealing just how anxious he feels.

“I’m fine, Beautiful. Trust me. I’m a big boy. I can take care of myself in here. Don’t do anything you may come to regret later. Okay?” he whispers in my ear, and I give him a small, rigid nod in reply.

I watch him return to his iron-barred cage, resolved in going through with my original plan, no matter how upsetting it is to him.

Although James wants me to let the legal system take its course, I know the evidence against him is too incriminating for any judge or jury to reach a ‘not guilty’ verdict. James has faith in the good guys and that they will do their jobs to clear his name.

Me?

I have a feeling only evil men will be able to help me get James home.

No matter the costs, I will end this nightmare one way or another.

Nine

Vincent

“Mr. Romano you have a visitor,” Lourdes, my housekeeper, informs me.

“Show them in,” I state, not looking up from my tablet screen, too preoccupied with the recent numbers that Antoine has sent me to care whichmade mannow needs my undivided attention.

There isn’t a day that goes by without some asshole coming up to my house in search of a one-on-one with thecapo dei capito discuss their grievous concerns on the war I want to ensue on New York. Sometimes I think I should listen to Giovanni’s jesting suggestion of whacking the whole lot of them. The code prevents me—of course—but that doesn’t mean I’m not growing tired of their cowardly antics.

My uncle must be rolling in his grave with the despicable show of gutlessness exhibited by his formercommilitoni.Greedymade men, who are way past their prime, yet they do not want to step down from their ruling position and give their seats to younger and more worthy mafia blood. I have begun to understand why my uncle was so adamant in retiring at a certain age. He already knew what I’ve only now begun to realize. In the Outfit, there is no room for the tired and weak-willed; only the young and fearless. While old men dread being introduced to the devil, the young laugh in his face.

A few minutes later, I’m interrupted once again from my analysis, with a light knock on my study’s door. Unfortunately, instead of the bothersome visitor I was expecting, an even less desirable guest stands at its threshold.

Selene is ushered into my sanctuary with shy smiles from my housekeeper. Her hair is slightly wet from the latest fall of Chicago snow. Lourdes takes her coat, revealing skin-tight clothes clinging to her, showcasing new curves she didn’t hold when she was younger. The change is both pleasing to the eye and a foul reminder to the heart, of the years she robbed from us.

“I see you finally remembered your manners and used the front door this time. Progress,” I remark critically and watch Selene gnaw at her lower lip, preventing herself from the snarky comeback that must be lodged in her throat.

Progress indeed.

“Lourdes, fetch our guest a towel before she wets my ten-thousand-dollar rug any further, will you?” I order, seemingly annoyed.

“Right away, Mr. Romano,” Lourdes answers back quickly, and I shift my stare back to my iPad, unperturbed with the silence in the room while we wait for my housekeeper’s return.

“Thank you,” Selene replies gratefully to the older woman in my staff and uses the towel to dry up her long blond hair. The change of hair color is a travesty she must have done in the attempt to conceal her identity. Thinking of the lengths she went to, in order to keep us all stupidly unaware of her whereabouts, irks me to no end.

“Do you need anything else, Mr. Romano? Some hot tea perhaps? For you and Miss…” Lourdes begins to ask.

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