Page 30 of Rotten Men

“Honestly, I’m not sure anymore,” I reply, scrunching my brow.

“Hmm. I get that,” he counters, his brown eyes showing too much understanding and compassion for my liking.

“I came here to see the man who took away the only woman I ever loved. Thinking I would cuss you out and spit in your face from the mere sight of you, but I don’t feel the rage I thought I would,” I murmur honestly.

“That’s because I didn’t take her away. She left. It was her choice, not mine,” he rebukes, his tone still smooth and commiserating.

“Yeah,” I mumble under my breath. The truth, no matter how much you know it by heart, is never easy to hear coming from someone else’s lips.

“Okay. So if you’re not here to talk smack at me, I’m guessing you might have questions you’d like to ask,” he ventures.

“I do. But I’m not sure I want them answered yet.”

“I get that, too,” he counters, leaning back into his seat and appraising me thoughtfully. “I can tell you this though; Selene came into my life when I most needed it. I was a shell of a man, with no purpose until the day she drove into my garage needing help.”

“So you helped her.”

“Yes, and she rescued me,” he states with no reservations whatsoever. “I could tell she was suffering from the same illness I was so afflicted with—grief. We were both mourning a life we couldn’t have back. She was lost, and so was I. We found each other at our worst. That much I can tell you, Dominic. Is that enough for you?” he asks sincerely, and I nod my head, not wanting to hear how they helped each other mend the pieces of their broken lives. It will only remind me of how we three have never been able to do the same. Not without Selene.

There is a loud buzzing that interrupts my troubled thoughts. James stands up, his smile just as genuine as when he arrived.

“I don’t know how you pulled off getting in here today, with your name not being on the visitor’s list an’ all. But I must say, it was an honor meeting you, Dominic,” he says, stretching out his hand toward me. Without a second thought, I take it and shake his hand, pulling him closer to me.

“Did you do it? Kill your business partner?” I hush in his ear, wanting to know if the man before me is as honorable as he appears to be, or a fabricated con.

“He was my best friend since kindergarten. I would have rather sliced my own throat than lay a finger on him. I’m no saint, Dom. I’ve killed for my country, and I’d kill for my family. But I would never take a life without just cause. Especially someone I cared about,” he exclaims without missing a beat. I hear the truth in his words.

This man is no cold-blooded killer. He’s a savior—one of the good guys.

Ironic how it will be rotten, ruinedmafiososthat will come through for such a heroic man.

Once I leave O’Hare Airport, I flag a cab and tell the driver to take me to the club. Ciro is going to be coming by this afternoon, and I have to act like today has been nothing but business as usual. Don’t want my underboss to know I’ve been away from Chicago since the crack of dawn, meeting Selene’s husband of all people.

Although Ciro was nothing but focused on finding Selene when she disappeared, he has no skin in the game now that she’s returned. Apart from Vince, Gio, and I, the fewer people that know where she is, the better. Of course,The Thornis hardly the first person I’d think of that would run toThe Butcherwith this bit of info, since I know he loathes the bastard as much as we do. Still, loose lips sink ships, and I intend to keep mine shut.

Instinctively, I grab the trinket in my pocket once again, toying with the silver bracelet as delicately as my large hands can muster. Since Selene brought it back to me, I haven’t been able to part from it for too long. I just wish its owner felt the same.

I shake my head, not wanting to dive into those wistful thoughts, so I call Vincent instead, and he answers promptly.

“Is it done?” he questions, without even a greeting.

“Yes. It’s done.”

“And?” he adds.

“He seems legit. Don’t think he is capable of doing what he’s been charged with,” I tell him.

Even if I hadn’t heard the truth in his denial, after a few questions here and there, I knew the cops had grabbed the wrong man. As noble as James seems to be, his late best friend was not. A compulsive gambler, the dirtbag pawned everything he owned and then some, to feed his addiction. Having had an addict for a father, I’m all too familiar with the tells of a guy who would prefer the thrill of a bet, to the loyalty of a friend.

James—being the dignified champion that he appears to be—tried to scare his friend straight in a heated argument once he caught him stealing from him. A dispute witnessed by all the men working in his garage, revealing just how upset James was with the asshole. For his own shitty luck, the very next day the same dirtbag showed up dead in James’ garage, butchered with a screwdriver. The police didn’t even think twice to charge him with the crime. Finding blood on one of his denim work shirts also didn’t help his cause, no matter how many times James said the shirt could have been worn by anyone who had access to his shop.

Tennessee is Bratva territory, and by the way the fucker died, he owed money to the wrong people and was made an example out of it. James was just the fall guy they pinned the job on. Just crappy luck all around.

“Hmm,” Vince hums. “One thing I’ve learned in my life is that men lie, and lie well,” he states matter-of-factly.

“Not this guy. I don’t think he ever told a lie in his life,” I defend but I only get silence in return. “So are we going to help him? Help her?” I finally ask, hoping this time I get a straight answer.

“I’m thinking about it,” Vincent retorts coolly.

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