Page 195 of King of Pain
The shift is slow but unmistakable. His mouth goes slack. The color drains from his face until he’s pale as chalk, his eyes wide with a terror I’ve never seen in him before. He doesn’t say another word.
He just... listens.
Then, without a word, he lowers the phone from his ear. He drops onto the couch and stares ahead, frozen in place.
“Ant?” I scramble off the couch and onto the floor and slide between his knees so I can see his face. “Ant, what is it? What happened? Who was that?”
Nothing.
Just vacant eyes. Hollow. Haunted.
I start rubbing his legs, trying to bring him back. “Baby, you have to talk to me. Who was that?”
His eyes finally shift. They find mine.
“Father Tommy Klass,” he whispers.
My stomach twists.
“What? Wait—he’s...?” I trail off.
Ant nods once. “He was the main one. The first one to do anything. The one who offered me to others.” His voice cracks, just a whisper now. “The one who hit me with his car.”
My vision scrambles and my blood burns hot with rage, but I keep it on a tight leash. For him. Fornow.
I squeeze his thighs gently. “Ant. What did he say? How did he even get your number?”
He lets out a humorless scoff, cold and bitter. “You think the groups you run with have resources? There’s no bigger mob in the world than the Catholic church.”
He’s not wrong.
“I guess I shouldn’t be surprised,” I say. “But, Ant, I need to know what he said.”
He looks down at his lap. He won’t meet my eyes.
“He said... ‘Don’t do it, Little Tony.’”
I wait. There’s more. I can feel it.
“And then he said... ‘We have eyes everywhere, Little Tony. Stay silent or everything you love will perish.’” His voice drops to a broken whisper. “Then he hung up.”
The dam bursts.
Ant shudders and sobs, shoulders shaking uncontrollably as he falls apart right in front of me. I crawl up onto the couch and pull him into my chest, wrapping my arms around him.
“Shh. I got you,” I whisper. “No one’s coming near you. I promise you that.”
I rock him, holding him through the storm.
An hour later his breathing evens out and he mumbles, “Let’s just go to bed.”
“Okay,” I say gently, and release him before standing up. “I’m going to take Guinness out. Will you be alright for a few?”
He nods, hollow, and walks toward the bedroom. I press my lips to the top of his head as he passes.
I grab Guinness’s leash and clip him in. “Come on, Little G.”
We take the elevator down, the building’s quiet echoing in my ears. The air outside is cool against my skin as I lead Guinness to the right, toward the corner of the building.
