Page 49 of The Enforcer
Nova told him to fuck off with his questions.
Which meant it probablydidaffect it.
That seemed like a really fucked-up trade-off to being a genius, but right now, Tino would give up jacking off for the rest of his life if he could have Nova’s pain tolerance.
He seriously hoped his brother was acting and doing a spectacular job of it as Nova dropped his head to the ground. He fisted both hands in his hair, like everything in him wanted to protect himself.
Tino was watching his face, but when he started sobbing, biting his shirt so hard a red stain blossomed on the white material, Tino looked away.
It was a street thing.
Not to acknowledge it. To give him the space so they could pretend later Tino didn’t see it, but looking away meant he saw his back.
Oh fuck.
Screw street cred.
Tino’s father was going to beat him to death.
There was something about that buckle and the way he did it that was cutting Nova. There weren’t welts on Nova’s back. There was blood. Lots of it. Tino didn’t know if Nova was sobbing from the pain, or from the knowledge that Tino was going to die from this shit.
What sort of candy-coated, edited-for-television world had Tino been living in that let him survive without considering what went into his father being underboss of the largest crime family in the country?
What the fuck was Nova thinking to throat punch him?
And what the hell had Romeo been thinking to keep them in New York?
They should’ve all run to fucking Siberia to avoid this motherfucker. He was second in charge of the fucking mafia.
The rip-people-apart-with-blowtorches mafia.
Not like they had some golden seal of approval from the church like Carina that made Frankie fucking obligated by God to keep her alive.
They were bastards.
They were expendable.
Tino in particular.
But Romeo had been so worried about Nova.
So fucking bothered over the idea of him getting involved with something criminal.
And Nova had been so caught up in saving Romeo once he did go down. So mad his brother had gone to jail he throat punched a mafia underboss.
Tino wanted to run; he really did and it must have shown, because one of the guys behind him said, “Don’t. It’ll make it worse.”
Worse?
Was he fucking joking?
Tino was already willing to sign up for the third option.
The put-a-bullet-in-Tino’s-brain option.
“Come on, Frankie.” The same guy groaned, as if he was taking personal offense. “It’s Sunday. I don’t wanna kill a kid on Sunday. Can we get it over with?”
“Fine. Hold him.” Frankie stopped hitting Nova and fisted his hair, jerking his head back again. “You move. You take that shirt out of your mouth. You do anything but lie there and watch, I’ll double it. Got it, champ?”
