Page 16 of My Best Friend Is Broken
Something shifts in Dante’s eyes. A new note of seriousness. “I didn’t realize the boy was under your protection.”
The implication hits me hard. The word ‘protection’ carries weight in our world. It’s a claim, a boundary, a line drawn in blood.
“He is,” I say firmly.
Dante nods slowly, his expression thoughtful. “I see.” He straightens his coat again, all business now. “Midnight, then. Don’t disappoint me.”
He heads for the door, pausing only to look back over his shoulder.
“And Nicolo? Next time I won’t be so understanding.”
The door closes behind him with a soft click that sounds like a coffin lid slamming shut.
I stand there for a long moment, my heart pounding so hard I’m sure Liam can hear it. When I finally turn around, he’s gone.
“Liam?”
Silence.
I find him in his bedroom, curled up in the far corner with his knees drawn to his chest. He’s shaking so violently the whole bed is vibrating.
“Hey,” I say softly, sitting on the edge of the mattress. “He’s gone. It’s okay.”
“Who was that?” His voice is muffled against his knees, but I can hear the tears in it.
I close my eyes. There’s no point in lying anymore. “His name is Dante. He’s... he works with me.”
“Works with you how?”
The question hangs between us like a loaded gun.
“He’s a cleaner,” I say finally. “When things get messy, he... cleans them up.”
Liam’s head lifts, and I see my own reflection in his terrified eyes. “What kind of things?”
I can’t answer that. Won’t answer that.
“The kind of things that can’t be allowed to stay messy,” I whisper.
He stares at me for a long moment, and I watch something die in his expression. The last traces of the boy who used to look at me like I hung the moon.
“You’re not doing boring stuff,” he says. It’s not a question.
“No.”
“You kill people.”
The words hit me like a physical blow. “Liam…”
“Do you kill people, Nicky?” His voice cracks on my name.
I want to lie. I want to tell him it’s not like that, that I just drive the car, that I’m not the one pulling triggers or asking questions. But I can see in his eyes that he already knows the truth.
“Sometimes,” I whisper.
He lets out a sound that might be a sob or might be laughter. It’s the most heartbreaking thing I’ve ever heard.
“I have to go out tonight,” I say. “But I’ll be back. I promise I’ll be back.”
