Page 75 of The Butcher's Wife
“No,” she says, like she can hear my thoughts. “Don’t bother him anymore. You already did plenty. I need to know why you went and threatened him.”
I shrug. “I was following up for you. That’s what I’m here for,reginetta. I back you up.”
“No,” she repeats with more force and drops the snips on the table. I’d guess she spoke with Neil this morning and has been letting anger fester the entire day until I got home. “You didn’t back me up. I had it handled. What you did was undercut me.”
“Is he not giving you back the deposit?”
“We live in a penthouse. I spend the same amount on his deposit onflowersevery day! Would you have even noticed if I paid for his deposit with the card you gave me?”
“I already said you could spend whatever?—”
“So then money is not the problem. The problem is that I had a solution. Neil is broke. I was going to buy him a piano, and he was going to play at the party. He didn’t need to return the deposit. We had an arrangement worked out, but instead of getting to call Valeria up and let her know I took something off her plate, I had to spend the entire morning calming Neil down and promising him that no, myhusbandwouldn’t break into his apartment and chop off all his fingers!”
Ridiculously, it’s the thought that she was consoling that fucking kid all day that has me folding my arms across my chest. She shouldn’t have had to waste her time fixing something I took care of for her, and she definitely shouldn’t have had to emotionally coddle another man because of me.
“I wanted to help you?—”
“Threatening some poor kid with violence isn’t helping.”
That’swhere the line is? Was I supposed to read her fucking mind?
“Where was all this morality when I had Mikey’s life in my hands? Was it you who told me to hurry up, or am I just imagining that?”
“That’s different, and you know it.”
“Not to me. If a man tries to disrespect you, it’s myjobto fix it.”
“Neil wasn’t—” She sucks in a breath. “I am thankful you protected me from Mikey. You saved me. But I’ve been disrespected by men my entire life, and you being a big, scary badass won’t change that. But you know what? I don’t care. The only man I need to respect me isyou, and last night you showed me that you don’t.”
Shit.
I stand up.
Annetta gives me a look of tired disappointment that buries a knife into the center of my chest. “Going out?”
I want to tell her no, just to prove her wrong, but I need to leave and think. “I’m late. I’ll be back tonight.”
Right on cue, Eduardo steps into the apartment. I stride out and Annetta’s disapproval follows me like a dark cloud.
Sometimes,being a big, scary badass has its downsides.
The councilmember who hasn’t been playing nice with us took one look at me as I stormed into his restaurant tonight, and he promised me the world on a silver platter. Hell, if I’d stayed a moment longer, I’m pretty sure he would have offered me up his brand new BMW, and the onlyreason I didn’t stay to find out was because I’m not in the mood to fuck with people tonight.
I’m in a different kind of mood.
I’ve long since given up wondering if my need to hit things was a learned or born trait, when the answer doesn’t change a thing. I get mad and I punch things, just like dear old dad. Except, unlike dad, I don’t direct my fists at my wife and kids—generally, I prefer a target who hits back.
I park outside my favorite warehouse in Southside. It’s frigid and dark, but it’s Saturday, so there should be at least a few poor bastards inside. Hopefully, at least one of them is stupid enough to help me burn off this excess energy. I need to clear my head before I go back to Annetta.
My boots crunch across the gravel as I stride toward the muffled buzz of a crowd. Even in the dark, the lookout tonight—Devin—recognizes me enough to open the door for me without question.
About ninety people face the fighting ring in the center of the warehouse, most of them men and sex workers, watching the two fighters with muted interest. A haze of cigar smoke filters the harshness out of the overhead fluorescents. I take a deep inhale. This is the place I take all the wannabes to see what they’re made of, and when I can’t go to the woods for a week, I come here. I shed my coat in the sudden blast of body heat and scan the crowd for any sign that this might not be a waste of time.
Giovanni Russotto—our newest capo and almost certainly a spy for Turi’s dad—stands a head taller than the rest. He’s gotta be the only guy in the entire place who’s wearing a full suit as he watches the fight, looking like he’s bored out of his mind—which makes sense, given his unsavory reputation as Ottavio’s former right-hand man.
There are about forty people between us, but somehow,the sly bastard must sense that I’m looking at him. He glances in my direction.
The second we lock eyes, I grin and jerk my head toward the ring. For a while, he doesn’t move as the crowd rumbles around us. Then he lifts one shoulder in aeh, fuck itgesture.
