Page 87 of His Pet

LORENZO

Isquint my eyes at my parents’ empty driveway before pulling in. Their cars are always parked in the garage, but it still seems off to me that I would be the first one here.

Where is Settimo?

Colter?

Carmen?

Anyoneof my damn cousins?

Ma sent the same text to Anthony and I, so I know at least Settimo must have gotten one. His office is ten minutes closer to our childhood home.

Something is wrong. I can sense it. It’s worse than my dad being sick.

What if it’s Settimo?

I turn off the ignition to Joe’s Lincoln and go to reach for my phone in my pocket but hesitate. My fingers itch to grab my gun, and I don’t know why.

I push away the inclination and get out of the car. I don’t rush up the walkway but take slow, confused steps, peering at the windows. I can’t see inside, which is odd. Ma always has the curtains open during the day.

My hand twitches, wanting to go for the gun again. The hairs on my arms are raised. My heart beats faster.

I bend and slide my hand up my pant leg, but instead of grabbing the gun from my holster, I grab my knife. I slide it into my shirt sleeve, the blade flat against my pulse point. There’s no sense in worrying my mother with a gun drawn.

I knock on the door and hear someone yell before abruptly going silent.

Settimo?

Before I have a chance to make sense of it, the door opens and Ma stands on the other side. Tears slide down her face and create black inky smudges below her eyes where her mascara runs.

She covers a hand over her mouth and shakes her head.

“Ma?” I ask, trying to look behind her.

She lets out a sob, and a gun cocks. Someone I don’t recognize opens the door further to reveal himself with a gun pointed at my mother’s head.

“Come in, Lorenzo,” he says, calmly.

I eye his blond hair and pale complexion, concealing my surprise the best that I can. I don’t know this man. My mind runs fast, but I can’t think of who he is, and therefore, what he wants.

“Get that gun off my mother. Now,” I say, my voice icy. My body has frozen up, my walls have raised, and if you’d look at me, you’d think you were seeing quiet rage. But that isn’t what this is. It’s fear. I almost forgot what this felt like, but now I’m feeling it down to my core.

My father deserves to die.

My brother deserves to die.

Ideserve to die.

But my mother? No. I’ve done unspeakable things, as have the rest of the men in my family, but Ma is a fucking saint.

He raises his brows as if to challenge me. “You’re not giving the commands anymore, Gruco. Get in the fucking house.”

I stare him down but don’t move.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Nico, get out of the way,” a familiar voice sneers. Nico nudges Ma back with the gun and Valentine appears with a girl struggling in his headlock.

Mygirl.

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