Page 17 of Unbroken (Russo Mafia)

“No, I’ll be fine. I’ll see you later. Have a good night.” He waves goodbye, shortly after my car pulls up.

When I walk into the bar, I’m searching for Scar. It’s already crowded in here. I finally find her sitting in a booth at the back, already drinking her girly drink. I’m going to need something stronger than that.

I sit down, startling her. “Hey chickie. How was work?”

“Girl, don’t even get me started. Sometimes I wonder why I became a lawyer.” She huffs, then takes a huge swing of her drink.

“That bad? I know you love it don’t even lie.”

A server comes by, and I place my drink order.

“I have a well-known client, so it’s a lot to handle at the moment, so I’m stressing more than I should be, so this night is well deserved. But enough about me. You're finally back!”

“I only wish it was under better circumstances you know?”

She gives me a small smile. “I know Hun, but I’m sure your dad will beat this shit he has you cheering him on.”

A sense of dread rolled through the pit of my stomach. What if he didn’t beat this? What if he somehow got worse without us knowing. Cancer can spread viciously and silently. I bite the inside of my lip with worry. When I called earlier, he was getting home and was making something to eat. That’s a good sign that he wasn’t out all-night working.

“You know, he’s strong and all. He’s stubborn like an ox and it worries me sometimes.”

“I get that, obviously. Charlie, you need to live your life still. He wouldn’t want you to worry about him all the time. He still wants you to get out there and be free.” She reaches out and takes my hand.

“I’m trying. Let’s keep drinking. No more of this talk.”

Boy, did we drink. I can’t remember calling an Uber or walking into my place. This hangover that I’m sporting is going to remind me not to drink on a work night. Dear lord I’m in a world of hurt today. I have got to talk to Dad about that file I found. If anything, he’ll know who he is. I hate asking Dad about work related things. He’ll appreciate me coming to him.

When I get to work, I call Dad.

“Hey pumpkin, what’s wrong?”

“Nothing why?”

“Well, you rarely call me from work that’s why?”

Oh, balls. “I didn’t mean to worry you. I have a name for you to run in your fancy data base I know you're itching to use.”

He laughs. “Lay it on me.”

“It’s Vincent Buratti.”

It’s silent. I check to see if I lost service. “Dad?”

“I’m here,” he said, in a cold voice. “Forget about that name. Do you hear me?”

“Why? He’s one of my clients.”

“Drop him, he’s no good. Hear me. I don’t care what you do. Drop him.” Then he hangs up.

What the hell does that mean? He’s no good? Usually, Dad would explain things to me. He didn’t even ask questions. Then the name dawns on me.

Oh fuck.

I’m finishing some work up when a light gentle tap comes on my bedroom door. I smile because there is only one person in this house that knocks like that.

“Come in, baby.”

She comes bouncing in. “Daddy, I’m bored. Can we go do something?” She climbs into bed with me. I curl her under my arm.

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