Elect

Chapter Forty-five Phoenix

I knew something was wrong the minute Tony answered the phone. “Yes?” He was too calm, too patient, not his usual self.

“So we doing this or what?” I snapped.

“Patience,” Tony chuckled. “Don’t you just love when everything goes according to plan?”

“I freaking live for it. Seriously. Oh look, I almost shit my pants with happiness at your excitement.”

“You’re a pain in the ass, you know that?”

“Yeah, well.” I rolled my eyes and managed to keep my tone even. “It’s my marker; what can I say?”

Tony was silent for a minute and then said quickly, “My house. We’ll meet there and do the exchange.”

“If you double-cross me—”

“You’re the one getting the better end of the deal. My silence. My loyalty. And my money. You’ll shut the hell up if you know what’s good for you.”

I laughed.

“What’s so funny?” Tony snapped.

“You.”

“Don’t push me, boy, or I’ll—”

“Do nothing. That’s right. Nothing. You may have the money, you may pull the strings, and you may think I’m a dumbass puppet, but I have one thing you don’t.”

“What’s that?”

“Every damn card stacked against you. So if I were you, I’d start talking a little nicer before I rain a hellstorm on your freaking parade.”

I hung up the phone then threw it across the room.

Luca clapped behind me. “Well played. Perhaps I do have use for you in my family.”

I shook my head. “More family is the last thing I need.”

“Redemption.” Luca’s eyes narrowed. “Would be a first.”

“How the hell do you redeem the damned, Luca? A shit’s still a shit even when you put a rose on it.”

“And blood is thicker than life.” Luca slowly lifted his cigar to his mouth and took a puff. “You may say you don’t want a family, you may say you want out, but you’re forgetting one tiny thing.”

I looked away, hoping he wouldn’t go on.

“I. Own. You.”

“Everything ready?” Nixon said as he came into the room.

I quickly hid my expression and shrugged. “Of course.” My eyes darted to Luca and he gave a slight nod. “Everything’s going perfectly according to plan.”

“Good.” Nixon’s mouth relaxed as he took a seat in the chair and looked at his phone again. I knew what he was doing; he was memorizing her face. Hell, if I had a girl I’d be doing the same damn thing. Made men were no different from soldiers headed off to war—in the end we all wanted something to fight for—whether it be a pretty girl or a cause. When facing death—every human being needed something that, if the worst happened—would pull them through.

And maybe that’s why I was beginning to feel more terrified than anything—because I knew—I had nobody worth pulling for, and it hurt like hell.