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A phone vibrated on the bedside. I didn’t recognize the case. “Whose phone is that?”
Lucy sniffed and reached for it. “Miguel’s. He gave it to me to carry since I had a pocket in my hoodie.”
She looked so young for a second that it stole my breath away. Everything I’d done, the countless crappy jobs I’d worked, the sacrifices I’d made – all of it had been to keep her safe and protected from the horrible reality of the world we lived in.
Last night I’d failed.
“You have his phone? Lucy, what if the police are looking for him? They might be able to trace it,” I chastised, fresh fear running through me, waking me up more effectively than any jolt of caffeine could.
“So what? I’m not going to hide what they did to him,” Lucy said defiantly.
I was distracted from arguing with that ridiculous statement by the phone. A number had called nearly twenty times. As I stared at it, a message popped up:Kid. I said I’d give you a chance, and I did. 25k worth of chances. The boss wants to know where the cash is. Give back the product or the proceeds. Clock’s ticking.
I dropped the phone like it was a viper trying to sink its fangs into my wrist. I looked at Lucy. “Did Miguel have drugs on him? Had he been dealing?”
Her watery eyes met mine and then slid to the side.Goddamn it.
“Are you serious right now? You were dating some dealer? Some wannabe gang member? Are you out of your mind?!” I shouted.
“I liked him! I wouldn’t expect you to understand what that’s like,” Lucy shot back.
I flinched, her unexpected barb hitting me in sensitive spots. “Meaning?”
“Meaning not everyone wants to live like a robot and just work, study, work, study, then work some more. Some of us want to live.”
I swallowed my words of disagreement. Hurt spread through my chest. The only reason I worked all the damn time was to keep me and Lucy in relative comfort. Out of habit, my eyes moved to the small alarm clock on Lucy's nightstand.
“I have to go. I have work,” I muttered, aware I was playing right into her accusation but unable to do a damn thing about it. I needed my job, and I loved it. It was my dream, and every day I single-handedly supported us was a triumph for me.
“Stay here. Don’t talk to anyone. Don’t even think about going to the police. Those men we saw, the De Sanctis family, they aren’t playing around. They’re dangerous, and I don’t want us on their radar. Miguel is dead, nothing we do now can change that, except risk joining him.”
My words sounded cold. Lucy stared at me in shock, looking like she'd just discovered that her sister was part demon. It was true, in a way. As her caregiver, I had a single-minded purpose that I’d always prioritize above everything else: Stay alive and keep Lucy alive. It was simple, really. Our survival was what it always boiled down to. I suspected it was the same for everyone, once everything else was stripped away. We were all just rats in a maze, desperately trying to survive.
I left Lucy, taking the damn phone with me. It was a smoking gun, and I didn’t want to leave it with her. I didn’t have time to worry about it right now. I’d worry about it later. It was my usual coping mechanism for things that I had no solution for.
So, it sounded like Miguel had already been working for some higher-up distributor. I wondered where the hell the drugs were, and how far this guy texting Miguel would go to find them.
A shiver of worry moved through me as I left the house and headed toward the bus stop.
2
RENATO
At forty-two, and as the leader of New Jersey's most influential and profitable mafia syndicate, life could get pretty dull sometimes. For that reason, I liked to switch things up a little here and there.
My business flourished by employing a personal touch to keep my clients in line, and it worked well for my men, too. Whether that was torturing information out of someone myself, showing up at a christening to bestow my blessing, or carrying out the odd assassination personally, it paid to be unpredictable in this game.
I was expecting to drop by the warehouse on Clements Drive and see my busy worker bees getting my product ready for distribution. Imagine my surprise at seeing a group of rival cartel members on their knees, surrounded by my armed guards.
Today was turning out to be more fun than I’d expected.
“Atlantic City is a place where you can be whoever you want to be, or so people say.” I perched a hip against a beat-up vintage Chevy sitting in the dark parking lot behind the warehouse. On paper, Renato De Sanctis didn’t own a single thing in AC. In reality, I was closing in on half the strip. The other half was owned by a bunch of billionaires who needed me to clean their money. The casinos I didn’t own, I ran. Making money had always been my talent. Well, that and keeping order.
The man cowering before me worked for the Castillo cartel, a group who was determined to pump illicit chemicals into the casino scene.Mycasino scene. Nobody sold to my clientele except me.
Behind the man, about twenty of his lackeys waited to see what would go down. We’d cornered them along the north shore, far too close to the warehouse where we received some of our shipments. The cartel cockroaches were growing bolder all the time. I’d diligently stamped out every single one I’d uncovered, but I was far from finding the head.
The man before me was sweating. I could smell him. He shifted in his shiny white sneakers that probably cost as much as his rent. Sneakers, at his age. Alas, the old adage was true. Money couldn’t buy class. Or brains, for that matter.
