Page 45 of My Cruel Salvation

The old man chuckles. “Alejandro swore he’d avenge his stepmother. I’d say he’s come through on that promise. Didn’t realize you were still alive after taking care of that. Glad to see you turned out to be a slippery eel instead of a dumbfuck kid with eyes bigger than his stomach.” He grins again. “I was always rooting for you. Glad to see you won.”

“Won?” Devlin asks. “It’s hard to know. She’s still dead. So are a lot of women by his hand who deserved a hell of a lot better. Men, too. Good people who just wanted a life out from under The Wolf’s thumb.”

“And did you come out here to clip me, too?”

I feel the increased pressure of Devlin’s hand on my back, but that’s his only reaction. “No,” he says. The word is calm. Easy. And I realize that I’ve never witnessed Devlin like this before. He’s walking a tricky line, playing it cool like he is. I trust Devlin’s instincts, but for all we know, the guy could press a call button and a van full of armed commandoes could swoop in, demanding Devlin return what they lost and he gained when The Wolf died.

It’s not a scenario I want to play out, and I study the man’s face, looking for any sign that the affection for Devlin I hear in his voice reflects reality.

The man picks up the cigar, then takes a long puff, his eyes never leaving Devlin. He blows out the smoke slowly, then finally speaks. “Then why did you come? Helluva long way from your neck of the woods. And it sure don’t look like you’re selling Girl Scout Cookies”

Devlin removes his hand from my back, then twines his fingers with mine. “I came to tell you I’m sorry.”

“For killing your old man? I’m not someone you need to be apologizing to. Would have done it myself if I’d had the cajones.”

“Who says I killed the bastard?”

The corner of Mr. Giatti’s mouth curls up. “Well, I guess it ain’t you saying it, huh? I’m not wired. You should know me better than that.”

“I know you. That’s why I wanted to see you. You were one of the good ones. You’re still one of the good ones.”

“And you’re the one that got away,” Mr. Giatti says. “Disappeared right off the map. Turned into someone else.”

“I’m still me.”

The old man looks at Devlin’s eyes. “Yeah. Guess you are at that. You don’t have to apologize for leaving. Hell, I woulda bloodied your nose if you risked staying even a minute longer just for the sentimental crap. Don’t you dare be sorry.” He draws a breath, then licks dry, cracked lips. “You want to apologize, you do it for making me shed tears. I thought you were dead, boy.”

“Sorry to disappoint.” I see the grin twitch at the corner of Devlin’s mouth.

“Ah, hell.” The older man starts to laugh, but it turns into a phlegmy stutter. “Well, anyway, apology accepted. Now you want to tell me why you’re really here?”

“Gossip,” Devlin says flatly. “I hear things. And one thing I hear is that you’re still paying attention. I want to know how much blowback I’m looking at.”

“For being The Wolf’s son, come back from the dead like a filthy rich Lazarus? Or for killing Anna Lindstrom?

Devlin grimaces. There’d never been any suggestion in the press coverage that Devlin Saint had done anything that night other than save the life of his girlfriend. Namely, me. But now that everyone knows that the blood of The Wolf flows in those veins, are folks going to try to rewrite history? Maybe suggest that there was something more nefarious going on than unrequited love and Anna’s attempt to get rid of the competition.

It’s a real possibility, and I listen eagerly for what Giatti has to say.

“Could be either,” Mr. Giatti says. “But a lot of folks know Anna wasn’t so stable where men were concerned. Never was as a girl, anyway. Can’t imagine she changed much after moving off the compound.”

“What about her father? Is he going to be sniffing around?”

Devlin and I have talked a lot about Anna since that night, and I know that her father and The Wolf were close. If he’s still alive, he might well be inclined to search out and punish Devlin. Probably by killing me.

An eye for eye. As far as I’m concerned, that seems to be the theme of everyone who walks in this world.

Mr. Giatti looks directly at me as he answers Devlin. “He’s not a threat. Cancer got him. He’s on his yacht with a nurse and an IV of morphine. You got no trouble from that direction.”

“Then what direction should I be looking?”

“That’s a hard question, Alejandro, and you damn well know it. You didn’t take over Daddy-O’s business, but you’re living off his money.”

“No. I’m not.”

“Eh. Maybe. Maybe not. But it’s still money they couldn’t lay their hands on. But there’s the man who killed their boss profiting off patricide, or at least it looks that way. Not a way to win friends. I’d have to say a lot of them would be pissed off.”

Mr. Giatti shrugs. “Then again, a lot of them are dead. The ones who went on and tried to build up their own little fiefdoms? They all seem to be getting picked off. Either by in-fighting or hush-hush government operations, or by I don’t know what.”