John smiled slyly. “How’s that Haven thing working out for you?”
Andino smirked right back. “Yeah, I get it, John.”
“But yeah, I am, Andi.”
Messed up on her.
Andino knew that feeling.
Right now, he knew it too well.
“I guess nothing else matters, then,” Andino said.
“Nothing?” John asked.
“I’m just here to help you, man.”
John nodded. “All right.”
Only time would tell, though.
Andino knew that, too.
• • •
Two weeks told Andino a lot.
More than he ever wanted to know, frankly.
John was not getting better—he was far worse.
Ignoring the mid-February cold biting at his throat, Andino tightened the collar on his jacket, and climbed the steps of a familiar home. He’d been tailing John for two weeks, keeping a low profile to make sure his cousin didn’t know he was essentially babysitting him from afar, and then it came to a head.
It started with John’s … thing.
His girlfriend, Siena.
She finally thought something was wrong, too—Andino was quick to offer help even though he’d been watching John for a while and already knew that his cousin was slipping further into a manic spiral. And then yesterday?
Oh, Jesus Christ.
Yesterday, he watched his cousin beat a man to death in the back alley behind a billiards club. That was it for Andino—he cleaned the mess, and hid what John had done, but this was too much, now.
Andino needed help.
He couldn’t handle John alone.
Usually when he entered his parents’ home, the first person he would look for was his mother. He liked to greet her first, and make sure she had his attention for a bit before he went looking for his father.
Today, he went right upstairs.
He didn’t even look for Kim.
Andino found his father reading a book in his office. Giovanni lounged on a leather couch that he’d kept for at least twenty fucking years—the damn thing looked twenty fucking years old, too with all its faded, roughed spots, and frayed edges. Yet, his father loved it for some reason.
Gio didn’t even look up at Andino’s entrance. “Afternoon to you, son.”
“I have a problem.”