Each time, he was left wanting more. Craving it harder than the devil in his veins craved blood.
And he’d articulated it in the worst text message in the history of text messages. He’d wanted to die when he’d read it back the next morning. hopefly. mbe the wek after if wrk stays crezy. Damn. He might as well have sent hieroglyphics. Maybe Benito thought so too. Either way, he hadn’t replied.
Mickey’s Ford Focus ate up the miles. He ditched the motorway at junction thirteen and drove into Bletchley.
Barnfield Court loomed in the distance. The sight of it made his stomach clench. Always did. As tower blocks went, it was far from the worst Mickey had known in this life and the one he tried to forget, but there was something about this one, an ominous fog he couldn’t shake.
He parked outside and jogged up the grimy stairs to the De Luca flat.
The daughter was sitting on the landing, her back to the shiny front door, face drawn and tear-streaked. “You came.”
“I did.” Mickey crouched to her level, keeping his distance. “If someone had answered the phone when I called back, I’d have told them.”
“That was my phone. I’m not allowed to answer private numbers.”
“Fair enough. That’s a good rule. Is your brother here?”
“He went to get the money.”
“Where from?”
“I don’t know.”
“What about your mum? Will she talk to me? Even if your brother makes a payment today, she still needs to agree to a recovery plan.”
The girl’s eyes reddened. “She’s in her bedroom. She won’t come out. You have to speak to my brother.”
“I can do that. Do you know how long he’s going to be?”
“No.”
“Okay.” Mickey sat back on his heels, considering his options. The landing was cold and draughty and no place for a kid to be hanging out with him—an adult she barely knew. “Look, I said you could have until five, so I’m going to wait until then for your brother to come back, but you need to go inside and wait with your mum, all right? Where it’s safe and warm.”
“It’s safe out here.”
“I’d feel better if you went inside.”
“I don’t want to.”
Mickey sighed. “Okay. Well, at least tell me your name—”
“It’s Gianna.”
“All right, Gianna. Go tell your mum I’m here, so she can decide if she wants you hanging out on the landing with me.”
“She won’t care.”
“Tell her anyway.”
Rolling her eyes, Gianna stood and unlocked the front door. She pushed it open, giving Mickey his first glimpse of the De Luca flat in months. The narrow gap gifted him the perfect view of clean white walls and spotless floors, and he breathed a subtle sigh of relief. Inspecting the property was next on his list after securing the rent, but he’d put off forcing the issue for months, trusting his gut that Mrs De Luca was as house-proud as she’d always been, even if she allowed no one to see her home. If he was wrong about everything else, at least he’d called that right.
Stifling a sigh, Mickey scooted to the top step of the landing and leant against the metal banister. Truth be told, he wasn’t that sad about dodging a trip to London and back before his work week could end, but he was tired, his brain more than his body, and his monthly sit-downs with Dom always set him straight again. Dom was softer than Isha, and it made Mickey feel better about his own bleeding heart. Am I fucking this up?
“I brought you coffee.”
Mickey blinked. Gianna had returned with a steaming mug of black coffee. He cupped his hands around it and took a deep sniff. “Wow. Thanks. You didn’t have to do that. Did you tell your mum I was here?”
“She’s asleep. I think she took some of her tablets.”
“Some?”
“Two. That’s the dose.”
“What tablets are they?”
“I don’t know. She says they’re for her nerves, but she hasn’t been to the doctor since last year. I googled the name, but I can’t remember what it said.”
Mickey absorbed that, filing it away for investigation later. The council would be easier to negotiate with if he could plead a mental health issue, but he could only do that with Mrs De Luca’s permission. Which meant talking to her, something he’d failed spectacularly at for so long it had come to camping out on the landing with a young child. “Is there anything else?” he pressed carefully. “Anything that would help your mum for me to know? If she’s unwell, perhaps her GP could write her a letter?”
“I already told you she won’t go to the doctor.” Gianna flashed him a scowl that could make grown men cry. “You need to talk to my brother.”
“Could you maybe call him? Ask him how long he’ll be?”
“I did. He didn’t answer. Maybe he’s driving.”
Mickey let it go and sat back against the banister again, sipping the rocket-fuel coffee Gianna had brought him. The caffeine bulldozed the fog from his brain, leaving jittery fingers in its place. He scrolled through his phone to keep them busy, scanning the news and Spotify playlists. Trying to build his own gave him a different kind of headache, but it was something to do.
Gianna sat by her front door, guarding and glaring. She was fierce, a lioness. In different circumstances, Mickey might’ve smiled, but there was no humour here. Not until her mythical brother made an appearance with enough cash to send Mickey away.
How much is enough?
Thirty minutes later, when footsteps finally sounded on the stairs below, he still had no idea.
Gianna scrambled to her feet and dashed to the banister, leaning so far over Mickey was scared she’d fall.
“Whoa.” Mickey stood too. “Don’t do that. We’ll see soon enough if it’s him.”
Gianna ignored him and ducked under his outstretched arm to pelt down the stairs. Bemused, Mickey followed, keeping tabs on her dark hair as she flew to the next landing.
He heard the impact of her body hitting another before he saw the tall figure she’d collided with.
Gianna locked her slender arms around the man’s neck. He was wearing Yeezy trainers and Nike sweatpants. He had strong arms, tattooed skin, and dark hair, just like his sister. And the familiarity was more than that. More than the disbelief and incredulity. More than the leaden, painful scrape of Mickey’s heart as Gianna’s brother set her on her feet and raised his gaze.
No. It can’t be. But as molten eyes found Mickey’s, hooded with the flat kind of despair that came with whatever mountain he’d climbed to get here, there was no mistaking the chiselled, unshaven jaw Mickey had committed to memory. The high cheekbones and killer shoulders. The bewildered scowl that cut Mickey to the bone.
Fuck. Mickey marbleised, frozen in place, gaze flitting between Benito’s stricken confusion and the muddy envelope clutched in his hand. Did he get that from a fucking swamp? It made as much sense as Benito’s sudden presence in the stairwell.
A thudding beat of silence drowned them, closing in the grimy walls. Benito’s free hand curled slowly into a fist. Chaos reached his dark stare, matching the riot in Mickey’s brain. He drew back from Gianna and pulled her behind him, lips curling into a sneer. “Gonna ask you this once, then it’s fucking on. The fuck are you doing here, man?”