“That may not be possible.”
“It has to be. You have to make it possible. Every part of me wants to be with you. Here…” She picks my right hand off the table and presses my fingers flat. “Swear it. Say, ‘I, Dario Lucari, being of sound mind and body…’”
“My body’s just ‘sound’ to you?” I can’t help but laugh. Maybe I’ll make her beg for my cock before I beg for her hand.
“Say it!” She’s serious, but also trying not to smile.
“I, Dario Lucari,” I repeat, pushing my plate away so I can lean over the table. “Being of sound mind and pretty fucking effective body…”
“… do solemnly swear…”
“… do solemnly swear…” I draw my free hand down her throat, teasing the skin I’ll taste after this little performance.
“… that from this day forth…”
“… that from this day forth…” I push the neck of her robe aside so I can mark with touch the places my tongue will go.
“… to not intentionally hurt or damage anyone.”
“Interesting you say both hurt and damage.”
“I’m making it up as I go. So say it. ‘… to not intentionally…’”
The diamond solitaire is a rock in my pocket.
I will get it on her finger, then fuck her on the floor.
“… to not intentionally hurt or damage anyone unless they’re a threat to you, in which case I will gut them and not even feel bad about it.”
“Dario!” She lets go of my right hand.
“Now I want you…” As I push her robe off one shoulder, my phone buzzes on the counter. I ignore it. “To pledge something to me.”
The buzz is followed by two more. Not the usual pattern. Not Nico’s buzz, but one I set to demand my attention.
I take my hands off her body and lean forward to kiss her lips. They taste like maple syrup.
My first order of business is protecting her, so I pull away. The ring will have to wait.
“You’d better get in the shower before Willa gets here.”
She’s halfway up the stairs when I pick up the phone, and I’m forced to forget about the ring.
CHAPTER 24
DARIO
Horror exists. You can read about it every day, or you can see it up close. A shaking Colonia woman you pick up on the corner of 65th and Second, with her worldly possessions in her husband’s duffel bag, can tell you about horror in the front seat of the car, sobbing while you say “there, there,” and biting back rage so you can rush her to someone who can actually help her.
Horror is a story you tell yourself when you feel safe. You pretend you’ve experienced it, and maybe you have—in some form—but the potential for worse is always fulfilled.
Even the horror-stricken can experience horror. It’s always new. Always fresh. It can find an unwounded place on the soul—a place where only a story might have existed—and pierce it with experience.
Horror starts out looking like a normal street on a normal day. It looks like going around the block a few times, looking for a parking spot when you’re actually double-checking for spies and traps.
“And the sheriff’s department left just like that.” Connor’s question is a statement wrapped up in suspicion. He drives.
I crane my neck to see around every corner. “NYPD says they’re gone. Colonia too. Can’t guarantee there aren’t stragglers or booby traps. But the street looks clear. Agreed?”
“Aye.”
“Pull into the parking lot.” I look out the rear window and wave to the car behind me.
“The cops do their job and check for said booby traps?”
“I talked them out of it.” I turn back to the front. “Whatever the Colonia left behind is my problem.”
The site being abandoned is an invitation to return, and we’ve RSVP’d yes. There’s a trap here, or a message, or just four floors trashed for a week and a half.
“Us first,” I say to Connor when he parks. “I want to make sure we’re clear.”
Four cars have pulled in behind us. My guys get out after Connor and I do. Each one’s been touched by Colonia violence. All of them want to be here and are fiercely loyal to the cause against that organization. That’s the benefit of operating with a motive greater than profit.
“The blokes will follow on our signal.” The elevator doors slide open. Conner checks it and holds open the door so I can join him. When the doors close, he says, “The other day, in your fucking suburban garage…”
“Forget about it.”
“I wasn’t trying to have a go at you.”
He’s not going to just accept forgiveness for definitely and unequivocally having a fucking go at me. Damn tenacious, this guy.
With an eyebrow raised in disbelief, I throw his lingo back at him with the full weight of my New York accent. “You were mad as a cut snake.”
“That I was, mate. That I was.”
“Feeling better?”
“Sure am.”
“Keep it that way.”
There’s no need to speak of the time he tried to strangle me ever again.
“It’s going to be a disaster area,” I say when the elevator slows.
“I expect arse piss on the walls.”
“What is that?” I turn to him.
“What comes out when you eat a dodgy fish.”
“Right.” I face front as the doors open. “You have higher expectations than I do.”
I’m joking because they’re as low as possible.
But that’s a failure of imagination. There’s always a new nightmare waiting.
We clear the three floors of apartments first, and the guys start coming up.
The rooms look better than we anticipated. We track a stink of dead things to a ninth-floor apartment and find an open fridge too warm for the ground beef left inside.
“They got hungry.” Connor shuts the door.
“Must have been some good leftovers.”
“You want to bring a couple of guys with us up to the penthouse?”
My floor won’t be this clean. I know it from the fact that they found Nico’s spare ID packet.
And there’s the greenhouse.
“Pick two with strong stomachs.”
Conner doesn’t go right away. All he does is raise an eyebrow.
“For the ass piss, or whatever. Guarantee you at least one of them shit on my pillow.”
He leaves, and I go right up the stairs without them. Whatever’s up there, I’ll handle. Tripwires. Ambushes. Booby traps. Maybe I’ll clear the greenhouse too, before they head up.
The hallway is empty. The double doors to my office are open.
So much has happened in this hallway. I begged Sarah to open a blocked door. Kissed her. Invited her into my apartment.
The office has been ransacked. Papers everywhere. Cords ripped out of the walls. Phones thrown.
At my feet, a lone postcard from St. Easy. I pick it up and flip it over.
Dearest Dario—
You should see the beautiful girls here… and they’d love to see you. All my love