“Are you saying you’re leaving Miami?” Danny follows Sandy’s lead.
He smiles. “I don’t think this town is big enough for the two of us.” He looks at me. “Or three.”
“Four,” Brad growls from the couch, making Goldie chuckle.
“It’s not,” Danny confirms. “So you’ll be taking the guns you buy from us to . . . where?”
“Many will be sent home. Some will remain with me in New York.”
“New York?” Danny muses. “The Italians have New York.”
“I’m favoring the Italians over The Brit.” His eyebrows rise. “Also, the Mexicans owe me. I can ensure they do not trouble you.” Interesting. “Are we talking or not?”
Danny looks at me.
I knock back my drink. New York is far enough away from me, which means Miami is ours and ours alone.
Normality is looking more and more likely. I nod to Danny as the office door opens and Rose wanders in, looking up. She freezes. “Shit, I’m sorry,” she blurts, backing out. “It can wait.”
“Everything okay, baby?” Danny asks, standing from his chair.
“Yes, I forgot you had a meeting. It’s about—” She pauses, her eyes drop, and she seems to pale.
“Rose?”
She smiles. It’s forced. “It can wait. I’m sorry for disturbing you.” The door is quickly closed, and I look at Danny. His frown is as big as mine.
“I’ll be in touch,” he says to Sandy, his eyes not leaving the door. “Len will see you out.”
45
DANNY
I let Len take over at the door and run up the stairs two at a time. I saw her face. Everyone in that office saw her face. What the fuck’s going on? I steam down the corridor, my walk fast and determined, and push my way into our bedroom. “Rose?” I call, listening.
I hear a noise in the bathroom. I try the handle. Locked. My chest starts to pump. “Rose,” I call through the wood, my ear pressed against it, listening.
“Coming,” she squeaks.
I look at the door incredulously. “Open the fucking door.”
“I’m fine.”
“Open the fucking door, Rose,” I bellow, stress taking over. She’s fucking insulting me. I look over my shoulder when I hear movement, seeing Brad and James in the room with me. “She’s locked herself in the fucking bathroom,” I tell them, banging my fist into the wood. “Open the fucking door!”
“Danny,” Brad says, pacifying, coming to me, leaving James to follow at a slower pace, as a horrible feeling creeps into my bones.
“What’s going on?” Beau bursts into the room, looking between us all. “Where’s Rose?”
“She’s in there.” I smack the door again. “You saw, didn’t you?” I look at Brad. “Her face. You saw it, didn’t you?”
“She looked . . .” Brad glances at James for help. He can’t help him. James saw her face too. It was haunted.
“Is it the baby?” Beau asks, her hand over her mouth. My stress skyrockets as Beau comes to the door too, knocking a little more gently than me. “Rose, come on,” she pleads. “Open the door.”
I’m quickly picking Beau up and placing her to the side, and then I shoulder barge the wood. It pings open on a brief scream of protest and reveals Rose. Sitting in the corner, curled up, her face in her knees. Oh Jesus. My eyes naturally fall to the tile, searching for blood. Not from cuts, but from—
I can’t say it. I rush over and crouch, trying to pull her hands from her face. She’s rocking back and forth, her back hitting the wall constantly. “Rose, baby, please.” I force her hands away. There are no tears. There’s . . . nothing, actually. No expression. Nothing.
It throws me. It throws us all, the room silent as I hold her hands away from her face, searching for something. Anything to tell me what I’m dealing with. “Rose, baby, please talk to me.”
She inhales, so calmly. “That man,” she says quietly, pushing the tension in the room up to unbearable levels, as well as the stress already boiling over. Her eyes are empty as she stares at her knees. Her face expressionless. Her body hard, like a barrier has come up. Then she looks at me, and I recoil. “He raped me when I was fourteen.”
I fall to my arse as everyone’s inhales of shock seems to suck all the air from the bathroom, making it impossible to breathe. “No,” I whisper, scrambling back, trying to put distance between us.
Beau fills that space where I’m not capable, falling to her knees and taking Rose’s hands. Rose looks at her blankly. “He did, Beau,” she says, on autopilot. “He came to my room.” Her eyes close tightly. She’s trying to hold off the flashbacks. I scramble to my feet, sweat pouring from my brow.
“Danny,” Brad says calmly, holding my arm. I shrug him off, looking at my wife on the floor fighting back her past. I have to know. I have to know. I go to her, crouching, but I don’t touch her. I can’t. My hands are only capable of murder right now. Not softness.
“Could he be Daniel’s father?” I ask, cold.
Beau swings a stunned look my way as Rose opens her eyes and gazes at me. She doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to.
I slowly stand, every muscle involuntarily flexing, the monster inside rising. She doesn’t even bother telling me to not go. I turn and walk away, burning from the inside out, my vision hazy with the rage consuming me. And Rose doesn’t try to stop me.
“Danny.” James reaches for me. Pointless. A cyclone couldn’t stop me, let alone The Enigma at half fucking strength.
“James,” Beau says, warning him.
I know he won’t listen.
I march through the house feeling like my head could pop off my shoulders with the pressure, Brad and James yelling after me, pulling everyone from whatever they’re doing around the house. Mum comes out of the kitchen, drying her hands on a tea towel. Those fucking tea towels. I wrench the door open and stomp down the steps. “Which one?” I shout, getting no answer to my question. I turn by the cars. “Which fucking car?” I bellow, my lungs draining, my body quaking.
“First,” Ringo says, tossing a set of keys at me. I catch them and go straight to the trunk, opening and pulling out the first gun I can lay my hands on.
“Fuck, Danny, wait!” Brad yells.
I jump in and skid off, looking up at my rearview mirror. Brad’s going apeshit, up in Ringo’s face, fisting his suit. James is walking calmly to the next Mercedes.
I flash my lights as I approach the gates, and Bud opens them. I pass through. Slow at the entrance. Look both ways.
It doesn’t take me long to decide which direction I’m going in. I spin the steering wheel to the right and floor the gas, heading toward town. I flick the stereo on. Laugh when Frankie starts singing Relax to me. Light up a cigarette. Focus on the road, overtaking car after car, my driving smooth and calm but really fucking fast.
I see his Bentley up ahead. Take one more, long drag of my cigarette, flicking it out of the open window collecting my gun from the passenger seat, resting it in my lap. I overtake one last car and pull in behind Sandy, flashing my lights. He starts to slow. Signal.