I try to laugh at the situation, but all I can think about is that fucking picture. I keep my phone down but in my hand, so just in case something else comes through, my woman can't see it.
A few minutes pass before Ian and Mindy file into the room, followed by Michael. Eventually, Ryan backs into the room, pulling Alex in a wheelchair right along with him. I get them all settled and check in with Alex, who just nods her head in response. Ruby and Ryan explain that it's painful for her to move her facial muscles, especially since she's trying to take as little pain medicine as possible.
"Makes her too drowsy, and fuck if I'm letting Cub lay up in here, defenseless," Ryan says. He rubs her shoulders. Our girl looks damn miserable. She tries to communicate with me, but the bandages on her face make it difficult.
"Don't, sweetheart," I say when she tries to talk. "I'm okay. We're going to be okay." I don't tell her that we're going to be okay because her father will soon be dead. Instead, I just try to give our girl a little comfort when I can. She's had enough devastation. We all have. When we get home, I'm going to take it easy. I'll be retired, spending my days drinking whiskey on my porch and sinking into my old lady. Life's going to be good. It'll be easy.
But before it can be easy, it's going to be hard.
With a sigh, I toss my phone to Ian. Ryan's likely to break the fucking thing first. It takes him less than thirty seconds to look at the picture and accompanying message and to start relaying its contents to the room. While he's got the phone in hand, he sends the message around to the guy's burners and then hands it to Michael. As predicted, when Ryan sees the photo of his best friend, all bloodied and bruised, he gets mad enough that he kicks at the nearest wall. Thankfully, it wasn't one of the glass ones.
"They're dead," Ryan snaps. "They're fucking dead." Ryan's outrage is only matched by his mother's, who spits out roughly the same thing. I give her hand a squeeze to try to calm her down. Nobody rages like a momma bear.
"No doubt, son," I say, "But you want to keep it down so Detective Davis doesn't try arresting your ass before we can get our boy back?"
Alex's eyes dart up to Ryan. She pulls down on his cut and signals for his phone. Doing a quick about-face, he crouches down in front of her and tries to decipher her request. I don't interject, rather, I lie in silence and watch. My son, who is all temper and impulse and until a few years ago only ever cared about himself, is quietly trying to understand his girlfriend's needs. When she grows tired of playing charades with him, she reaches into his cut and pulls the phone out herself. Ryan's eyes soften and crinkle in the corners as a smile overtakes his face. She types something out that's just for him, judging by the light that shines in his eyes, but then types something else right after. Ryan places a kiss to the top of her head and stands to his full height.
"Cub says Davis is the pig who double-crossed her."
"Wait," Michael says. He's been fairly quiet in the corner so far, his eyes working a strategy. "Adam Davis? The prick who arrested me?"
"The very same," Ian says. He places a hand on Mindy's shoulder and gives it a squeeze. "If Scavo wants his sister safe, he better get her out of that house and fast. Her husband, the good officer, has been promoted to detective, and he's been working closely with the FBI. Way I see it, there's only one reason Davis is here."
"Shit. So that's his angle. After two years, he's still trying to press RICO." Michael pulls his phone out and shoots off a quick message, then shoves it back in his pocket.
"Not only that, but if the feds can prove a connection between Forsaken and Mancuso, and they use RICO, and we're all done for," Ian says. Then he does something with his phone and nods his head at Michael.
"Well, that's not going to happen," Michael says. He pulls his phone out and messes with the screen. Then he curses. "Fucking Tony. You know this is him, right?" His attention is on Alex now. She nods her head. When she came to us two years ago, she was all tears and soft edges all the time. She's toughened up a lot since the last time we were in New York. She still loves her father and cousin, I know that. But she doesn't seem sad about their fate anymore.
"I think I know where they got Duke," Michael says, studying his phone. "There's a big-ass ventilator in Fortino's old warehouse--the one the feds seized. The thing weighs a fucking ton. And it looks just like the thing behind your boy's head."
"How sure are you about this?" Ryan sizes Michael up, and possibly for the first time, he doesn't look like he hates his stepbrother. Progress, however small, is fucking needed.
"I'd bet my life on it," Michael says.
"Then we better get going." Ryan straightens his back, puffs his chest out, and checks his waistband for his trusty knife. When he bends at the waist and reaches to his ankle, I know he's checking for the .22 he carries there.