Ben hesitated until Carlo added, “Yeah, Ben, I’m sure your mother is wondering where her baby disappeared to. And my parents need your help keeping your little lawbreaking friends out of their extensive liquor cabinet.”
With a smirk, Ben turned to leave—without a word of thanks about the Wii game he held in his hands.
Now that the two cousins squared off, an electric energy pulsed between them. Grant had the height advantage, but Carlo definitely edged him out in hostility and ruthlessness.
“Don’t you ever again use Ben against me. You got something to say, you say it to me,” Grant raged.
Carlo laughed scornfully. “You think you can order me around, Grant Pants? Think again, cugino. With your brother out of the picture, I’m the one in command now. Not some fucking Ocean Commander.”
“I was a lieutenant, you asshole, and I couldn’t care less about the little Mafia games you all play around here. Leave me out of it.”
Carlo’s smirk had long faded, and he shook his head disapprovingly. “You show disrespect, cugino. Not smart. Not smart at all.”
“Are you threatening me, Carlo?” Grant asked. “Because you’ve already taken everything from me. There’s nothing left to threaten or destroy.”
“Ah, there I disagree with you. Everybody has something to lose. It just might take some time to find out what it is.”
Grant suddenly panicked, thinking of Sophie. Perhaps the Barberis had moved on from their interest in harming Joe, but it was just a matter of time before they learned about Sophie. He realized in that moment that he loved her. And love was a dangerous feeling when it came to leverage and a crime family.
Carlo studied him intently and liked what he saw. Apparently, Grant did have something to lose—something or somebody, somebody he seemed to care about deeply. “Your brother owes us, Grant. And someone is going to pay that debt. Now that I know you’re back in good ol’ Chicago, maybe it will be you.”
Sighing, Grant found himself in the exactly same situation he’d faced just over two years ago: his family dragging him into their criminal fold, threatening to hurt those he loved unless he joined them. But this time was different. This time they didn’t know the identity of the one he loved. They could never know about Sophie. He had to keep her safe.
Grant stared into Carlo’s black eyes, crisply demanding. “Stay away from me, and stay away from Ben.” He silently added, And stay away from Sophie.
“Carlo!” An older voice called out from the depths of the huge house.
Carlo smiled. “In here, padre, by the front door!” he yelled.
Hearing Angelo’s approaching footfalls, Grant took a step backward, toward the door. He had no desire to see the father of the monster standing across from him, the brother of the Mafia don—his father—who’d led this family into despair and shame.
“Tell Ben I’m sorry I had to leave.”
Grant swiftly opened the door and slipped into the July night.
“But we were just starting to have fun,” Carlo protested. He rubbed his hand across his spiked black hair, staring at the door his cousin had just shut in his face.
“What the hell are you doing?” Angelo asked, striding into the foyer. His slicked-back hair was the same shade as his son’s, though gray was beginning to salt the temples. A lit cigar hung from his mouth.
“You’d be interested to know who I was talking to. He just left.”
“Who?”
His face erupting into a smile, Carlo answered, “Grant.”
“So, he is in Chicago after all.”
Carlo nodded and licked his lips, mentally reviewing their conversation. His chest still felt tight at the audacious things Grant had dared say to him. But that was the past, and now he was focused on the future. Somehow, some way, he was going to put Grant Pants in his place. He was the heir now, and Enzo’s sons were not going to stand in his way.
26. Perfect CONnection
Eventually determining that Grant wasn’t going to show up early for his appointment, Sophie knocked on her parole officer’s door. She’d been bursting with excitement since hanging up the phone with Anita last night and was so looking forward to thanking Grant for his incredible thoughtfulness.
Entering Jerry Stone’s office, Sophie immediately realized something was off. A palpable heaviness pervaded the small space, and a weighty despair emanated from the man behind the desk. His expression was sour, almost hostile. “Sit,” he barked.
Obeying his command, she noticed a flower arrangement perched on the filing cabinet—completely out of place in the drab, dingy office. There were violet and fuchsia carnations, pink snapdragons, and white amaryllis. “Your flowers are beautiful,” she said.
“They’re stupid,” he countered gruffly. “I don’t know why people spend so much money on the damn weeds. They always end up shriveled and dead, just like everything else.”
A flash of understanding coursed through her. “Your mother?” she softly questioned. “The flowers—they’re for her?”
He averted his gaze and Sophie had her answer. Jerry’s mother had succumbed to her battle with cancer.
“I’m very sorry about your loss.” She sighed. “No matter what kind of relationship you have with your mom, it’s always devastating to lose the woman who brought you into the world.”
He gave a half-smile. “When I misbehaved as a child, she used to yell, ‘I brought you into this world, and I can certainly take you right back out!’”
Sophie returned his wistful smile. “I think every mother has said that at some point.”
They were quiet for a few moments, and Jerry’s well-defended crustiness seemed to shift into a vulnerable sorrow. He didn’t know what it was about Taylor that put him in touch with his “softer” side—an aspect of himself he thought he’d buried along with his mother—but he found himself asking, “So, you said that it gets easier? This grief thing?”
She held his weary gaze a few moments, wondering whether to be truthful. “Not really,” she admitted.
“Finally someone is honest with me,” Jerry said, leaning back in his chair. “I’m so sick of hearing all the damn platitudes—it was her time, God needed her up in heaven, all that crap.” He glanced at the floral arrangement. “As if flowers are going to make it better, as if flowers would make me forget her cries of pain …” His voice trailed off, and Sophie kept quiet. “I guess, um, when your mom died, uh, nobody could send you flowers in prison?”
Sophie drew a sharp breath and blinked rapidly, trying to stop the prickling tears threatening to erupt. She gripped the arms of the metal chair, fighting for self-control, still surprised by the sudden intensity of emotion that flooded her body any time she was reminded of that horrible December day when warden had informed her that her mother had died. She’d snidely told Sophie she was lucky she had a clean record in prison, resulting in the DOC’s magnanimous gesture of allowing her to attend the funeral—under heavy guard and in cuffs, of course. Sophie was supposed to feel thankful for the privilege.