“That’s the spirit, Tank.” Carlo smiled, then returned his attention to Logan. “The only person Angelo will be disciplining is you, you spineless good-for-nothing. You will start pulling your weight in this family, Logan. Or I will beat you down every day until you do.”
Logan boldly jutted out his jaw. “You’ll have to threaten me with something a little more real than that, cuz. Your fairy punches are even weaker than Grant’s.”
Feeling blind fury, Carlo unleashed another jab, this time aiming for the contusions already adorning Logan’s jaw. Logan grunted when the blow glanced off his chin, and he swayed to the side, trying to catch his breath. Beads of sweat formed on his forehead.
Staring at the profile of his cousin’s damaged face, Carlo suddenly stood stock still. “Grant punched you,” he said, the realization dawning on him. “He’s the one who gave you those bruises.”
A malevolent smile crept onto Carlo’s face. He’d just identified a way to get both of the damn brothers, the chosen ones, out of his way for good. He’d never have to compete for Angelo’s attention again, and he could finally assume his proper place in the family. A flash of excitement coursed through him, followed by a stab of fear. He didn’t know if he could carry out his plan.
Quickly whipping a knife out of his boot, Carlo held the weapon in front of Logan’s face and made sure his quarry watched him as he slowly unsheathed the blade, which gleamed in the slats of sunlight shining through the dirty windows of the warehouse.
Struggling against his captors’ hold as his cousin held the blade inches from his face, Logan felt his heart thump rapidly. Carlo ignored his associates’ reactions to the knife—a look of consternation on Meat’s face and an expression of smug triumph on Tank’s—and leaned in to hold the sharp edge against Logan’s throat.
“Tell me where Grant is,” he quietly seethed.
“Fuck you,” Logan retorted. He felt the pinching sting of the blade on his throat as Carlo allowed the knife’s edge to dig into his skin. The wound was not deep but elicited blood all the same, mixing with the crimson trail dripping from his nose.
“You really want to protect that pansy?” Carlo asked incredulously. “You want to risk your life for that lightweight? For Grant?”
Logan pictured Grant at their mother’s grave, his eyes welling up as he placed flowers near her headstone. Logan’s deep voice was wistful. “He’s a better man than any of us here.”
“Oh, come on,” Carlo scoffed, distractedly removing the knife from Logan’s throat and waving it around emphatically. “Grant has no fucking clue. He’s a weakling. That’s what you get when your real dad goes to prison and you go live with your pussy uncle.”
Feeling rage build up in his chest, Logan spat out, “You’re the reason my dad went to prison! He got arrested trying to protect your sorry ass!”
Carlo’s black eyes flared with fury. “It wasn’t my fault!” he insisted. “I got shot! I could have died.”
His restrained arms aching, his skin bruised and bleeding, Logan glared at his cousin. “My dad should have let you die. It would have been better—for everyone. I know for a fact that Angelo would much rather have his brother with him than his screw-up son. You fucked everything up, Carlo.”
Carlo’s throat tightened as he fought for air, and his vision clouded over, veiled by a deep red that matched the blood leaking from his victim’s body. Suddenly he had no qualms about what he must do. Logan had just begged him to carry out his plan. It was the burden of his position of leadership in the family. He had a great responsibility—responsibility to rid the family of anything standing in its way, responsibility to take out the trash, just like his father had taught him to do.
Without another moment of hesitation, Carlo lunged forward, sinking the knife into Logan’s abdomen. Once the tip of the blade pierced his rock-hard solar plexus, it slid into his internal organs with a sickening sluicing sound. The shocked gasps of three men—Logan, Meat, and Tank—met Carlo’s ears, followed by dead silence.
Logan felt a burning tear while a fiery heat spread into his lungs and stomach. The pinch of the foreign body inside his twisted and turned, taking his breath away. Struggling to maintain consciousness, he stared dumbly up at Carlo, whose shiny black eyes looked equally stunned.
Horrified, Mario let go of Logan’s arm and took a step away. The smug grin had quickly departed Tank’s face. Despite his desire for revenge, he could not believe what he’d just witnessed. He too unleashed Logan from his vice grip. Once free, Logan wheezed for air and crumpled forward, the knife still lodged between his abdomen and chest.
Now Carlo didn’t know what to do. After a few surreal moments, he decided to remove the knife. As he jaggedly jerked out the blade, Logan felt a searing pain cleave him, and he moaned loudly. Carlo gaped at the leaking hole left in Logan’s flesh, then stared mesmerized at the seeping red stain flourishing on his white T-shirt.
“Shit, I’m outta here!” Mario said, slowly backing away.
“You’re not going anywhere, Meat!” Carlo yelled angrily, halting the big man’s progress. Carlo then turned to Tank, who shook his head disapprovingly.
“You went too far, Carlo,” Tank said, also taking a step backward to distance himself from the crazy man facing him.
“You’ve got to help me!” Carlo cried.
“Only if you don’t tell Angelo I was part of this,” Tank ordered in a strange role-reversal of boss and employee.
“Just don’t leave,” Carlo pleaded, stealing a glance at Logan. “Help me do something with the body, man.”
Tank frowned and whispered to Mario, now standing about twenty feet away from the cousins.
Dark spots entered Logan’s field of vision as he clutched his upper abdomen, his breathing labored and his sudden physical weakness maddening. Carlo stood right above him, paralyzed by what he’d just done and presenting the perfect opportunity for Logan to beat the living hell out of him. He wanted to rip his fucking heart out! But Logan could not find the strength to move.
“I—I—I didn’t mean it, Lo,” Carlo offered in a quivering voice, reduced to a sniveling boy by the life-or-death circumstances. “You’re my cousin … I—I love you, man. Do you, um, do you love me?”
Logan looked at Carlo with disbelief. Then, sensing a sticky wetness pouring over his hands, he peered down at his wounded torso. An abject sadness flooded him. He knew he was dying. “Grant,” he gasped.
“Grant?” Carlo knelt down curiously, prompting his victim to say more despite himself.
“Stay … away.” Although losing his thin grasp on consciousness, Logan willed himself to keep talking, “Stay away … from Grant.”
Carlo watched his cousin’s hands redden with blood. His tone was frantic. “But Lo—you love me, right? You know I didn’t mean it?”