Logan sighed. “It’s okay, Grant. I’m not mad at you. Just go to sleep, okay?”
Still clutching the bottle, Grant closed his eyes, picturing his big, strong brother taking care of him. He swallowed hard, recalling the heavy wood coffin on his shoulder. Logan hadn’t had one person to save or protect him. Grant desperately hoped his brother hadn’t died all alone.
Hearing a sharp knock on the door, Grant sat up straighter on the couch.
*
Kirsten’s face lit up when she saw Sophie come through the apartment door.
“Hey! I thought you were going to stay at your dad’s for a while.”
Kirsten relieved her of one of her bags as Sophie juggled the keys back into her purse and managed to shut the door behind her.
“That was the plan,” she replied bitterly. “Until my dad started acting like a first-class jerk. He treated me like a total child!” She plunked her bags on the kitchen table before grasping Kirsten in a grateful hug.
“I wondered how long the Taylor détente would last.” Kirsten grinned, stepping out of the hug. “What was it this time?”
“Guess.”
“Let’s see, it’s always men or career—I’ll go for men?” When Sophie nodded, Kirsten’s eyes widened. “You told your dad about Grant? Being Logan’s brother?”
“I had no choice,” Sophie insisted, plopping on the couch. “After the detective came to my dad’s house, I had to come clean.”
“Oh, yeah, the detective.” Kirsten nodded, joining Sophie on the sofa. “What was that all about?”
Sophie raised her eyebrows. “You don’t know? Haven’t you watched the news?”
Kirsten shook her head.
“I’m sorry. I should have called you—it’s just, everything got so crazy and then my dad freaked out. Logan Barberi was murdered.”
Kirsten’s mouth dropped open. “When?”
“Thursday morning.” Sophie’s lips tightened. “And I know that because apparently I have an alibi for that time.”
Kirsten’s eyes opened wider. “You were a suspect?”
“Yes. Logan did screw me over, as you know. I had a big, fat motive.”
“How did he die?”
Sophie averted her eyes. “He was stabbed to death.”
“How did Grant take it?”
“Not well, as you can imagine. He was also a suspect, although Detective Fox told me he has an alibi as well. You should have seen him … he was so crushed. I went to the funeral today—huge mistake in my dad’s opinion—anyway, Grant looked devastated. He was a pallbearer for his brother.”
“Oh, Sophie.” They were both quiet for a moment before Kirsten inquired, “How are you feeling?”
She smiled softly at the shrink-style question. “I don’t know … confused maybe? Definitely sad for Logan—what a horrible way to die. I just know there was some good in him, despite all the awful things he did. I mostly feel so badly for Grant. I, um, against my better judgment I gave him a hug at the funeral.”
“Good!”
Sophie arched an eyebrow. “Good?Weren’t you the one warning me off McSailor in the first place?”
“Well, yeah … and I know his family is evil and stuff, but Grant just made you so happy, Sophie. You were getting back to yourself. You know, to how you were before prison. And look how much he’s done for you, getting you not one, but two jobs.”
“I don’t know,” Sophie said. “I don’t know if I can trust him.” She exhaled loudly. “I need some time.”
“And,” Kirsten continued, as if Sophie had not spoken, “McSailor is incredibly hot.”
“Are you coming after my boyfriend, roomie?”
“Well, he’s a much better choice than the fertilizer technician.”
“Oh, no. What happened with him?”
Kirsten sighed. “He was very nice, it’s just that he, uh, he kind of …” She wrinkled her nose. “He kind of smelled.”
A tiny giggle escaped Sophie’s lips. She grinned evilly. “No shit?”
They began giggling, and soon their shoulders shook with hysterical laughter. Finally, they fell into the sofa cushions, sighing after a good cleansing laugh.
*
After rapping on the door, Carlo shook his head as he stood outside Grant’s apartment. Fucking Tank and Meat had both bailed on him, making up some bullshit excuse about how Angelo had ordered them to return to the compound. Oh well, it would probably be better to approach Grant alone. Grant Pants might spook easily. Besides, Carlo was much better at manipulating people than anybody he knew. He didn’t need their help.
Waiting patiently, holding a small cardboard box, Carlo noticed a shadow fall across the peephole and tried to make himself appear appropriately mournful. “Grant?” he called.
“What do you want, Carlo?” Grant asked from the other side of the door.
“I’ve got some of Lo’s possessions to give you.”
Grant paused, feeling uneasy. Why the hell was Carlo here? How had he discovered where he lived? Mustering his best authoritative voice, he instructed, “Leave the box and I’ll get it later!”
“Aw, c’mon, cugino,” Carlo said. “Don’t shut me out. I’m grieving, man. I need to talk.” The door remained shut. “We carried his casket together, Grant. We’re family.”
His hand resting on the deadbolt, Grant considered what to do. Could he turn away one of his last remaining family members? Could he ignore his own blood? He was just so tired …
“Please?” Carlo implored, his strong voice resonating through the door. “I won’t stay long, I promise.”
With a frustrated sigh, Grant finally unlocked the door and swung it open, peering down at his shorter cousin. Carlo managed to hide the victorious smirk threatening to emerge. Without a word, Logan’s brother stepped back to allow Carlo to enter the apartment.
Grant trailed him into the living room. “Sorry it’s kind of a mess.”
Carlo glanced at the spotless room. He noticed the bottle of booze and gravitated toward it, setting down the box and picking up the bottle from the coffee table.
“Drowning your sorrows, eh? But why is this bottle unopened, Grant? We should toast your brother.”
Grant collapsed into the sofa, scooping the cardboard box onto his lap and ignoring his cousin’s suggestion. He hardly wanted to get chummy with Carlo.
Studying Grant intently, Carlo slid into a chair next to the sofa and watched him extract some photographs from the box. Grant’s face fell as he flipped through pictures from his nephew’s childhood. “Poor Ben,” he lamented.
Carlo’s jaw clenched. Everyone was feeling so sorry for Logan’s son, but Carlo knew Ben needed to experience this loss of his father to make him tougher, to breed the proper loyalty to the family so he could become a capo one day. Logan had been growing soft and might have led his son astray if not for Carlo.
Tapping his foot with restless energy, Carlo looked around at the bland apartment. “Man, I could really use a drink.”
“Glasses are in the cupboard,” Grant mumbled distractedly, still absorbed by the photographs.