Elect(12)

“The girl”—I stuffed some shirts into my bag—“is fine. She’s going to school and safe.”

“Thanks in part to you.” Anthony laughed bitterly. “So Nixon’s put you on security detail? How do you think that looks?”

“Hmm.” I paused and turned to face him. “How do I think it looks that the boss entrusts me with the love of his life and nobody else, not even you? Pretty damn good, thanks for asking.”

“He’s young.”

“He’s the boss.” I clenched my teeth and tried not to lose my cool in front of him but he really pissed me off.

“It should have been you.” Anthony swore. “God knows it should have been you.”

Had my father been spying on my mind during the day or something? I mean, I know I wished it was me, but only because of Trace; not because I wanted the responsibility of a century-old Sicilian family hanging on my shoulders. No thank you.

“Yeah, well.” I put my bag over my shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t born before him, sorry he’s still alive. Just what do you want me to apologize for? I’m not going to apologize for being loyal, or for thinking he’s what’s best for this family.”

“He may get us all killed.”

I wasn’t an idiot. My mind had come up with every worst-case scenario, every possible outcome, and I knew that we weren’t exactly on the right side of the odds. Hell, we weren’t even in the same universe. But I couldn’t get myself to care about the family when all I really cared about was keeping Trace safe. I’d die before anything happened to her. Anthony could go to hell for all I cared.

“Not if I can prevent it.” I pushed past Anthony and grabbed the keys to my Range Rover.

“You cannot prevent what is coming. It has been hanging over our heads for years,” Tony said from behind me. I didn’t know if he wanted me to answer him, but I chose to ignore him. Ever since Nixon’s father had died last year—things had been in upheaval. Half the family thought it was good to have fresh blood leading the Abandonatos. After all, Nixon’s dad had literally beat the shit out of Nixon and his ma on a regular basis when Nixon was little. And possibly, he’d killed Trace’s parents out of a jealous rage because he’d loved Trace’s mom more than life itself and she didn’t choose him.

Shit, that hit way to close to home.

Whatever.

As far as I was concerned it was old drama and the rest of the family could either get on board or go screw themselves. Nixon was doing the best job he could at twenty-one. Shit, I’d probably be having a nervous breakdown if I had a few multi-billion-dollar companies underneath me.

Granted, Nixon had business associates that dealt with most of the money, but still. It was a lot of responsibility.

I drove the ten miles to his house. He lived on the other side of the city, where houses had gates and people had helipads in their backyards.

Our houses were pretty similar. Only mine contained just me and Anthony. My mom had died several years ago, just like Nixon’s. I wondered if that was a bad sign, or some sort of prophecy. Women never lasted in our family.

Refusing to think about Trace and the life ahead of her if she stayed with us, I pulled into Nixon’s gate, swiped my card, and honked my horn.

Nixon came flying out of the house with Tex.

Good. They were laughing.

“Dude, what took you so long?” Tex said from the backseat. “The girls were watching stupid chick flicks again.”

Nixon snorted. “Right, and since they pulled each DVD from your collection—I’d probably stop complaining.”

Tex grinned. “So, who we killing?”

My laugh was hollow.

Tex had always seemed so easygoing about the business. I, however, still hated doing the dirty work. I didn’t mind watching others do it, but doing it myself? Let’s just say I’m not as scary as people would like to think I am. No, that nomination goes to Nixon. The things I’d seen that guy do would put nightmares into even the worst sort of prisoner.

“We have a meeting,” Nixon said in an even voice. “With the Nicolosi family.”

“Son of a bitch!” I slammed on the brakes in the middle of the driveway. “The Sicilians? We’re going to meet them? Now? Are you freaking insane?”

“No.” Nixon pulled out his cell phone. “We’ve only got twenty minutes to get to downtown Chicago. I’d hurry.”

“Great.” I blasted the accelerator and swore. “What the hell, Nixon? It’s like you want us to die.”

“They won’t kill us.” Why was he so damn calm! “They can’t. We have too much money. Besides, by now Faust will have reported back.”