Enforce(90)
“You can’t just kill a boss,” Tex pointed out. “Even if you have the right to.”
“Frank can.” I sighed.
“Frank will,” Nixon agreed.
“Well, look on the bright side!” Tex clapped his hands twice. “At least I’ll live. I’m Campisi.”
“Tex,” We groaned in unison.
“I’ll take my chances with Frank over your father any day,” I whispered under my breath.
“You and me both,” Tex muttered.
“So what now?” I asked, hoping Nixon would have some sort of game plan that included us stealing Trace away and putting her into hiding.
“Drive back to campus… I’ll take the SUV. I need to think.” Nixon tapped his fingers against the console and sighed. “I need to figure out what happens next.”
“In the Mafia?” Tex chuckled from the back seat. “Blood, you can always count on lots of blood.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
Apologies in pink
Nixon
I STARED AT MY phone for a good ten minutes once the guys left me alone with my thoughts.
I sat in my car with the AC on full blast, just letting the cold air hit me as I stared at my phone, at her number. Calling her would probably be a mistake. Texting her? It was the same thing, wasn’t it? But I couldn’t help myself. My fingers hovered over the screen. Finally, I typed the only thing I knew I could say, given the situation.
Me: I’m sorry.
Within seconds, she responded.
Trace, my Bella: Can you come back? Need to talk…
Well, that was better than getting cussed out.
Me: Sure give me a minute to find a bulletproof vest. U do realize I was shot at last time I was in that house?
My phone rang while I was waiting for her answer. It was Trace.
“Trace—”
“Please, Nixon. Please.”
Pain drilled its way through my chest, piercing my heart with what felt like a million needles.
I sighed long and hard, ending my exhale with a curse. “Give me an hour.”
“Thank you.”
“Oh, and Trace?”
“Yeah?”
“Do me a favor. Tell your grandpa you invited me so that they don’t shoot me on sight. You don’t want innocent blood on your hands.”
“Are you?” she whispered.
“What?” I was almost afraid of what she was asking, what I would tell, what it would reveal.
“Innocent?”
“No.” My voice shook. “Not since the day I was born, not since the first day my dad raised a hand to me, not since the first time I watched my mom huddle in the corner, and definitely not since the first time you let me kiss you. No, Trace. I’m anything but innocent.”
The line went completely silent.
I cleared my throat. “Do you still want me to come?”
“Yes.”
“See you soon, Trace.”
This time, driving to her house, it wasn’t apprehension that had me sweating, but excitement. She wanted to see me, which meant she wasn’t as angry as I thought she’d be. What the hell had Frank told her?
Before I’d even put the car in park, a few men filed out of the house and waited at the bottom of the stairs. Great, now it was my turn to have a welcoming committee.
Things sure had done a one-eighty since Trace’s arrival at Elite. I had a sudden flashback of her tears, her smile, her glare, and her trembling body when I touched her. I wiped my face in irritation and slowly got out of the car. I walked toward the stairs, fully expecting her to reject me just like I’d rejected her that very first day…
“Farm Girl,” I said. Beautiful… I thought.
“Dirty…” I hissed.
Pure… I’d focused in on her clear brown eyes, so pure that it hurt to look at her...
My legs were heavy, weighed down by responsibility, but still moving, pressing forward because of hope.
A hope I’d never known existed.
A hope I’d never known I needed.
All in a girl I’d thought was dead.
A girl I’d been fighting for — my entire life.
When the door opened, I saw her, and my world felt right again, everything came into focus. This wasn’t about the Mafia; it wasn’t about bad blood; it was about her and the meaning she had in this universe, in my life. I made a vow right then and there I would fight to the death for her, even if it meant in the end I wasn’t the victor.
Our eyes met, and I offered a smile, one that would reassure her that her crazy grandpa wasn’t going to shoot me.
Frank held her tight, his gaze shooting laser beams through my body, setting it on fire.
I tried not to look intimidated, and it wasn’t like I was fearful of him. I was more afraid of what he wanted me to do than what he would do to me.