The Untouchables(87)

There was nothing else to say as he walked over and poured himself a drink.

“So what, you’re splitting us up from the family to teach her a lesson?” I finally snapped.

“No.” He drank, stepping towards the window. “This lesson is for you, son. Out there, they don’t understand us, they hate us. Behind their smiles, they’re vultures, waiting for us to fall just so they can pick up the scraps. Out there, you cannot be yourself. You must filter how you speak, take all the shit they throw at you humbly, and smile for their cameras. Out there, you will be a political puppet; and I know that will drive you mad because you are a Callahan. So until you start thinking and acting as such, Liam does not need you. Liam does not trust you and neither do I. He can’t kill you; for neither your mother nor I would allow it. But when he’s ready to see you and your wife again, he will call. Until then, see you later, son.”

“Goodbye, father.”

Before I reached door, he called out again. “Fix this, Neal. I refuse to choose between sons. Even if one almost cost us everything.”

“Who would you choose?”

I already knew the answer, but I wanted to hear him say it.

Smirking at me, he shook his head. “Declan. He’s never given me so much shit. Luckily, he’s more of his mother than my brother. You and Liam are too much like me; opposite sides of the same damn coin trying to shoot at each other.”

“Olivia and I will leave in morning after visiting Coraline.” There was nothing more to say; I should have never walked into that office to begin with.





TWENTY-SIX

“It was many and many a year ago, in a kingdom by the sea…”

—Edgar Allan Poe





MELODY

Parking outside my old house, I took a deep breath and enjoyed the cold air. It was only the beginning of fall, but it was still cold enough to see my breath in the air. It was like walking through a warzone. There were broken shards of glass and splintered wood everywhere, and walls that were just standing, no longer connected to anything. This was my home. It is my home.

Who would have thought it would be nothing but rubble only a year after my leaving. Liam told me to rebuild, but there didn’t seem to be a point. It would be a new house without any memories. Even if it was nothing more than a pile of burned ash in the middle of nowhere, it was still my home and I could remember everything. I could still remember the choices I made here…

###

I frowned, cutting the line of coke once more and rubbing it between my fingers. It was the real deal. Finding high quality shit like this cost a small fortune. Leaning into my father’s seat, I glanced at the four guards, each standing at the pillars in the corners. They were all on edge, rats who weren’t sure if they were on a sinking ship or just fighting through a hurricane. Rumor had it that we were tapped; bleeding money, some would even say. They were right. Things were falling apart. The Callahans were buying out half the damn west coast, the Valeros were steamrolling Italy, and the Giovannis, we were dying. Half of them hadn’t seen my father in over a month, and figured he was sick. The other half thought I’d slit his throat as he slept.

Part of me wanted to just let it fall. There was no way I could run all of this on my own. I could let it die with my father, and I would be able to work my way through school; I had just gotten my acceptance letter to UCLA this morning. I could walk away from this right here and now. I could leave Chicago. My things were packed; I already had my ticket, and yet, I couldn’t tear my eyes from the brick that sat on the desk in front of me. Twenty thousand dollars of smack just sitting there, tempting me.

I glanced up at the greasy, sweat stained, blonde haired man in front of me. For the last three weeks, he had been going around the streets like an idiot, talking about how he knew where to get ‘the realist shit.’ No one believed him. I mean, why would they? He was wearing clothes he must have stolen off a corpse, his hair was so dirty it dropped flakes all over his shoulders, and his shoes looked so worn out, I wasn’t even sure why he bothered. He looked like a homeless junkie.

When word got to me, I asked for him and the smack. I didn’t really think he would bring it though.

Pulling out the drawer, I grabbed a stack of hundreds before dropping them on the table.

He rushed to the stack of money like it was bread and he was starving. He might have been. “It’s good, right? Like I said, one hundred percent cocaine. The best there is.”

“Where did you get this? Mr…?”

“Brooks. Beau Brooks, and I got word of this real big wop back east. People are whispering about how he’s got mountains of this shit, just lying in his warehouses; millions of profits just being chewed up by damn rats. I’m telling you, girlie, I got the connections—connections your father and I should speak over. I’m sure he’ll like them.”