Wrong (A Bad Boy Romance)(63)

I still haven’t decided on a course of action—or even if I should do anything at all—when Spada emerges, ready for us to escort him home. He shakes hands with me and with Leo but offers only greetings, no additional information or comment. Of course, a police station is no place to discuss family business. So there’s nothing to do but get him home and then see what happens.

Once we get out onto the steps, though, he starts talking, though he keeps his voice fairly low.

“I hear you won the vote. Congratulations.”

I give a curt nod. “Not that my reign has lasted very long, now that you’re back among us.” I offer a smile to let him know I don’t hold any ill will toward him. From plenty of other guys in the organization, that could have been taken as a threat.

He returns my smile with a wry one of his own. “We need to talk about that. I think there’s going to be trouble with De Luca.”

“There’s already trouble with De Luca. He was not well pleased with the vote.”

“It’s not just that. He’s been…unstable for a while now. Very problematic. Even well before you—”

I hear the sharp noise, but for a split second I don’t connect it with the fact that Spada’s stopped talking. I open my mouth and start to ask him for more details about De Luca, but suddenly he staggers against me.

I grab at him. He’s a big man, and he puts me off my balance. Then I register that the noise I heard was gunfire. Mostly because I hear it again. This time bits of concrete spray as the bullet strikes the stairs next to us.

“Shit! Shit! Leo!”

Leo’s already moving, catching Spada on the other side. Neither of us can quite hold him—he’s dead weight, and I’m afraid that’s completely literal, because he’s not giving us any help at all. I have an awkward hold on him, and so does Leo, but Spada slips away from both of us, falling face first down the rest of the stairs. All I can do is watch as his head bounces off the concrete, leaving dark-red stains behind. Not that it matters. The bullet killed him long before the concrete crushed his skull.

He lands finally in a clump of dark suit and blood at the foot of the steps, on the sidewalk. Leo and I are both just staring, unable to process what just happened. Leo moves first, running down the rest of the steps to kneel next to Spada’s body. He shoves his fingers under the blood-splattered collar. I follow him down, a little slower. Passersby have started to gather, staring, while others just book it past the scene as fast as they can. A couple have their phones out, and I’m sure the cops are on the way.

Leo looks up at me as I join him on the sidewalk. His face is stricken, more with shock than anything else. “He’s dead.”

“Shit.” I just stand there. What the fuck am I supposed to do?

Leo’s fist clenches, his other hand holding Spada by the shoulder almost gently. “It was fucking De Luca. I know it was.”

Of course it was. Spada’s last few words hit home—De Luca’s unstable. Which was Spada’s nice way of saying Sal’s losing his motherfucking mind. Or has lost it already. I’m pretty sure the latter is more accurate.

“What do we do?” I’m surprised at how calm my voice sounds. I wipe my hands on my jacket as if they’ve got blood on them. They don’t. I’m not sure how I missed the spray from the bullet; Leo’s got a spatter down the front of his shirt, across his tie.

“You go,” Leo says. “Get to Spada’s place and keep things locked down. I’ll deal with the cops.” He digs in a jacket pocket and comes out with a handful of keys. “Here. That’ll get you inside.”

I nod. “Do I need to call anyone? Let people know what happened?”

Leo shakes his head. “Let me do that. It’ll go down a little easier.”

“Okay.” I close my hand around the keys so tight, the teeth bite into my palm. “This wasn’t me,” I say, even though I know he understands that.

The look Leo gives me now is half pity, half resignation. “I know that. This isn’t the way you work. Why do you think you got voted in?”

No, it’s not the way I work. Or at least it never used to be. De Luca’s dragged me into some dark places over the last few weeks, places I’m not particularly proud of. But no—sniping the boss in cold blood, from a distance, is not my style. If it’d been me, I would have done it looking right into his eyes.

“Just go,” Leo says again. Then, quietly, as an afterthought, he adds, “boss.”

“Keep me posted,” I tell him, and he nods. I head for the car.

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