Stephenie Meyer owns all things Twilight. No copyright infringement is intended.
Beta'd by HollettLA
:) HAPPY HOLIDAYS!
"Weather the Storm"
Chapter Twenty-One: Blondie
It wasn't difficult to get into my brother's house, especially because I had a key for the back door. It was a little hard for me to run to the front of the house and figure out his alarm code. I guessed it was Hanna's birthday, and I was correct. The alarm didn't really matter since they're false. We have the same alarm, and all it does is sound. It doesn't tip off police or anything; just lets us know when someone is trying to break in.
Lou wanted to join me, but I had him, Tasso and Valente wait for me around the corner. Wanting to get in and out, I went straight to their bedroom. The room was neat, and the bed was made, and the first closet I tried was my brother's. There was nothing of interest for me in there, and so I went for the next closest.
Esme had a moderately sized walk-in with rows of shoes and clothes and garment bags. But what I was looking for was a box. I know Nanny keeps all her wigs in hatboxes with those Styrofoam heads, and I thought Esme might be no different.
Esme had quite a few of them; meanwhile, my wife doesn't have any. Why doesn't Bella wear hats? That might be hot . . .
Anyway, I found a red wig and a blonde one. Snatching the blonde wig, I then tried to piece everything back together. As soon as I placed the last box on the shelf, my phone buzzed with a text.
Esme had just pulled into the driveway. By the time I finished reading, I heard the garage door open, and I was stuck.
Logically, one would think I'd hightail it out of there. However, since I hadn't set the alarm again, I didn't want to scare Esme. Truth be told, I wanted to confront her—wanted to know what the fuck was going on in her head. After all, I trusted her with my kids—her own fucking kids. What kind of person had Esme become? I refused to think her evil or horrible, because we've all killed a person or two. My wife has iced three motherfuckers, but never any mothers, and I still think she's an angel.
Is there a difference?
Does it matter who you kill or just that you're capable?
What draws the line? What makes a person evil?
When Esme walked into the house, she paused to wipe her eyes before she faced the alarm system. She had been crying, and I was hiding in the hallway. "Es?" I kept my voice low.
She gasped, dropping her purse and trying to leave the house again.
"It's Edward!" I shouted, making my presence known.
She seemed relieved. "Christ . . . you should have called me or something. What are you doing here?" She spluttered.
Looking past her, I saw Marcello walking toward the house. "You should always have him enter the house first." I pointed.
Esme still seemed frazzled. "Um, did you want coffee?"
Shaking my head, I pulled the wig from my jacket. "I wanna know what this is about."
When Marcello tried to enter the house, Esme locked him out. She seemed shocked but still had her head.
I waved through the glass of the front door to let Marcello know Esme was okay.
"What about it?" She wouldn't face me.
"How long have we known each other?" I asked.
She turned, looking confused as all fuck. "Since we were born—why—what are you getting at?"
"You know me, and so you also know that if you're truthful . . . I'll appreciate it. Es, don't bullshit me. I want the truth." I put the wig back into my jacket.
She shrugged, her gaze falling to the floor. "Your brother likes variety. I have a red wig, too . . . if you're interested." She went to walk past me, and I stopped her. She wasn't lying about that shit, but that wasn't the story I wanted to hear.
"Tell me," I demanded.
She puffed out her cheeks and a breath, pushing her hair away from her face. "I don't know what you're talking about." She walked into the kitchen. I let her go and followed after.
"Where'd you meet him? Scotty . . ." I took a seat at the table. "I'll take that coffee—" Bella and the Viagra, and not knowing Esme anymore flashed through my mind. "I'll take a bottle of water."
She nodded, opening the fridge to toss me a Poland Spring.
"Esme . . ." I hedged, needing her to answer me.
She swallowed, not facing me. "I don't know who—"
"Bullshit," I spat. "You paid him off—met some dumb fuck—and paid him to bump off Candace . . . or was it Carlisle?" I tilted my head as I stared, trying to figure her out.
"I'd never—"
"I want to know everything." I kicked a chair out for her.
"There's nothing to tell." She refused to sit. "Please leave my house."
I slumped lower, getting comfortable. "I have time . . . I don't have any meetings until tomorrow."
"Edward, please!" She stomped her foot, on the verge of a bitch fit.
"Please nothing. Tell me why." I shrugged, opening my water to take a sip.
She looked away from me, toward her knife rack, to be exact.
"I'll snap your fucking neck before you even touch me. Try it." I dared her with my eyes, looking from the sharp-edged tools and back to her. "You think I'd give a fuck? Who are you?" I sat up straighter.
"You're gonna go to the cops?" She balled her hands into fists. "I'll bring the cops down to A.C." She stared, head-on.
I laughed at her balls. "Don't threaten me, and no, I wouldn't go to the cops. But, in case you feel the need to, I'll let you in on what I know. But first, know that everyone—from here down to fucking Florida—will know what you did. The life you know will disappear."
"Fuck you!"
I spoke over her. "The A.C. shit? Number one, you'd need a witness to corroborate what you say. Two—the guy was a nobody. Three—you'd also need a weapon and a body—"
"Aro will—"
"Aro won't do shit for you, so get that out of your head. That A.C. shit is colder than your heart." I smiled. "You know what's not, though? Scotty recorded your conversation. That junkie fuck wasn't as stupid as you thought he was," I lied. "I have it all. Enough—if I was to go to the cops—to put you away for a lifetime. But I don't give a fuck about you serving time."
Her head whipped to me.
"I don't like cops." I pursed my lips. "I'm more interested in what my brother will think."
"He was in love with her!" she screamed at me. "Maybe I'm crazy—she had everything: his love, his baby boy, what I always fought for . . ." she sobbed.
"Oh, please . . ." I rolled my eyes. "Stop with the drama. You never loved Carlisle. You chased some Aro dream. You're blowing this one or fucking that one. Esme, I don't care—"
"Then why are you here?" she whimpered.
"I want the truth." I really wanted to know how much of a threat she was to my family. One weak link breaks the whole damn chain.
She slowly took a seat opposite me. "I had savings Carlisle didn't know about—"
"The rest of that money your father left." I nodded.
She studied the pattern of the placemat in front of her. "No . . . cash I saved, hid in a private account. It's in Hanna's name," she whispered. "I wanted her dead, and your beef with Jersey provided a good opportunity."
I didn't comment.
"I hated her—I never intended on Carlisle being hurt. I swear it. He was supposed to do it when they weren't together, but Carlisle—as soon as shit got hot and that whore came back from wherever—he was always with her." She stared at me. "Before he was shot . . . when he went nuts about me spending time with Aro, I made him choose—me or her. He couldn't answer me, so . . . I made the choice for him. But . . . I guess it doesn't matter." She broke down in tears.
I patted her forearm. "She's dead, and he still doesn't want you—"
"Fuck you!" she yelled, rising from her chair and kicking it back. "I promise you—you tell Carlisle—and you'll be sorry."
It wasn't even comical, even though I felt the need to laugh at her. "Idle threats—I don't respond well to those." I put my hands up. "I'm just saying . . ."
"Edward, you can't—you can't tell Carlisle," she pleaded.
I groaned, shaking my head no. My brother has to know. He's getting his shit together now, but as soon as he calms down, I bet he'll move Anthony and himself back into this house. Things will probably be normal or whatever, and Esme—who the fuck knows what she'll be capable of then?
"A little boy is out of a mother—"
"He has one. He's young enough to be confused and, and I can love him like my own. He's three—he'll forget about her." She had a hint of a smile while she hugged herself. "It'll all work out—it has to."
"Esme . . ." Instead of being angry, I felt sad for her. "Are you okay? I mean, really." I stood up to take her hand and sit her down, but she fought against me. She beat against my chest and kept reaching for those fucking knives. "Don't do it!" Her back was to me, and I held her hands that were across her chest.
She kept crying and crying, and then her legs gave out. We sat down on the floor, and I hugged her tight, not knowing what she needed but needing her to calm down. "I think you need help," I whispered, petting her hair. "If it wasn't for your father, you and Carlisle probably would have never gotten married. Your relationship was never good. Just like he was sleeping around, you never—"
"I did!" she shouted. "I still do . . . that's Carlisle—my Carli," she cried.
With my arms around her, I didn't say anything for a long time. I didn't know what to say or do, or what Esme needed. It seemed the only remorse she showed was in getting caught by Carlisle. I thought she was fucked up, not for killing someone—the act itself—but for being so desperate for Carlisle, a boy, my brother's love—whatever. The end result was that she needed more help than I could provide for her.
Also, I have no idea what the ultimate outcome will be, especially since this is my brother's mess and not mine. I fully intend on telling him what I know. There's no way to go around it.
My anger stemmed from the innocents who were killed. Both Candace and that little girl didn't deserve the fate they were given.
And I could blame Esme for it all.
And I would.
"I'm not crazy." She pushed herself off of me. "You kill to get what you want—"
"I what?" I cupped my ear like I heard her wrong.
"Oh, save it." She waved a hand, standing erect.
I was fast to do so, too. Then I watched her scramble for her purse again. "Where are you going?"
She palmed her forehead. "I have to speak with Aro—"
"Stop." I didn't physically stop her but stood in her way. "He can't help you. More people shouldn't have to die. You and Carlisle need to talk—"
"No!" She sidestepped me.
I caught her arm. "Don't go back to that hospital—you'll only dig yourself a deeper grave."
She smirked at me, like she knew something I didn't.
I grinned back and leaned in close. "You think Aro is going to help you after he learns what you did? Candace was pretty close with him. Remember Donovan from the neighborhood, Candace's brother? Aro's best friend and neighbor?" I raised a brow.
Her face paled. My guess is because she realized the truth in what I just said.
"And Aro will never hurt Bella," I whispered. "Do you want to hurt Bella?"
She sniffled, slightly shaking her head no.
"You love Bella. She's always been here for you—the same with Aro and me. Esme, don't involve others in this shit. Okay?" I waited, and all she did was stare at me.
"He's going to take my girls—Carlisle will take everything . . ." She sucked in a shaky breath. "Tell me what to do?" She started clawing at me. "Please don't tell him!"
Backing away from her, I put my hands up too. "Esme, look—" She shocked the shit out of me when she went for my waist. My hand also came out as well, and I didn't mean it. But the end result was my hand slapping across her face. "What the fuck?" I shouted at her.
She held her cheek, crying. "I'm sorry."
"Listen to me—" Never in my life have I understood psychology or what makes a person fucked up, and I wasn't going to try to start now. "We'll figure it out. Okay? Just don't you hop on a plane, go to Florida to pick up the girls and take off, all right? That shit isn't going to happen. You're going to stay here, figure your shit out—Carlisle will be home soon." I ended with a whisper.
"Edward, please . . . I'm sorry."
"Not as sorry as I am." I didn't embrace her at all before I turned to leave her house.
Marcello was waiting on the porch, smoking a cigarette with his head down.
"She doesn't leave this house," I said, taking my cell phone out to text Lou. "Not to the store—not anywhere. You got it?"
"I understand," he replied.
/=/=/=/=/
Since I had a great feeling about the meeting with the Realtor the next day, I started to gather all the money, weapons and things out of my hiding spots. I planned to pack all of my and Bella's personal shit, plus my office, and hire some fuckers to do the rest.
I knew the deal would go through. The house is $3,400,000, and I plan to offer them $3.5 cash. Only an idiot would say no to cash.
During my second run to my apartment in Bay Ridge, Carlisle called me. He had made it to the city, without Anthony, and stopped at the emergency room at Bella's insistence. I informed him that we'd meet up after I was finished.
As soon as I dropped off the last load, Bella called my cell. She wondered what I was doing because the kids were driving her crazy. Well, Jackie—Lizzie's nanny—drove her up the wall when they went grocery shopping. I don't know. I was only half listening. We bid each other a good night, and then I was on my way to the hospital.
I swear, I've seen enough of this fucking place.
Carlisle was being treated with IV antibiotics and fluids when I arrived. They're giving him three different types of medicine because they don't know what kind of infection he has yet. Again, I don't understand half this shit. The doctor told him that—when he signed himself out against medical advice—he picked up some bacteria along the way, since he's been fighting off this same infection for a while.
"This sucks," Carlisle said.
I sipped my coffee and stared across the way. Some old lady was sitting in a chair topless, and I wondered why no one made her cover that shit up.
"You're a pervert—"
"What?" I got defensive. "It's not every day you see an eighty-year-old pair of tits." Quickly, I looked one more time and shuddered before I closed the curtain around my brother's stretcher.
"Should I call Esme?" He had that vulnerable look in his eyes—the one I knew was coming.
"No." I took his hand. "I'm here—"
"I'm sure you have shit to do." He shivered, taking his hand from mine to bring the covers up.
"Actually, I don't—I'm good." I continued to drink my coffee. "How were the kids yesterday and today?" I asked.
He smiled. "Dame and Ant . . . Christ, they're adorable together. You'd never know they just met weeks ago."
That made me smile too. Amidst all the shit, there are still things to be happy about.
"I have no idea what the stick up Jackie's ass is. Bella and Jackie fight over food. Did you know that? I had to settle an argument because Bella gave Ant a cookie, and Jackie doesn't let Lizzie eat that shit, and so she had banned junk food while we weren't there or something . . . it's a fucking cookie." He sucked a breath through his teeth. "Then Jackie had comments because Bella lets Kylie watch too much TV. It was stupid. Then Bella tells Jackie she has no kids and to shut her mouth about hers. Then Jackie says she's a professional," he laughed. "Then Bella had to counter, 'A professional what?'" He kept laughing.
I did too.
"I have no idea why Dad stayed up there. I think he likes the quiet. He always wanted to move out to the country."
I nodded, agreeing with him.
"Seriously. You don't have to stay. They're not admitting me," he said.
"It's cool. When you're feeling better, we have to talk," I whispered.
"About what?" He sat up, wincing as he did so.
"Just relax—"
"May we interrupt?" A male voice sounded from behind the curtain. Looking down, I saw two pairs of cheap-ass dress shoes and guessed they were agents.
"Do we have a choice?" I asked, pulling the cloth aside.
Agent Grasso and Agent Hilsa smiled at the both of us. "What's this about?" Grasso pointed to Carlisle.
"Oh . . . don't get too excited." I smiled.
"Post-surgical infection," Carlisle answered. "No one tried to take me out again—don't jump for joy yet."
Agent Grasso looked around us. "Where's the missus?" He looked to me.
I shrugged. "Around."
"She's been like your little shadow lately," Agent Hilsa commented.
I didn't reply.
Grasso looked to be sizing me up for something.
Slightly, I shook my head—leaning toward him and widening my eyes. "Can I help you?"
He grinned. "Nope . . . just wanted to make sure my favorite guys were okay."
Carlisle and I exchanged a look.
"We'll be in touch." Hilsa winked. "Say hello to Isabella for me."
In lieu of waving, I gave them the finger as they backed away from Carlisle's bed. But then Grasso placed his hand on Hilsa's arm, still staring at me.
"We have something you might be interested in," Grasso hedged.
"I highly doubt that—"
"Oh . . . you'd be surprised." Grasso grinned.
Hilsa pulled him away. "Fuck him," he said in reference to me.
"Mr. Cullen . . . can you come with us for a bit? It won't take long." Grasso stepped back to us.
Carlisle placed his hand on my arm. "Don't—not 'til I'm out of here."
"Need your older brother to wipe your ass? How sweet." Grasso was getting on my fucking nerves.
"I'll be good." I patted Carlisle's shoulder, and then followed the two Feds out of the emergency room.
They led me toward a black SUV, opening the back door for me. I got in voluntarily, as they entered the front. We didn't drive anywhere. They just wanted to talk, and I finished my coffee while I waited for them to start.
"We heard something interesting earlier." Grasso showed me a tape recorder.
And I won't lie, I think my heart skipped a beat. "Oh, yeah?" My voice remained neutral.
"Yeah." Grasso smiled at me through the rearview and hit play.
The sound of static filled the cab, and then Grasso forwarded the tape a bit. "Here's where it gets good." He pressed play again.
" . . . you would have handled things a lot better." It was Esme.
"Can you grab me that pillow?" And Aro.
"Sure thing." It was quiet for a few minutes, save the sounds of things moving around. "Edward's such a hot-head. You know? You'd be all suave and level-headed. I think," she giggled. "I can't wait until you're in charge of it all."
"Es . . . I'm trying to watch this." The television show Aro was watching took over everything, and there were no more hushed whispers or anything else. Aro was smart to do this—to stop her from talking and raising the volume—the interference.
"This is the best part." Grasso forwarded it again. "Listen—"
"He has to go. I don't know what my father was thinking." Esme again.
"Es . . . watch yourself," Aro said.
"Oh, come on!" She sucked her teeth. "You know as well as I do. Shit hasn't ran the same since he took the reins." Esme sounded just like some wise guy, and it made me chuckle.
"Look, shut the fuck up or get out of my room—" Aro had raised his voice to her, and I threw my head back.
"Sorry," I said, holding my hand out.
Grasso sighed, stopping the recording. "Things became much more interesting when Andino got his memory back. Didn't it?" He looked to Hilsa.
"Is that all?" I asked, ready to leave the car.
Hilsa turned back to me. "We did you a favor. Now you can do us one. Isn't that how all this works? One hand washes the other with you guineas, right?"
I raised a brow, staring.
"We just saved your life," Grasso said. "We could pick them up for conspiracy, but there's no way of knowing what they're really talking about, even if we really do." He shook his head. "Now be honest with us . . ." He tossed something back to me.
I picked up the photo of Marcy—Agent Danika Marshall.
"What happened to her?" Hilsa asked.
Shrugging and pursing my lips, I threw it back to the front. "She used to work for my cousin at the club. One day, she didn't show up for her shift, and that's it—"
"Bullshit!" Hilsa shouted.
"It's true. I have no idea where Marcy is—"
"That's not her name!"
Grasso smacked Hilsa on his chest to shut him up. "What my partner means is—"
"Look, people quit their jobs all the time," I said. "Call Jazz at the club. Maybe he has her home address on file." She's been missing for weeks, and this is the third time I'm hearing about it. Back when we had that situation with Gail, they had a body. Now, they don't have anything but a missing person's report. "Is there anything else I can do for you?"
Grasso laughed, and then abruptly turned to shine a flashlight in my face. "Where were you the night of June 2nd of this year—last week—a Friday?" He laughed out loudly.
Knowing that was the night John was killed, I lied—sort of. "I was out to eat with my wife . . . then we went to a hotel to fuck. Shouldn't you know that already? How many times did my wife come that night?" I was being a dick. "Shouldn't you boys know everything?" I teased, knowing they've been a few steps behind me instead of in front for the past month.
Hilsa turned to me again. "Actually, there was a fire—tragic thing. A synagogue in Queens blew up, which occurs often when meth makers are careless."
I didn't reply, and I also didn't know that.
"We made a shitload of arrests that night. But don't worry. Your friend Tzahalla wasn't harmed, and she hasn't been seen since before it happened," Grasso said.
"Who?" I asked.
"So . . ." Agent Fuck-Face started. "Drasso gets shot in your restaurant, and then you skip town for four days." Hilsa nodded. "That doesn't make you look suspicious at all."
I smiled, leaning between the front seats. "As far as I know, John's whore clipped him, which had nothing to do with me. People from Jersey—hell—all over the Tri-State area come to Little Italy to eat . . . and that's not my restaurant." I shook my head.
"But it will be when you take out Andino and your brother's wife, right?" Hilsa smirked at me.
"Why would I do that?" I played stupid.
Grasso groaned. "Goodnight, Skip."
I grinned, opening the door. "My name is Edward—get it straight."
Leaving the car, I wore a frown. My mind raced with thoughts and went back to my sister in-law. Even so, when I entered the hospital, I didn't stop in the emergency room. I went straight up to Aro's spot. He was still awake when I arrived and placed my finger to my mouth.
With no words exchanged between us, I searched high and low for a bug—something that could be hidden essentially anywhere. I didn't have a metal detector, and so it felt like I was looking for a needle in a haystack.
Remembering that Esme was the loudest when she gave him a pillow, I went to Aro's head. He had remained pretty clear on the tape. I thought I had a good idea. As I skimmed the lighted box above his head with my fingers, I came across something.
Then Aro bitched when I stepped onto his bed and practically had my cock in his face. I wore a smile as I dug out the wire with the small microphone attached to a larger device.
And then I took out my pocketknife to cut the wire.
I threw that shit in the toilet before I started looking around again.
Aro and I didn't speak while I took every gift out of the room. The nurses looked at me like I was crazy, but I'm thorough, and twenty minutes later, I was sure the small space was clear of any insects.
"Whew!" Still cautious, I grabbed the remote to turn up the TV. "What the fuck was Esme saying earlier?" I whispered in his ear.
"What?" he asked.
"Esme—what'd she say to you earlier?" I repeated.
He looked away from me. "Just—she suggested I'd be a good skip. That's all. I thought it was nice of her." He was lying, either not wanting get more involved or her hurt, yet he knew exactly what I referred to.
"I'm trying so fucking hard, but at every fucking turn—" My hand clamped down on his shoulder, and I squeezed. "This is strike three, my friend."
"She said some shit. So what? It's not like I thought anything of it." He shrugged me off of him. "The Feds caught up to you?"
I nodded.
He swallowed, looking down to his hands. "I know I keep fucking up, but this time it's not me. I can't control what others say, and I told her to shut her mouth. What was I supposed to do? She didn't outright threaten your life. It's Esme. What the fuck is she going to do? Stab yo' ass with a cuticle cutter?" He laughed a bit.
I chuckled. "You have no idea what that bitch is—" I stopped talking.
"Skip . . . I'm in this bed or the fucking chair." He had tears in his eyes now. "Don't think me a fag, but I love you. I never had a brother—you're my brother. And I know I fucked up with the Shortcake thing. I don't know what I was thinking—just knew what I felt, which was lonely and so fucking sad. I was desperate. Though, I think I've come to terms with shit now—But this . . . I'd never." He wiped his eyes. "When you were locked up . . . I prayed for you—I-I prayed you'd get released. But not only so you'd be with your family, but so I wouldn't have to play boss anymore. I hated it. I like dealing with the guys and doing what you tell me." He finished, huffing a breath. "In fact—" he paused, staring me in the eyes, "Let Caius or Jasper be your second. I'd like to keep my capo status and run my crew—that's all I want. I want simple—the way it used to be. I'll even clean again."
"That's one helluva pay cut," I commented.
"It's what I want." He didn't break the stare.
"Well . . . too-fucking-bad because that's not what I want." I pointed to myself, shaking my head. "You agreed, and Caius—even my fucking cousin—I think they'd take me out faster than you would."
He shrugged and looked defeated. "I'd never . . ."
We were quiet for a while, and then he said, "Even if I thought about it—I doubt I'd be able to do it. The consequences and my reasons—the reasons I briefly wanted you dead had nothing—nothing—to do with being the boss. Besides, if I iced you, Shortcake would kill me. She'd figure it out." He laughed at himself.
"I'm sorry," I whispered.
His eyes widened, and he grinned a little. "That's not something I've ever heard you say before."
"Don't get used to it." I chuckled, rubbing his shoulder. "What the fuck, Aro?" Shaking my head, I wanted the world—our world—to make sense again. "You gotta get the fuck out of here. Then . . . I don't want to see another hospital, unless one of us has another kid."
"I'm thinking about getting snipped," he blurted. "I know it's not Catholic, but . . . I don't want any more kids."
I scrunched my nose. "You might . . . especially if you meet someone who doesn't have any. They'll want kids . . . probably." I shrugged.
He opened his mouth to talk, but nothing came out for a second. "I'd like—if it's cool with you—to share some of my responsibilities with Caius or Jasper. I was thinking, and . . . I know it's going to be hard, but I want my kids. I told Lau this morning—I called her—I'm going to keep the house. It's what the kids know. She wants to stay in Cali, regardless of what I give her . . . We plan to let the kids choose where they want to stay. AJ and Katie are old enough to know what they want—Daddy or Mommy." He waved a hand. "Everything's up in the air, but I need more time for other things—not the thing."
I nodded. "I can respect that. But let's not make any decisions—confront anyone about it—until you know what's up. Deal?"
"Thanks for considering it."
We didn't talk much more after that, and I left. Instead of going back to Carlisle, Tasso and I went outside for a smoke; I needed one desperately. While I smoked my cigarette, I thought about Esme—wondered how someone who I never think about was suddenly all I could think about. You'd think I had a hard-on for her with all the thoughts I had.
Things were supposed to be slowing down. They weren't supposed to get more complicated.
Esme was playing the same game Jane played back in the day, and I know how that turned out; however, I didn't want that for my sister in-law. Deep inside, I felt like half a pussy because she needed help—Prozac or some shit—not a bullet up her ass.
"Oh . . . what are you a doin'?" Tasso shouted out to some kids—being kids and horsing around near his Hummer. They had to be in their mid-teens or so. I didn't know these kids, haven't fucked with any neighborhood kids since a few were brought in by the Feds. They had nothing of substance to tell the F.B.I., but I'd rather not get involved with the under-eighteen crowd.
"Learn English!" one of them shouted.
Tasso tossed his cigarette and went for them, and I held him back. "Calmare," I spat, but Valente already stepped out of the driver's side, ready to beat some ass. "Don't move," I told him.
"Listen to your boyfriend." A fat one laughed.
"Keep walking!" I pointed away from us.
"Fuck you, motherfucker . . . you want something?" The tall one showed me a bat, getting ready to swing on the Hummer.
"You want something?" I showed them my nine, taking a few steps toward them, while Lou stepped out of the hospital.
"Those fucks scratched my whip last week!" Lou took off after them. "Come here, you little shits!"
They ran away with quickness.
I laughed, watching them go.
Carlisle wasn't finished receiving his medication until six in the morning. They also inserted an IV, which will stay in his arm. Now, he needs intravenous meds daily, until his infection subsides. The line they placed insures that they won't have to keep sticking him with needles to get access to the vein. And I made appointments for him—for the next seven days at two o'clock—Carlisle will have to be at outpatient services to receive his medicine. I paid attention, acted as his wife, because he fell asleep.
He still looked worse for wear when we went for breakfast at the diner.
"I'm not hungry." He pushed his plate away.
I stared at him, acting like a child and shit. "Eat it!" I nudged it back to him. "We're not leaving this table until you eat something—eat the eggs. They're good for you." I stuffed my mouth with pancakes. "I need to talk to you about some important shit. And I can't with you all fucked-up." I nodded to myself.
He groaned, sipping his juice. "I'm so tired."
I didn't reply and continued eating my food.
"Can I stay with you until I figure out what I'm doing?" he asked.
"Of course . . . I'll be packing up the house, but you're more than welcome to stay."
After breakfast, we went back to my apartment so we could count out the three and a half mil. Then we all went to meet the Realtor. With that much money in my trunk, they're lucky I didn't arrive in an armored car.
The owner of the house was there, cleaning up the backyard—some old dude with a comb-over. We were introduced, but then the Realtor—some broad named Barbara—accosted me.
She gave me the grand tour.
And all I kept thinking was, "This is it. This is what I busted my ass for all these years." With this house, I would finally be set. The house we have now is gorgeous, but this one—
I had fucking stars in my eyes. It's wonderful and spacious. It's in Bay Ridge, and Bella fell in love with it too.
"Your application says you're not interested in a mortgage?" Barbara looked at me funny.
I put up a finger to stop her and turned to Carlisle. "Talk to Barb." I winked at her. "I'm going to keep looking around." As soon as I walked away from them, Carlisle turned back into a lawyer, and I looked for the owner.
He was skimming leaves out of the pool.
"Morning," I greeted.
He smiled wide. "Morning . . . do you have questions?"
I shook my head. "This house is, is—well, it's fan-fucking-tastic. Why are you selling?"
He chuckled at my choice of words. "My kids are all grown up . . . my wife, God rest her soul, passed this winter."
"Christ . . . my apologies, sir." I gave him a nod.
He shrugged his shoulders. "She had early on-set Alzheimer's—was in the hospital for months. She's not suffering anymore—I thank God for that. He gave us thirty-eight years together."
I smiled. "How many kids do you have?"
"Four . . . they're all grown-up, moved away years ago. You might know my boy. He's probably older than you, Michael—Michael Sansone?"
I shook my head. "I'm sorry. It doesn't ring a bell." I thought about it for a minute. "Was Mary Rose Sansone—"
"That's my daughter." He slapped his knee. "Did you go to school with her?"
Actually, Aro and I both fucked her in the park one night. She was a nice girl, but a loose one, as well. "I did . . . she had a sister . . . your other daughter—" I snapped my fingers, remembering the two sisters being so different. Whereas Mary Rose was a whore, her sister was quiet—one of those never been kissed, yet beautiful, types.
"I have three girls: Mary Rose is married now. She married a stockbroker—lives over in Jersey City. Tavia—"
"Tavia!" I shouted, remembering and smacking my forehead. "She sure was a beauty."
He smiled so wide. "She was always devout to the Lord. She teaches third grade at Saint Anselm."
I gasped. "What a coincidence? My son—if we're lucky enough to buy this house—will be going to that school. He'll be going into the third grade, too."
"Small world . . . Her mother never wanted her to be a nun—"
"A nun?" I nodded, feeling dirty for crushing after a future one back in the day.
"Then there's Lucille and Michael . . ."
I stood there and let him talk about his kids for a while. If I had different friends, I know I'd appreciate them letting me dote on my kids some. There's nothing I'd like to talk about more.
And I wanted this guy to be my friend.
"So . . . that's when I decided. I'm getting old, and Lucille has all this extra space. Who knew? Did you know, my wife and I paid one hundred and ten thousand for this house back in 1978. Boy . . .the market has gone up. I was so surprised when I learned I'd be a millionaire—I'll get to send my grandchildren to college." He laughed to himself. "It's the best feeling in the world."
"Yeah, but—" I frowned. "After Realtor, taxes, and lawyer fees . . . I mean, you'll only clear two mil, if you're lucky."
He shrugged. "It's enough, and I have a few offers." He gave me a look, and I knew he was batting up to play some hardball.
I leaned into him. "I'll give you three—cash—and take care of the Realtor fee, consider her job done." I wiped my hands clean. "No legal fees. I have a lawyer."
He grinned.
"I only have one condition." I looked back to the house, which was pretty much empty. "I want the keys now, and my lawyers will handle the rest. I have your cash . . ." I let that hang there.
He waved a finger at me and suddenly looked angry. "You're Cullen—as in Edward Cullen?" He acted as though he just learned my name, or my identity just came to him.
"That's what it says on my driver's license—"
"Forget it!" He waved his arms, walking away from me.
"Mr. Sansone . . ." I went after him.
He turned, abruptly. "I don't want your money. God knows what you did—"
"Listen," I placed my hand on his shoulder. "You can't discriminate about who you sell to. That's against the law. Now, if my offer is better than the others, it'd be stupid of you not to take it—bad business. I'm reaching out to you—looking out for your best interest."
He glowered at me.
I wasn't finished. "I have three kids, a wife who adores this house, and—" I didn't feel the need to dick this guy around. "Most of my money? It comes from legitimate business," I whispered. "I'm looking to raise my family—have thirty-eight or more years with my wife in your gorgeous home."
"Three and a half."
"Deal."
We shook on it.
/=/=/=/=/=/
Later that night, I sat in my recliner, flipping through channels with a beer. I felt like I was on top of the world—as the owner of the fuck-awesome house out in Bay Ridge.
Earlier, being the nice guy that I am, I picked Aro up from the hospital.
And now I had two sick fucks lying on my couch.
It didn't bother me at all, as I had Lou attending to them. "So . . . you want your burger medium-rare?" he asked Aro.
"Medium. Write it down if it's that hard."
"Well-done." I pointed to myself.
"I don't want anything," Carlisle whispered.
"Make him a hot dog," I said. "You're eating!" I shouted at Carlisle. "Christ." Sitting back and getting comfortable again, my phone rang. It was Bella, and that made me smile. "Hey, you."
"Hey, yourself." She didn't sound so happy.
"What's up?" I asked.
"I miss you."
"I miss you, too." When Aro and Carlisle started making kissing noises, I got up and left the room.
"Who's there?" she laughed now.
"Aro and Carlisle . . . I'm harboring the lonely bachelors," I sighed.
"Not for long, I hope." She grumbled.
"As soon as you and the kids come back—" I didn't feel the need to verbalize that they'd be gone already. "Christ, baby, I really do miss you." I found myself smiling.
"I can't wait to see the new house." She squealed.
"I can't wait to have all of us in it." I paced the hallway. "Listen," I brought my voice down lower, "whatever you do . . . now this is serious. You are to have no contact whatsoever with Esme. Understand?"
"Why?"
"Bella," I hedged. "Just listen to me. Okay? She knows where you are, and that's more info than I like her having. I don't want her around you or the kids—don't even answer her fucking phone calls."
She blew out a breath. "Fine."
"Thank you—" I stopped speaking when I turned and saw Carlisle standing in the bathroom doorway. "I love you—gotta go." I made my own kiss noise and ended the call.
"What's—" Carlisle wore a long, confused face.
I gestured to the living room, since it would probably take the both of them an hour to walk back to my office. Once Carlisle and I sat back down, I decided to get straight to the point. "I spoke to some people and I found out some shit." I nodded.
"And it has to do with Esme?" Carlisle asked.
"She was baiting me," Aro started. "Wanted me to—"
"Not that shit." I shook my head.
"What shit? What is going on?" Carlisle actually fucking whined as he picked up his Capri Sun, slurping from the straw and squeezing the pouch.
"Easy . . . you might have to drive later." I patted his back, laughing. They didn't share my humor. "My bad."
Aro turned off the television, and they both stared at me.
"I went to John's funeral and spoke to Luke . . . he gave me a name." I looked to Carlisle. "A friend of the guy who tried to take you and Candace out. The friend said some broad paid him to take some chick out—she drove a silver Lexus, was attractive, and wore a blonde wig. The silver Lexus had New York plates."
I waited for one of them to say something, but neither one did. They looked surprised. Fuck. I was too.
"Esme would never—"
"She would," Carlisle whispered, answering Aro. "H-how do you know it's really . . ."
"I broke into your house yesterday, found a wig." I shrugged. "I confronted her about it. She didn't deny it—went a bit nuts." I looked to the both of them. "Have either of you heard from her today?"
They both nodded. "I let her call go to voice mail," Carlisle said.
"Me, too . . . the first time. She called again right before youse scooped me up." Aro nodded. "She sounded fine—whatever."
"What are you going to do?" Carlisle asked with tears in his eyes.
I sat back, shaking my head. "This is your shit." I pointed to him. "It's on you. I'm behind whatever you decide."
"I have to call Didyme—figure out a way so she'll keep the girls for a bit longer. They're supposed to come back the day after tomorrow." Carlisle sniffled. "How fucking evil—" he shouted. "You think you know someone and, and—" he cried, while Aro and I sat by him for most of the night.
Thank you for reading.
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