Series: Chicago Sin Series by Renee Rose
Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 338(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
On my floor, I see Marco standing with an officer. His apartment is two flights up, next door to Leo’s. I hope to God their places weren’t involved in this shit too.
He lifts his chin at me. We pass the apartment manager, who points and snarls, “I want you out of this place by tomorrow. I never should’ve let a felon rent here.”
“He stays,” Marco’s firm but raised voice cuts across the low conversations going on, making everyone look.
I ignore them both. I’m dead again. I taste ash on my tongue. My movements are mechanical. I see in shades of dark grey. Everything closes around me like the metal bars of my cell back in Joliet. I could easily kill or be killed right now without a single emotion.
A police officer meets me at my door. “You Armando Rossi?”
“Yes, sir.”
He looks at the officer who brought me up. “Has he been patted down?”
“Yes, sir, he’s clean.”
“Can I see some ID?”
I produce my wallet and the ID card I got last week, since my license has been revoked. He pulls out a notepad and pencil and copies down my information. “Can you tell me what happened here?”
I shake my head. “No, sir. I was away.”
“What do you think happened?” he snaps, obviously irritated by me. He’s already made some judgement about me, and I’m sure it wasn’t generous.
“I think…” I look around at my apartment. There are bullet holes in every wall. The glass in the artwork Marco had hung is shattered, covering the floors. The flat screen is busted all to hell. A giant spider web of cracks run through the window that overlooks the street, but the glass hasn’t fallen in or out.
Yet.
Fluff from the sofa pushes from the upholstery. Marco already told me what he heard and saw, so it’s easy to picture it. Some guys busted in and fired hundreds of rounds from a semi-automatic weapon into my place. “I think someone wants me dead.”
“Who?”
I shake my head immediately. “No idea.”
He narrows his eyes. “Who would you guess?”
I shrug. “No idea.”
“Landlord said you’re just out of prison.”
I should say, yes, sir, but I’m suddenly done with the fucking conversation. I want everybody the hell out. I need to talk to Marco and Leo. So I stare the asshole down. It wasn’t technically a question, so I’m not going to deign to answer.
I clear my throat. “Can I look around?”
The cop narrows his eyes at me again. “You have anything worth stealing here?”
“No.” I drop the sir. Like I said, I’m done.
He tucks his notebook and pencil back in his pocket. “Yeah. Look around, let me know if anything’s missing.”
I head into the bedroom. It looks just as bad as the living room. Bullet holes in the doors, the headboard. Feathers from the pillows strewn about the room. They probably started here. When they realized I wasn’t home, they shot the place up anyway.
It’s a message. They’re coming for me.
This feels more like The Hermanos than the hit on Friday did.
I did stash some of that start-up cash the don gave me in the apartment, but I don’t want to check with the cops here. I don’t need to explain where I got seven large—what’s left of the money after helping my ma and Hannah out. Marco wouldn’t take any money for the deposit and rent he paid on this place nor for the furnishings he bought to fill it.
We stand around with our thumbs up our asses for another forty minutes before the boys in blue finally pack it up and leave. The landlord is still standing outside, waiting to confront me. Marco walks over to stand by my side.
“Listen,” he says, spreading his hands in a conciliatory fashion. “I just can’t have your type around here. My residents need to feel safe, and what happened tonight is going to kill my business.”
There’s a time I would’ve given shit back to him. I’m pretty fucking alpha dog, and I don’t let anyone push me around. But at this moment, I just can’t bring myself to give two fucks. I don’t care if I stay in this apartment building or go. It’s not like I’ve spent any time here to begin with since meeting Hannah.
I’m not even angry about what happened. There’s no sense of vengeance ringing through me. No desire for retribution.
I’m just fucking dead again.
And that’s really the only thing I find disturbing.
But then again, who gives a fuck? Because it’s sort of an out-of-body experience.
But Marco, he gives all the fucks right now. He steps into the landlord’s personal space, not touching, but getting right in his grill. “No, what would kill your business, friend, would be getting on the wrong side of the Pachino family. My cousin stays. I stay. My brother stays. And if you hassle any one of us again, I will fucking take this business down, along with you and everyone you care about.” Marco steps back. “Believe it, old man.”