“I want to kill him myself,” I interrupt. “Give him to me so I can kill him on my terms.”

He laughs, then pauses. I really surprised him.

Good, because I surprised myself too.

“Get in line, princess,” Sergio says. “Everybody around here’s got terms they wanna kill him on… but tell you what, you bring your sweet ass home with Massimo and I’ll let Lucari live long enough for you to spit in his face. How about it?”

There’s no trade of equally valued things. Both men are worthless to the one who approves the swap. This is as good as it’s going to get.

Tommy’s neon sign flashes Calzones! Pasta! Sicilian Slices!

What now? Where am I going, if not home?

“Prove he’s alive,” I demand. “You could be talking to no one.”

“Jesus Christ, you’re a ballbreaker. All right. Here’s the legend himself…”

There’s a rustling on the other side of the line. Murmurs and grunts.

“Sarah?”

It’s him. I’ve never heard him sound so weak, but it’s Dario.

“Da—”

“Stay away.”

“But—”

“Don’t come! Stay away!”

The phone’s pulled away and Sergio’s voice comes back.

“I think he’s sweet on you. So, we keeping him alive for you or nah?”

“Yes.” My response is too quick, betraying a naïve eagerness.

“And you bring your brother home.”

This is too easy. It’s the trade I wanted, but I’m getting less and less sure it’s the trade I need.

I still have guns. I can shoot them all the way I did Massimo. I look back at him again and… I wish I hadn’t done it.

Maybe I won’t shoot them all. Or any of them. I just don’t know.

What would Dario do?

He’d set the terms. He’d say when, where, what, how. He’d plan ahead for every contingency. He’d have loyal men and guns and a lifetime of experience. I can’t even say where the meeting should be because I don’t really know where I am right now.

But I know where I’m not. Maybe that has value.

I’m not where Dario is, and if I am—if we are together in the same place, and that place isn’t in a Colonia stronghold—new possibilities open up.

“Yes,” I say. “But I’m not meeting you at Precious Blood.”

“Did you know…” Sergio starts by falling short of a direct answer. “You guys are up in half of Manhattan’s business? The Colonia owns an Irish fucking sports bar. For real. On Avenue B and 7th. Gallagher’s of all things.”

I don’t know where that is, but unless I want Sergio to meet me here and drive the car to the meeting place, I’ll have to figure it out.

“Fine. When?”

“Not tonight. Your dad’s having a wake tonight. Do you know why they call it a wake when the guy’s in the big sleep?”

“You bring Dario.”

“Because the family was giving them one last chance to wake up, but—”

“Shut up!”

“You don’t gotta yell. Jeeze. They’re putting your pop in the ground tomorrow morning. You should come.”