Massimo blinks. Tilts his head. “Were you always like this?”

“Like what?”

“Smart.”

“No. I wasn’t. I was pure and sweet. I was ripe. Pink. Low-hanging fruit. But…” I shrug, thinking about the girl I was. “The apple’s cut. It won’t be whole again.”

“Exit here. Put on your blinker.”

“Oh, my God, Emo.” I click up the blinker. “I know how to get off the highway.”

That isn’t a lie. I know how. I’ve just never done it before.

“Right. Like how you think you can get Lucari out just like that?” He snaps his fingers.

I stop at a light and wonder if the streets were always this crowded.

“You, Mr. Justlikethat… you drove up to some strange house in Yonkers with a peashooter and your male ego. Did you stop yourself and make a really detailed plan? Because if I remember correctly, you came alone and you shot the only guy who could get you in the gate.”

“That’s different.”

“Yes,” I say with a rush of confidence. “It is different. I’m going home and I know it’ll be hard.”

“Make a left on First and try not to hit anything.”

I catch his gaze in the mirror and stick my tongue out at him before putting my attention in front of me. I really don’t want to hit anything before I find Dario. After that, all bets are off.

CHAPTER 5

SARAH

We hide the shotgun under the seat. Massimo puts his handgun under his jacket. It would be unseemly for me to carry one.

For all that, there’s nowhere to park the car.

Massimo has a wounded leg, and the hydrant spot is close, so I pull in there. It’s also big enough that I don’t have to maneuver into it, which is another thing I know how to do but have never done before. They can tow it for all I care.

Massimo’s using a broom handle for a cane. It was all we could find.

“That ring,” he says when he sees my left hand. “Get rid of it.”

He doesn’t have to explain further. The diamond tells too much of a story for him. For me… I don’t want it taken away. I may need to sell it, so I slide it off in my pocket.

He leans on me until we’re a few storefronts from Gallagher’s. When he pushes away, the next step he takes makes him clamp his jaw shut against a scream.

“You sure?” I ask.

“Yeah.” His kitchen clogs scrape the sidewalk.

“Emo.”

“Goody.” He takes a deep breath, then another step. “Can’t. Project. Weakness.”

I don’t ask him again if he’s sure. A man stands at the door to the bar, holding it open.

“Hello, Marco,” I say when we get there.

He ignores me to address Massimo. “You all right there, buddy?”

“Fuck off.”

He’s definitely not projecting weakness.

They let me go in first, then follow.