Page 45 of The Beast Who Broke Me
“He…” There’s no way I’m going to go into everything that’s happened over the last few days, so I abandon that sentence. “Long story short, D’Amato grabbed the Clemenza off the street.”
“Hewhat?”
“I guess he heard some story the Bratva fucks were putting around, rumors that I wasn’t treating the Clemenza right.” I watch Seb closely as I mention the Bratva, but I see nothing in his face to suggest he’s heard about the potential war I accidentally started there.
But Seb is watching me just as closely. “So what happened?” he asks.
“D’Amato pulled me and the Boss into a meeting. He had the Clemenza there, who, you know, told him the truth.”
“Which is?”
My food arrives, giving me a chance to choose my words. I thought Seb was on my side after the opera attack. “He toldD’Amato everything was fine,” I say once the server is gone. “That he owed his fuckin’ life to me, and that he wanted to…” I shrug, not knowing how to finish that, because “be with me” sounds way too intimate, and even “be under my protection” isn’t much better.
“And did he mean it?” Seb asks. He’s stopped eating to focus on me, which isn’t a great sign. I don’t want him focused on me, and especially not me in connection to the Clemenza.
“Well, he convinced D’Amato,” I tell him, which is true enough. “And D’Amato let him come home with me.”
I don’t like the way I said that.Come home with me, as though we’re in some cozy fucking relationship.
And Seb picks up on it, too. “What the hell is going on between you two, Orsini? I don’t understand it.”
“Yeah? Well, me neither.”
“You still want to kill him?”
I reach for my wine and take a long drink to cover the involuntary jerk that goes through me at the question. I use my glass as cover so I can arrange my face into the right expression.
Want to kill him? Of course I want to kill him. I plan to torture him until he begs for death, and then I’ll wait a while longer. He deserves an undignified end.
But the script feels old. The words sound rehearsed, even in my own head.
“I’m protecting him,” I tell Seb. “Like you saw yourself at the opera.”
“Where is he now?”
“At home.”
Seb still looks troubled, but the next words out of his mouth aren’t what I expected. “Keep him there. It’s not safe on the streets for him, not right now. There’s a price on his head.”
“So I heard. You know who put it there?”
“Isn’t that what I toldyouto find out?” he growls, but there’s no heat behind it. “I don’t know. And Big Gee isn’t feeling any warmer toward him after that meeting, which”—he squints at me—“you still haven’t told me everything about. What got my brother’s panties all twisted up?”
I want to deflect again, but what’s the point? If Seb doesn’t hear it from me, he’ll hear it from one of those dozy bodyguards of Big Gee’s. They’re gossips as well as useless. “He kissed me. The Clemenza,” I add, as Seb looks confused. “He kissed me in front of…well, everyone.”
“Oh.” Understanding comes into Seb’s face. “So it’s not just about protection, huh? You and him.”
“He was fucking around. That’s all.” I shove veal into my word-hole and chew. For a day or two there, I was dumb enough to fall for the Clemenza’s arts. Dumb enough to think that maybe we did have something under all that mess of history and blood.
That’s what makes me hate him all the harder. He had me so mixed up I even considered giving up justice for my father. That fog that he brought down over my eyes was so thick I lost sight of my vendetta.
“How does that…work?” Seb asks. He’s stopped eating altogether and is just staring at me.
“What?”
“I’ve known you most of your life, Orsini. All you ever cared about was killing?—”
“It’s none of your damn business,” I snap, and then expect Seb to pull rank. He’s Underboss, after all. If he wants tomakeit his business, he will.
