Page 96 of The Don's Secret Heir

My face hurts and I realize my nose is bleeding when I wipe it and my sleeve comes away bloody. Howard must have gotten me with an elbow or something.

He’s being processed next to me, though, so I must have given as good as I got. I grin at him but he won’t look at me.

Rocco and I get thrown in the drunk tank, and I lie down on the bunk.

“How are we getting out of here, boss?”

I don’t open my mouth to tell him I don’t care if we ever get out, that if Liana’s gone I don’t have anything to go back to.

“You get one phone call, but you’re not leaving until you sober up,” the female cop says to me, leading me out of the cell to a phone. I nod, considering not even making a call.

In the end, for Rocco, I call Giovanni.

“Boss, what thefuckare you still doing up?” Giovanni answers, his voice raspy from sleep.

“Went out with Rocco.”

“Fuck. Of course you did.”

“And well, there was this bar fight.”

“Of course there was. Are you two in the fucking drunk tank?”

“We are,” I say, and laughter wants to bubble up in my chest all over again. I don’t quite know why. I guess the situation is ridiculous. Me, thedon. Getting locked up by the very detective I have in my pocket.

I’m really making Papa proud.

“Fuck. I’m coming to get you.”

“Don’t bother coming until daylight. They say we have to sober up first. But bring bail for me and Rocco and....” I sigh. “Also, bail Scott Howard out of jail.”

“Scott Howard? Who the fuck is?—”

“Just do it, okay?”

“Alright, boss. I’ll... I’ll see you in the morning.”

I head back into the cell and Rocco looks up at me blearily.

“We posting bail?”

“In the morning,” I mumble, and he doesn’t respond. I curl up on the bed, which is hard and unyielding, and the alcohol in my system forces me to pass out as soon as my head hits the cot.

I wake up with my mouth dry and sticky, daylight streaming through the bars of the cell.

“I feel like something crawled in my mouth and died,” Rocco groans from the other side of the room.

Some kid, younger than both of us, is sleeping on one of the other cots.

I sit up and rub my face.

“Giovanni’s coming,” I croak, and Rocco nods, too tired to argue, I guess. He usually would be pissed I called Giovanni.

They call Rocco out first. I wait and wait, sitting on the edge of the cot.

They bark out my name.

I stand up with effort, wincing at the pain in my head.