Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Without further delay, I open the door, ready to meet whatever fate lies behind it.
A man stands tall by the floor-to-ceiling window, looking down onto the street below, with his back to me. He utters a gravelly, “Close it behind you.”
So I do, not yet willing to relinquish my weapon.
I walk deeper into the room, taking in the tall gentleman. Dressed in a nicely fitted gunmetal gray suit, his salt-and-pepper hair styled just as it should be. When finally, he turns to face me, I frown. His hooded brown eyes, the shape of his brow, his face is somewhat familiar to me, but I can’t place it. But I don’t believe I’ve met this man before. He has to be pushing sixty.
“Can I help you?”
To my surprise, the old man looks down at the gun in my hand and tuts. “Put that away, boy. You’ll take somebody’s eye out.”
With a puzzled glance, I do as I’m told, feeling much like a little boy being reprimanded by an uncle.
He watches me closely, and when my weapon is out of sight, his face softens, the wrinkles around his eyes creasing with his easy smile. Holding out a sheet of paper, he reveals, “Got my boys to clean up and we took a lot of these down, but I’m bound to have missed some.”
On the paper were two photographs, one of myself, one of Alejandra, both taken candidly. Above the photos, in bold black letters, is written ‘Have you seen these people?’ followed by a cock-and-bull story about stealing a motorized wheelchair from a single mother and her disabled daughter.
Motherfucking Gio.
The asshole isn’t as stupid as I originally thought.
“Where did you get this?”
The man walks over to the closest table, taking his time pulling out a chair and sitting slowly, as though he has all the time in the world.
He does not answer.
And it fuels my irritation. I snap, “Yo, Pops, I asked you a question.”
The man returns, “And they’re the wrong questions to ask, Julius Carter.”
My body tightens with pent-up frustration. “Who are you?”
“Ah.” The man smiles deeply, crossing his ankle over his knee, and his dimples flash. “Now you’re getting there.” He watches me a long moment before he spreads his arms out by his sides and answers me. “My name is Antonio Falco.”
I blink at this motherfucker a whole minute before I tip back my head and let laughter consume me. I laugh for minutes, hours, and the man simply watches me, a knowing smile on his face. I can’t contain my amusement, wiping away tears of mirth. “Listen here, old man. I knew Antonio Falco. He was my partner, my best friend, my brother. And you ain’t him.” Suddenly, my amusement fades as quickly as it began and I take a menacing step forward. “Shut your fucking mouth. You don’t say his name. You don’t even think it.”
But the man’s smile deepens affectionately. “I know who you are, Julius. I know who you were to him, to Twitch. I know much about you that I’m sure you don’t even know about yourself.” His face turns stern. “But should you talk to me with such blatant disrespect in the future, I’ll pop you in the mouth myself, son.”
Someone needs to call a nursing home, because Pops is clearly fucking crazy. Yet something about the way he looks at me, the way he speaks, has me calming my tone.
I try once more, softer this time. “Who are you?”
His eyes smile, as he relays, “I already told you that, Julius. I am Antonio Falco.”
I huff out a breath of annoyance. I don’t have time for this shit.
My feet move fast. I spin on my heel to get the fuck away from the mental patient when he utters the words that have me pausing in my tracks.
“Antonio Falco,” the old man repeats, as I reach the closed door. Just as I move to open the door and call security to clear him out, he adds, “Senior.”
And although my mind is doubtful, images of this man flash through my mind, and the familiarity in his face suddenly clicks.
This man is an older version of Twitch.
The ride home was uneventful. Ling drove us back to the house in eerie, uncomfortable silence.
I didn’t like it, but I also knew that asking about what happened at the club was asking for trouble. Yes, she had revealed a little about herself to me, and I no longer felt completely frightened of this woman, but tonight proved she was exactly as I imagined her to be.
Brutal. Violent. Ruthless.
My mind told me that knowing someone like Ling was good and she would make a useful ally. If I could only get her to tolerate me, we’d be in business. She didn’t need to know I planned on taking her place in this life. I would befriend her, but I would have to start slow.