Breathless & Bloodstained (The Chicago War #4) (3 page)

Tommas didn’t
bother denying it. He had a taste for spilled blood when it was needed, and
sometimes, even when it wasn’t. Spilling blood always made a damn good point.

“Yeah, Bloody
Tommas, right?” Damian asked.

“Right,” Tommas
agreed.

He hadn’t earned
that nickname for doing nothing.

“Just make sure to
give me a heads up this time before you do something crazy again, all right?”
Damian asked.

“Yeah, I got it.”

“Good. And you
know, be careful, Tommy. I want my boy to have some kind of family to grow up
around. Something better than what we had, which was practically fucking
nothing. Certainly nothing worth having. Next to Theo, you’re going to be the
only other family I really have for my son. It takes a village and all that.”

Tommas froze in
his seat, taking in his cousin’s words. “A boy?”

“Shit. I said
that, didn’t I?”

“You did.”

Damian smirked. “I
wasn’t supposed to tell. Lily wanted to do some kind of reveal thing.”

“I won’t say
anything,” Tommas promised.

“Thanks.”

The shitty bubble
Tommas had been floating in for the last few weeks suddenly burst without
warning. All it took was his cousin reminding him that there was more to life
than the Outfit and selfish desires.

Love wasn’t always
selfish.

Neither was
family.

Tommas was
thrilled his cousin and Lily’s first child would be a boy. Damian was too
high-strung for a girl, as far as Tommas was concerned. Damian would likely
spend his life in a panic as his daughter got older, so a boy was a relief. But
at the same time, it wasn’t. Boys followed their fathers. Just like Tommas and
Damian had growing up.

“This needs to be
better,” Damian said quietly. “The Outfit can’t be like it is right now for my
boy in the future, Tommy. Is that how you want your kids growing up? Is that
what you want to hand off to them? This legacy?”

“No,” Tommas said.

“I didn’t think
so.”

“It’s not that
simple, D.”

Damian frowned.
“It rarely is. Are you doubting yourself?”

Tommas scoffed.
“Hardly.”

Being a boss
hadn’t been in his long-term goals, but Tommas didn’t mind the added task.

“Her again?”
Damian asked.

Tommas simply
nodded, but said nothing. It was always about Abriella even when it wasn’t.

“I could always
try to scare Joel into compliance,” Tommas said, more to himself than his
cousin.

“That’s an
interesting idea.”

“I’m sure we’ll
figure it all out.”  

Damian sighed. “I
know what you’re doing, man.”

“What?”

“You do realize
that with the boss gone, there’s only a few people who could really fill the
other seats for the front boss and underboss, right?” Damian asked.

“Obviously.”

“And if Joel
doesn’t hand the boss’s seat over, you’ll end him.”

“I might end him
even if he does,” Tommas said honestly. “I still want what is mine, D. He’s got
what belongs to me in a gilded cage. It’s the one thing holding me back from slaughtering
him when it’s all I really want to do. I don’t want to hurt Abriella, or worse,
get her hurt in the process of making my moves.”

“That’s not my
point, Tommy.”

“Then what is?”
Tommas asked.

“Don’t make me
your right-hand in this. I never wanted something like that.”

Tommas didn’t even
blink at the statement. “But you’re good at it. You’ve always been my
right-hand, even when we were kids. This shouldn’t be a surprise to you. Don’t
act like it is.”

“That’s not
important.”

“It is to me,
Damian. And right now, that is all that matters.”

Damian didn’t even
try to hide his displeasure. “You’re putting me in a spotlight. You know I
don’t like that kind of bullshit.”

“Comfort zones are
only useful for weak men who are afraid of the unknown. Time to step out of
yours, D.”

“Point taken,”
Damian muttered. “So, what are you doing today?”

Tommas pushed out
of the chair and stood. “Well, I have to check on my mother and make sure she
hasn’t gulped back enough alcohol to kill herself over the last few days.”

“And?” Damian
pressed.

Goddammit.

“And I’ll head
over to Theo’s hospital room.”

“I knew you would.
Good men apologize when they do wrong, Tommy.”

Tommas didn’t
reply.

Why should he?

He hadn’t been
good for a long time.

Tommas cringed the
moment he pushed open the door to his mother’s home. The pungent stench of
rotting food, piss, vomit, cigarette smoke, and old liquor burned his nose when
he inhaled. Tommas held back the automatic gag reflex that always seemed to act
up whenever that smell invaded his senses. It wasn’t the first time he got a
whiff of that concoction, but it still felt like a punch to his gut.

Since his father’s
unfortunate death—or murder, depending on how someone wanted to look at it—his
mother had only slid downhill with every passing day. Truthfully, Tommas was
just waiting for the woman to drown herself in alcohol.

As harsh as it
sounded, it would be easier for everyone, Serena included. Alcoholism was a
disease that affected everyone and anyone it could touch. It wasn’t just the
alcoholic that felt the disease’s dirty touch, but the people around the
addict, too.

Tommas had felt
more than enough over his thirty years.

Sure, he was more
than capable of handling the issue of his mother if he wanted to go that route.
He’d killed his father, after all. When Laurent nearly got Abriella killed in
the crossfire of his attack on Riley Conti months back, Tommas lost all
control.

His father should
have expected it. Laurent should have seen Tommas coming with that one long
before he actually pulled the trigger. How many times could a father hurt his
son in one way or another before the abused finally struck back?

Simple as that.

“Ma?” Tommas
hollered, letting the front door close.

Silence answered
his call.

Strolling down the
dark entryway, Tommas came to the kitchen. Light filtered in through the
half-shaded windows, giving the space just enough light. It was a fucking mess.
Dirty dishes on the countertops, filling the sinks, and empty bottles of wine
everywhere in between. Half-cooked and uneaten food in pans and mildewed in
containers on the cupboard. The fridge door was wide open, likely explaining a
good portion of the smell.

Sighing, Tommas
pushed down the irritation swelling in his gut.

The only good
thing his drunk of a father had done when alive was care for his useless wife.
Laurent made sure Serena was fed, filled with drink, and clean. The house
wasn’t immaculate back then, but it was bearable.

Serena was a lost
cause.

Gone.

Tommas shoes crunched
on the broken shards of what looked to be pieces of a wine glass as he stepped
closer to the island to grab the unhooked phone. Hanging it up, he checked the
last dialed number. The Canadian area code told Tommas that his mother had
probably been trying to contact his only surviving sister in Toronto.

Pain edged around
his senses.

Tommas forced it
back.

Cara likely didn’t
answer the call. After the shooting that took away her twin, and Tommas’ other
sister, Lea, Cara wanted very little to do with her family in Chicago. Once in
a blue moon, she would pick up a call from Tommas just to let him know she was
still alive and doing okay, but nothing else. Tommas wouldn’t hurt his sister
by demanding more from her. He couldn’t possibly bring her back here for the
sake of their mother knowing it would only hurt Cara more than he could
possibly imagine. She deserved to be free of this place.

Ghosts had a way
of following behind, though.

Plucking up the
phone again, Tommas hit redial. The call rang and rang before someone on the
other end finally picked up.

“
Bonjour, ciao
?”

The gruff male
voice was not what Tommas had expected. The French and Italian mix was even
more shocking.

Tommas recovered
quickly enough. “Is Cara there?”

The man on the
other end mumbled something, and a shuffling sound followed. “No, she’s in the
shower. Who is this?”

“Her brother.
Tommas. I could ask the same thing about you.”

“Gian,” said the
man, his French accent shortening his Italian name even more.

Tommas stilled,
taking in the name. It was familiar enough that he didn’t have to think on it
for long. “Gian Guzzi?”

“One and the same.
What about it?”

Arrogant. Cocky.
Sharp. Quick.

And the grandson
of the Guzzi Cosa Nostra Don.

Fuck
.

Tommas rubbed at
his forehead, willing the throbbing headache to go away. He wasn’t going to
tell his sister what she could or couldn’t do. It wasn’t okay with him. He’d
watched women be trampled on and treated like game pieces for his entire life.

But he still cared
for Cara.

“I’m going to hang
up the phone,” Tommas said. “And we’re going to pretend like we didn’t talk,
Gian. Does that sound good to you?”

“
Perfetto
,
Tommas.”

“Convince my
sister to call our mother.”

“I’ll try.”

Tommas took those
words to mean his sister and Gian were close enough that he knew the truth
about Cara’s volatile relationship with her mother. Fantastic.

Not my business
,
Tommas reminded himself. He hung up the phone before his brain could convince
him to do otherwise.

Tommas made his
way through the lower section of the house and then to the upper level. At the
upstairs bathroom doorway, he found a pool of mostly dried vomit on the
threshold. He passed it by without giving it too much thought. Vomit wasn’t
uncommon for his mother when she drank. In fact, Serena seemed to like seeing
how much she could imbibe before her stomach would revolt.

Alcohol poisoning
be damned.

Tommas found his
mother sprawled across an unmade bed in the far bedroom. She hadn’t slept in
her bedroom ever since she found Laurent dead. At least, that’s what she told
Tommas when she was in the midst of one of her stupors.

Who knew Serena
had actually cared for her husband?

“Ma,” Tommas said,
coming to stand beside his mother’s still frame.

She was breathing,
but the sound was shallow. The pale, sickly color of her skin carried an ashy
hue. Dried spit and vomit had streaked over the side of Serena’s slack cheek
and matted her dark hair.

Bending down,
Tommas was eye-level with his passed out mother. He grabbed a few tissues out
of the opened box on the nightstand and dipped it into the glass of half-filled
water to wet them. Dabbing at his mother’s cheek, he cleaned as much of the
mess off her face as he could.

Despite how much
he hated his mother and how she had treated him growing up, she was still his
mother. She had birthed him, raised him, and at times, loved him. Tommas had
essentially left Serena to survive on her own when he killed his father.

She was his
responsibility.

“Ma,” Tommas
whispered. “Wake up, Ma.”

Serena groaned,
her hand coming up to push Tommas back. “Go away.”

“Ma—”

“Shut up,” Serena
slurred. “Get out!”

Her waving hand
smacked the glass of water on the stand, sending it flying on the floor. Tommas
barely got out of the way of the water before the glass shattered on hardwood.
He stood, exhausted already. He had to make nice with Theo DeLuca and get
business done in the city, but he wanted to check on his mother first. Well,
he’d done that.