Enforce, Page 60

  I put in a call to Dean De Lange. He needed to get his ass to the restaurant and fast. We chose to wait to call him until everyone had said what they needed to say.

  I hated the man.

  Hell, I think he hated himself. What made it worse was that I knew the shit he'd pulled with Phoenix. He deserved to be shot for what he'd put him through. He'd created a monster.

  Dean De Lange walked in and swore. "Phoenix, what have you done?"

  "Yes," Nixon sneered. "What have you done?"

  Phoenix smirked, having woken up only minutes before his father's arrival. Blood stained his teeth where he had been punched repeatedly. "You think you can silence me?" He laughed. "Father, guess who our little Tracey is? You should know. After all, you killed her parents."

  "What?" De Lange paled and gaped at his son. "What the hell are you talking about?"

  "It's over. And I'm not stupid," Phoenix spat. "You set them up. I know everything, and now they do too."

  "I didn't—" his father repeated, but his words were silenced, by the crack of a gun.

  I ran toward him, my mind going a hundred miles a minute. Who pulled the trigger? When I turned around, I saw Frank with a gun in the air. Oh shit.

  "It is over," Frank said hoarsely.

  Phoenix laughed from his position on the ground, blood trailing down his chin. "Oh, it's far from over. You have any idea what you've just done?"

  "Killed the man who murdered my son!" Frank yelled.

  "I lied." Phoenix grinned. "And now you'll never know. By the way, congratulations on killing the one man standing in the way of making me the boss. You just bought me my freedom."

  "Like hell he did!" Nixon stepped forward, but Frank held out his hand to stop him.

  "War is coming," Faust said from the corner. He knew it, I knew it, we all knew it, and we were all witnesses to it.

  My blood ran cold. We had fought so hard to protect Trace from the De Langes — hell, even from her own family.

  I never once thought we'd have to protect her from them.

  From the originals.

  The ones who kept order.

  I had a vision of Tex's father. Oh hell, that would be bad.

  But what would be worse? If the Nicolasi family caught wind of our downfall, our involvement, because they'd been itching to rule the world ever since our family kicked them out of the country? Shit.

  "The Sicilians are coming." Phoenix laughed from the ground.

  "God help us all." I swore and pulled Trace from the room. I couldn't think, couldn't react, couldn't feel.

  We were screwed.

  And there was no way, no chance in hell we were all going to make it out alive.

  Trace and I didn't speak the entire way back to campus.

  Nixon was the boss, so he'd have to stay and help clean up… which probably meant putting her grandfather into hiding and begging the rest of the men to keep silent.

  Which sure as hell wasn't going to happen with Phoenix as the new boss.

  Because of what Frank had done, we could no longer control Phoenix; his birthright was to be head of that family, and he'd just freaking handed it over to him.

  Trace finally spoke when we were safely in her room. "War? And the Sicilians?"

  I swore and tried to think of a way to explain it to her that made it sound less scary than it actually was. "Our family — we've been in charge of keeping the peace for over a hundred years, Trace. Your grandfather just shot the De Lange mob boss in cold blood. Who the hell knows what's going to happen to Phoenix? We either have to kill him or buy his silence. You can't just go around shooting people."

  "Yeah, got that part. But aren't you the Mafia? I mean—"

  I said a few choice words and ran my hands through my hair, gripping the ends and giving a little tug. "Trace, listen, you clearly don't understand. You don't want the Sicilians here. Hell, I don't even want them in Sicily. If they come, and if they find out everything that's been happening. Shit!" I kicked the bed out of frustration, would have shot it too if I could get away with it.

  "But they won't find out. I mean who's going to tell?"

  Was she serious? "Trace, did you see all the men in there? Do you realize how desperate some of them are for money or to get on the good side of one of the originals? You can't control people, and you sure as hell can't keep them from looking out for themselves."

  "What does this mean, for… for all of us?" she asked, collapsing onto the bed in a huff.

  "It means we face them. Together," Nixon said from the door. One eye was turning black and blue, and blood ran down his chin.

  "What happened?"

  Nixon shook his head and winced. "Don't worry about it. Pack your stuff. You're leaving."

  "Leaving?"

  He ignored Trace and looked directly at me. "Get a bag?"

  "Hold on one second!" Trace threw her hands into the air. "You can't just make me leave!"

  "Trace..." Nixon pinched the bridge of his nose. "…your grandfather and I decided it's safer for you to be with me at all times. I can't exactly shimmy into your dorm at all hours without people finding out. It's just not safe."

  "So I'm going to be a prisoner in my grandfather's home?"

  "Of course not." Nixon smiled. "You're going to be a prisoner in mine."

  A snort escaped before I could stop it.

  "What was that?" Nixon snapped at me.

  Bastard. Was this really the time to play house, asshole?

  "Air." I coughed. "Found a bag." I handed Nixon the small duffel and saluted Trace. "Love ya, Trace. I'll be waiting at Nixon's. I think it's best if we all pow-wow together."

  "Okay." She waved goodbye, dismissing me.

  Just like that.