Constantine let go of Alessandro, his gaze moving to Hudson, who’d remained quiet during our family discussion.
“What if I told you I’m so messed up that I never actually quit, then what?” Alessandro looked over at me, an apology in his gray eyes. “Like I said, I’m addicted.”
Sitting taller with shock, it took me a moment to register his words. “So all that talk the other day about missing the hunt, and you’re never satisfied by anything, was bullshit?”
And why didn’t Constantine look pissed? Or Hudson, for that matter?
“I can’t look the other way when bad shit happens. Can you blame me?” Alessandro asked, trying to downplay whatever he’d been doing in the two years since our supposed retirement. “But I miss when we were a team. Nothing in the civilian world can compare to that.”
“Ain’t that the truth,” Hudson mumbled under his breath, breaking his silence.
“I get it.” Constantine coughed into a closed fist, his gaze shooting uncomfortably to me. “I didn’t stop, either.”
“You’re kidding me? All that talk about . . .” Alessandro let go of his words, realizing he was about to parrot what I’d just said about him. “So we’ve been riding solo when we could’ve been united? Well, that sucks.” He peered at me as if double-checking the sincerity of my surprise.
“I stopped when I moved to Charlotte,” I confirmed, then checked with Hudson.
Hudson palmed his bearded jawline, eyes falling to the floor.
Alessandro peered at Hudson. “Fuuuck. You too?”
“I haven’t taken a life in years, though, if that makes it better?” Hudson shrugged.
Hudson had never been part of the deal with the government, but that was because we’d never offered his name when arrested. But he’d been at our sides every step of the messy way as we handled injustices as we saw fit.
“Looks like you’re the only one who really retired and changed, brother. Guess you do have a shot at a normal life,” Alessandro said to me.
Changed. The word pummeled its way through my mind as I processed the truth I’d struggled to acknowledge out of fear it couldn’t be true.
I’d walked away from that life, but I’d had Maria and Natalia to help “tame” me. Keep me under control. And I supposed working with my hands in the kitchen had been another way for me to escape. Also, I never read or watched the news. Made sure all alerts were turned off on my phone. I wouldn’t be able to handle hearing about some asshole hurting someone innocent and do nothing about it.
I did change, didn’t I?
“We need to focus on tonight. We can figure everything else out later,” Constantine declared. But what was there to figure out? They needed to stop, like we previously agreed, right?
Swallowing down the uncomfortable lump in my throat, I decided to switch gears and asked, “Can you really work with Carter?”
Constantine squeezed the back of his neck. “What choice do I have?”
“Good. Just don’t start shit with him.” I shook my head. “And maybe we’ll all survive the night.”
TWENTY-SIX
Enzo
“Get it over with. I’ll even give you my good side to hit.” Constantine turned his cheek and made a come-hither motion to a man who looked every bit as intimidating as my brother.
So much for not starting shit. I stepped around Constantine and spread open my arms, blocking him from Carter’s path. “It’d be better for us if he has use of both eyes when we go break a few dozen laws tonight,” I told Carter in case he was considering the offer.
“He’s right,” Jesse remarked, standing between Carter and his other teammate, Jack London. Jack had been army SF and after that worked for the CIA’s Special Activities Division. All I knew was if Jesse trusted him, so did I. “We need to be united tonight,” Jesse went on. “Put the past behind us.”
Constantine elbowed his way around me to get to Carter. “Let me guess,” he began, “that pistol you have at your side doesn’t have rubber bullets. What are you planning later? Accidental crossfire?”
In all fairness, my Sig Sauer M17 wasn’t exactly shooting blanks. Hopefully, I wouldn’t need to use it tonight.
“If I wanted you dead, I’d look you in the face and do it, and you know that.” Carter’s words were a low hiss, a crackle in the night air.
We were outside Syracuse in Fayetteville, four miles away from Green Lakes State Park. The CIA’s location for a safe house was a bit of a question mark, and although my opinion on the Agency was less jaded than Constantine’s, I had some concerns about the officers who had the cleaner. Hence the pistol at my hip and the rifle I’d be taking with me tonight.