“Oooh, I’m intrigued. What can I do?”

“Do you know anything about bank loans?”

“I specialise in commercial contracts and finance, so absolutely.”

“If I email you some documents and the background, do you think you could help me out?”

“Has this got to do with the suit that took you for everything?”

She didn’t forget.

“Yeah, it does. He’s come out of the woodwork and now he’s paying off the debt because he wants me back, but I want rid of this debt before anything else. I need to know that the bank can’t come after me again.”

Vicky gasps. “You’re thinking about taking him back?”

“Not in a million, babe, but he doesn’t need to know that.”

“I’m at home today, so send the documents to my personal email. I’ll take a look at them and will get back in touch. If you agree, I can contact the bank on your behalf. Anything for a friend.”

My heart just melted a little. Another woman I’m lucky to have in my life. Seriously, who needs family with awesome mates like these?

“That’d be great. You’re the best, Vicky.”

“Anything I can do to help.”

I make the trek to my building, with my backpack strapped tight around me. I walk a little farther off the path from the road. Ain’t no madman on a bike gonna get me again. A light drizzle starts to leave a gentle imprint over the car bonnets and forms a shiny blanket over the perfectly groomed grass. The steady stream of peak-hour traffic zooms past.

A police car is parked in a no stopping zone near the main entrance. I wonder if someone else got robbed? Shit. I hope not. I pick up the pace, power-walking as I come within fifty metres of the vehicle.

A female cop exits the building first and gets into the driver’s side. A man dressed in black with tattoos up his arms walks out next.

Wait a sec. Is that Rocco?

A tall male cop escorts him into the back seat.

“Rocco?” I call out, as I jog towards them. When the brake lights come on, the car pulls away from the curb. My legs move of their own volition into a sprint. “Stop!”

The police vehicle zooms into the flow of traffic and travels north. What the hell is going on?

I unhook my bag and shakily dial his number as large raindrops fall on the screen. It rings and rings and then finally goes to voicemail.

‘This is De Luca. Leave me a message.’ His voice drawls in that bored tone.

Beep!

“Goddamn it, Rocco. Where are you? I just saw you leave the unit. Can you call me, please? Let me know what’s going on. Tell me what I can do.”

I disconnect the call and grip the phone tight in my hand. “Shit!” I curse to the sky, which is now teeming with rain. What is going on with him?

I ring Spencer.

“Yeah,” he says, almost breathless. I guarantee him and April have been making like bunnies again. In this moment, all it does is make me mad.

“Enough of the heavy breathing, already. Can you give me any logical reason as to why Rocco would be being placed in the back of a cop car and taken away?”

“Fuck. When did this happen?”

“He literally left a minute ago.”

“I’ll try and call him.”

“You can, but I’ve tried and he’s not answering. I’ll go up to the apartment and see if there’s any sign of what’s happened. Maybe he left me a note or something.”

“Good. I’ll keep trying him. I’ll get April to ring Mac and see if he knows anything.”

“Thanks. Keep me posted.”

“I will.”

There’s two cups of what look like coffee on the bench, which is scattered with flour and long strips of pasta. He was cooking when they came?

Clearly, he left in a hurry.

I search the rest of the apartment for some kind of sign. There’s nothing that gives me any clue. His phone is sitting on the coffee table, with messages lighting up the screen. Hence, no answer. Fuck.

****

ROCCO

The morgue is closed, but the cops have a key. They lead me down a series of corridors, and stand me in front of a glass viewing-window, with a beige curtain closed on the other side.

The male officer stands behind me to the left and the female officer walks into another room. My heart thumps in my chest like a frightened bird trying to escape.

Then the curtains open. A silver trolley with a white sheet laid over a human figure is wheeled closer to the window.

I rub at my eyes. Am I really doing this?

She slowly pulls the white sheet up, exposing bare feet. She folds the linen back, so it rests on the figure’s collarbone.

“Oh, fuck,” I whisper as the harsh reality hits me like spear through the heart. “Fuck!”

It’s him. My baby brother.

It’s not supposed to be him.

“Mr De Luca, is this your brother, Vincent De Luca?”

It’s him, but it’s more like a wax version. There’s no pinkish colour to his cheeks. The familiar tattoos weave over the pale skin of his shoulders and neck. The jagged scar on his left cheek is more pronounced. All essence of who my brother was has left him. Now, my only sibling is nothing but a shell.

It breaks my heart into a thousand worthless pieces.

I nod. “It’s him,” I choke out.

What a waste. He had such potential. I know we’d had our disagreements, but I loved him like no other. He was all I had left. We were the last of the De Lucas. Now, I’m it.

It’s a cruel kick in the guts seeing him lying there. I wasn’t with him in those final moments. He died in jail. Alone.

I did this to him. He told me not to say anything. I did this.

I wanna hurl him into my arms, squeeze him until I’m too weak to stand. I want to cry until I’m dry, and I never fucking cry. I hate it. Crying is for the weak. Standing here before his lifeless body, I’m as useless as I’ve ever been. I wanna fight with him, ask him what the fuck he was thinking. Why did he get involved in the MC in the first place? Why did he have to be so fucking proud and choose to ignore me, and side with our prick of a father instead? I wanna yell and wrestle him to the ground as I did when we were kids, but I won’t get the chance to do that ever again.

The cops are watching me. As if they give a damn about V. They probably see shit like this every day. He’s just another death to them, but to me he was everything. He was all I had.

Whether they’ve tried to cover them up or not, there are puncture wounds down the side of his neck. One. Two. Three. Counting each one churns the acid in my gut, compelling it up my throat. I swallow down, and cough as the sting subsides.

Whoever did this, they meant business. Was it revenge, or was he just in the wrong place at the wrong time?

Where did he die? The yard? In his cell? Who was with him? Who could commit such a vile act and get away with it?

“Can I touch him?”

“I’m afraid you can’t … not until the coroner has released the body.”

I look down at his pale feet. “Why the fuck does he have a paper tag on his toe?”

“It’s for identification.”

“He’s just lying there like a piece of meat. Isn’t he cold?” I bash my fist up against the window frame and suck in a deep breath. “It can’t fuckin’ be him. He’s the only family I have left.”

A small hand is placed between my shoulder blades. “Again, I’m very sorry for your loss. If there is anything I can do for you, please call.”

“Can you bring him back?” I shout. “’Cause that’s all I fuckin’ want. Bring him back.”

The male officer guides me away from the window with his large hands on my shoulders. Hot tears pour down my face.

“I just want my brother,” I choke out.

“I know, mate. I know.”

They make me sign some piece of paper identifying him for the coroner. I want to rip it to shreds. It’s another cruel validation that he’s gone.

“Now what?” I sigh.

“The Coroner will release the body in a day or so, and then you can make the necessary arrangements with a funeral director,” he says.