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“No fucking way! I’m calling the cops! I’m getting her ass locked up!” Angela shouts, sitting up on the floor. She looks around the room like she’s waiting for someone to help her up, but no one moves.
With her words, though, it’s confirmed that this woman truly is a moron.
“Down, Marco,” I say.
“Nope.”
“Promise I won’t hit her again,” I say, watching with pleasure as it takes two women to help Angela stand. She looks like shit, blood dripping out of her nose, black mascara running down her face, the strap of her dress ripped. I don’t think I broke her nose, but a truly sick part of me thinks that would have been fucking awesome.
Roddy stands in the corner, grabbing my purse, well aware that I’m going to break whatever deal I make with Marco and will need to be escorted out quickly.
“Promise?”
“Yes, Marco.” I put sugary syrup in my voice to try and convince him and it seems to work when he sighs and places me down on the floor. My heels click on the tile, and I push down my white dress that had ridden up to my waist.
And then I smile.
Three steps takes me a foot away from Angela, whose eyes are wide and angry.
“You’re going to fucking prison. Do you know who I am?” I smile. Angela Sigano is absolutely no one: a daughter of a man who is a Don of the least powerful family in the state. A Don mostly because he forced it into existence with enough money, not because of blood or legacy. “Dante’s going to fucking lose it when he hears this! You’re done!” she says, spit flying from her mouth, and that one actually makes me laugh as I wipe my hand down my face, swiping at her spittle.
“Oh, honey. You know? I actually feel bad for you.” I smile sweet and she keeps glaring. I just know the type of child she was—the roll on the floor in a department store screaming until she got her way type. “You hold no fucking sway, but you want to so badly, don’t you?” Her face twists with anger. I put my hand on my chest, leaning in a bit. “Me? I’m a queen. I’m a goddamn Russo. I’m a fucking Carluccio.” A single red-tipped nail points at her. “You? You’re nothing.”
“You’ll be nothing in jail.” I laugh at her words and her face gets angrier. Uglier.
“Do you really think that’s gonna happen? Do you think anyone in this room will be on your side?” Teresa actually snorts a laugh at that and fuck, I really freaking like her. “And Dante? Guarantee that’s done.”
“Fuck you,” she says and then spits on me, on purpose this time. Her last hurrah.
I don’t let it even register on my face, not giving her that small hint of a win before I take a step closer.
“Jesus,” Marco murmurs, and I try not to smile as I poke my finger into her chest, her face mere inches from mine as I try once again to get my point across.
“You even think about disrespecting my mother again, you won’t leave with just a headache and a damaged ego,” I say.
And then I slap her again, partly because she needs one last reminder of who she’s dealing with, partly because I just really want to.
“Alright, that’s it,” Marco says before I can get in one last word, his hand going to my elbow.
“What? I was having fun!” I say, stumbling as he pulls me, not slowing for me to get stable footing until Angela is out of ear shot, her shouting trailing behind us.
“You have a fucked-up sense of fun, Delilah Russo,” he says, pushing me into the car.
I laugh the whole way home.
TWENTY-THREE
-Lilah-
Except, we don’t go home. We don’t drive through the iron gates of the Carluccio compound.
We drive right to the center of Hudson City until the buzzing sign that reads Jersey’s Finest Girls comes into sight. I smile, the move causing a sting of pain at my eyebrow. When I touch it, I find it’s tacky and a dot of thick blood is left on my fingers.
“Got yourself on the table when you took her down. Shouldn’t need a stitch,” Marco says, watching me in the rearview mirror, and even with the sunglasses on, I see the small smile.
He’s proud of me, even if he’ll never admit it.
Roddy turns around and smiles big at me.
