“O-kay.” Slowly, I closed the door.
What the fuck?
Another gun shot came, but this time it boomed.
The noise was followed by muffled shouts and cries.
Fear quaked through me.
My hands shook as I clutched the phone.
For some reason, I started pacing.
What else could I do?
The luxurious suite now seemed like a gilded cage, its beauty tainted by the fear and uncertainty that surrounded me.
Who did Gianni shoot?
One thing I knew, no one had shot him or there would have been many more gunshots.
Jesus. This is my life again. Violence and being left in the dark.
I stopped pacing and stood in the middle of that extravagant suite with the phone clutched tightly in my trembling hands.
God, this reminds me of back in the day.
How many times had I woken up to gunshots and screams?
How many times did I have nightmares?
I shook my head.
That same sort of mind-numbing fear coursed through my veins.
It wasn’t just the gunshots, though those were terrifying enough. It was the realization that I had returned to this life where violence was the norm, where gunshots in the night were just background noise.
And yet, I wasn’t even part of it, not really.
I would be on the outside, looking in—just like all those Mafia wives I used to pity when I was a kid.
Fuck this.
I had nevercompletelyfelt bad for them due to the wealth and power they enjoyed.
That was the part everyone envied.
No.
What I pitied was the ignorance, the way they were kept in the dark while everything happened around them.
I had seen it firsthand with my mother, how she would go about her day, shopping or hosting luncheons, while my stepfather orchestrated deals, planned hits, and ruined lives.
She never knew the truth, never wanted to know it.
She lived in a world of designer clothes and perfectly manicured gardens, all while blood was being spilled in her name.
After mom died at the hands of my stepfather’s enemies, I’d declared that it wouldn’t be me.
