Chapter 1—Tommy
“Sir, we’ll be landing about thirty minutes earlier than planned.”
The knock followedbythe sultry voice of the stewardess has me blinking my eyes open as I lie on the bed. Another time, another place, I would have had her beneath me already. She’s just another faceless hire. That’s how I’ve felt about those before her—just nameless women to get off with. Not today.
When I don’t answer, I hear her leave. She knows I heard her and just didn’t want the company. Especially since her “news” wasn’t new. The pilot announced that same shit five minutes ago.
I stand and make my way to the small attached bathroom. It’s not as big as some of the other planes we have in the family, but it has a sink and a toilet. The one with the full shower is something my brother Vinny keeps on standby for himself. I don’t blame him. When you’re the oldest, you get the first choice on shit. It’s the way of the land. Also, he called dibs. In our family, that’s sacred.
I turn the sink on and roll up my sleeves before leaning over to splash my face with the cold water. A shower would do wonders for me, but a poor man’s bath works just as well. I grab the towel off the hook and pat my face before turning off the faucet and looking in the mirror.
Still my same devilishly sexy self, but with one small change that wasn’t there months before, something thatdraws everyone’s eyes before they actually look at me. The scar on my neck is healed, but it’s only been a few months, so the wound’s still marred with ugly red lines. It’s jagged and edged, just like the knife the doctor used to cut out the shards left behind from a bullet that went through me and shattered in the process.
That bullet wasn’t even meant for me. That’s what sticks with me more than the scar ever will. Doesn’t mean I wasn’t going to protect my sister’s man. I didn’t intend to get shot, obviously. I just jumped in front of him to protect what belonged to her.
I would have just had a minor scar if we were in the U.S. and had a medical team on standby, but we were in Russia. We had to use some random doc on the flight home, and it was a bumpy flight. And of course, all he had were basic things. Thankfully, drugs were a part of it. The group with me said I spoke some Russian to help, since they knew none, but I’m not fluent. That’s why I ended up like this, with a giant-ass scar on my neck and a fucked-up voice. It’s not as bad as it could be, though. People can still understand me. It’s just different from what I’m used to when hearing myself speak. Deeper. Rougher. Damaged. But at least I stuck to the family tradition. We Leones don’t go down easily. Or at all if we can help it.
I exit the bathroom and grab my jacket after pulling my sleeves back down and fastening them. I leave the jacket open, like the neck of my collar. Vinny might want us all to look the part of the businessman in suits and ties, but that doesn’t mean I can’t be comfortable.
Walking from the back of the plane to the front, I ignore the stewardess as I sit in the seat across from a man I trust. It helps that he’s a cousin.
“You send her back there?” I ask a second before she sets a whiskey on the side table next to me. I ignore her but notice my cousin, Dante, smiling with a wink sent her way before she scurries away to do God knows what.
“Didn’t know if you needed some help on the descent. You never did like flying.”
I sigh heavily and shake my head. “One time. I said it one time.”
He just shrugs. “Still counts.”
“And the fact that I said it, as an offhanded comment at best, while the plane was crashing doesn’t give me any kind of reprieve?”
He gives me a dull look. “If I recall,cuz, it was you who was making it crash.”
Now it’s my turn to shrug and pick up my drink, smirking as I glance out the window at the New York skyline. “I still plead the Fifth.”
“I would, too, if my brother shit a ton of bricks at the money he had to fork over to deal with that crap.” He huffs but drops it as we descend. “Plus, you know my philosophy: No harm in trying.” He winks again at the stewardess, and I look back out the window.
I really don’t like flying, but it’s a means to an end. And the fear came before I tried to fly that plane. Hell, that’s exactly why I tried. People always say that to conquer your fears, you need to face them. They’re wrong. But likeeverything else I’ve done in life that I didn’t particularly like, I did it with a smile.
I learned long ago that even if you hate it, a grin helps. It can change the chemistry in your brain until you think you actually like whatever it is you’re doing. It can also piss off the people around you. Which is the main reason I do it.
Or why I used to.
I clench the hand not holding my tumbler to keep from touching my scar. One night and things changed. One event. One second that had me not smiling as much. I went from being an idiot kid to this—calling myself “dumb” and “stupid” and “kid-like” when it hasn’t even been a year since the event. I’m the same age as before, but I feel a lifetime older.
It’s all the same for everyone else. Same days. Same jobs. Same outcome. Smile, don’t smile. Fuck, eat, sleep. All the same. For them.
I still eat and sleep. As for fucking? I have, but it’s more like something to pass the time or because it’s expected more than the joy of wanting to do it for the thrill. I still get hard, still have needs, but sometimes I think my hand is better than a nameless woman throwing herself at me and expecting more than a night in the sack.
Seven months ago, I was invincible.
Sure, I’ve broken a few bones here and there. Gotten into a few too many scuffles. But I grew up with family and friends, never went without food on the table or had to do shit alone. I always had someone there with me, either leading me or holding me back to not cause problems. But that was what I loved about it. I could cause issues, and yeah, sure, sometimes I had to clean them up. But most of the time,my other brothers or dad stepped in and sorted things. I wasn’t a spoiled little rich kid, just spoiled in that I never thought I couldn’t win.
Till I got shot. And while I was with people I trusted, I was still alone, bleeding out on a table in Russia, thinking it was over. Thinking I’d finally pushed too hard and challenged too much.
I’m still not sure if it was the lights or the Virgin Mary herself I saw when I was being sewn up. I remember hearing the doctor mumble in Russian that I wasn’t going to make it, that he only kept trying because he knew who my family was. He didn’t want them to come after him if he gave up too soon.
I realized death wasn’t something to joke about that night. Sure, I’ve killed before. Watched it, done it, told others to carry it out. But I’d never been that close myself.
