Her next message was an address—plain and simple andsuspicious.
I typed it into Maps, frowning at the location. It was a penthouse in Manhattan, one I was almost certain was in Gioffre territory.
I opened a new text, this time to Matt, and pasted the address with a few question marks.
He replied seconds later.
Matteo
Those brain-dead fucks live there. The Gioffre heirs. Do NOT go there.
Fiore’s there!
Matteo
For fuck’s sake, your sister is a fucking nightmare.
I can’t be there for another two hours.
I smirked despite my turning stomach.
Elena’s father had bought a holiday home two hours away from where we lived. At least somebody was having a good night, but two hours was far too long. The Gioffres were rebellious,reckless, and I’d once heard a rumor about their fingers and someone’s stomach.
I didn’t want my sister there for two seconds, let alone two hours.
It would take me an hour to get to Manhattan, less if I drove like Adriano and didn’t tip them off that I’d left. Milan probably could’ve helped if I told him, but he was Fiorella’s Capo now, and I didn’t want him topunishher like the madman he was.
The choice was obvious; I needed to sneak out and drag my sister out of there.
I shot a text to Fiore, telling her to wait for me, that I’d be there in an hour, and got ready with no regard for my outfit for the first timeever. I threw on what I’d worn to Chicago, a long-sleeved lace bodysuit and jeans with black heels I’d spent a month last year breaking in, and tiptoed through the house to the first floor that I hadn’t explored yet.
The door to the garage was an unsuspecting one in a maze of a circular corridor with marble pillars, expensive crap in boxes still, and at least ten doors that all looked the same, but I remembered details, and there was a black scuff near the lock on this one.
My heels clicked against the glossy black garage floors as I snuck inside, and I couldn’t help but gawk despite how many times Milan had parked us in here. It was practically a showroom with golden overhead strip lights, and two rows of cars facing one another like they were already in a showdown.
Whenever Milan drove us anywhere, he always used the same car and parked in the same spot, so it was easy enough to tell which side was his. His cars were all black and boring and probably had a tracker in them.
Adriano’s side was arainbow. While Milan’s cars were fit for purpose and purpose alone, Adriano’s were bright and asking to be seen by the entire world. They were beautiful, several a deepblue, another sporting a bright pink, and for a second, maybe slightly more than a second, I forgot that this was an awful thing to do and clamped down on my need to squeal.
I walked slowly toward the shelves of keys and forgotten items I’d accidentally left in Milan’s car, trying to give myself time to decide which one was calling my name. I wasn’t great at deciding which outfit I wanted to wear let alone a car to steal, so I spent time shoving the pink, fruity lipstick that I’d left on my husband’s passenger seat onto my lips. It was blush pink, scented like peaches too, and the moment the color touched my lips, I targeted the baby pink car at the very end of the garage, the one Adriano clearly didn’t use enough.
I skipped toward it, knowing I shouldn’t be excited butwas,snatching the keys on the way.
I was breaking all of Milan’s stupid rules, and something about knowing that he woulddespisethis made it better.
“Hello, gorgeous,” I purred to the car as she woke up with the click of the fob.
The mirrors extended, the handles revealed themselves, and the interior lit with white neon lights as I clambered inside and threw my heels onto the leather passenger seat.My insides flipped as the engine let out a purr, not quite starting butanticipating,and then a loud warning beep sounded as she practically yelled, “Driver not recognized. Identity verification required.”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, Adriano,” I whispered in case the car was listening.
There was a small fingerprint scanner flashing a deep red beside the start button, clearly waiting for Adriano’s fingerprint that I obviously didn’t have.
My hands rummaged through the glovebox for anything that might be able to help, but all he had were a box of mints, three empty packets of strawberry candy, and two boxes of condoms.It made me wonder who this car truly belonged to, Adriano orFrancesco.
As I slammed the glovebox closed, my lipstick tube rolled onto the floor. I reached down to find it and suddenly caught the door in a new light. It was smudged with fingerprints, probably strawberry candy or sex fingerprints, but they were exactly what I needed. My thumb popped off the lipstick’s pink lid with a quiet click as I sighed. “I’m so sorry, Adriano. I’ll clean it.”
I ran the tip of the lipstick over the door handle, smudging it into the car until it leaked into the crevices of Adriano’s fingerprint, and then pressed my own finger into the tacky mess, transferring it instantly onto the scanner and praying to whoever was watching over me that it worked.
