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My stomach rumbled with each bite I took, reminding me I had to slow down, or I would vomit the entire thing on Dante. And I couldn’t have that happen. Not when it was clear I might need him to survive. Dante had to like me to stay with Lucky and her girls.
Angelo’s older brother Pete always reminded him to know his place and play his part. That was what I did in Atlantic City. Following Pete’s rules was the only way I would survive this nightmare.
After I dressed and Lucky finished my makeover, Anthony returned to the room. “Is she ready? The boss is tired of waiting.”
Lucky dragged me over to him by the hand. “Raven is all yours. Let’s hope this one gets to stay. I like her.”
I swallowed the bile rising from my stomach and glanced at Lucky for help. There was nothing she could do to save me. Dressed in a navy-and-white plaid skirt that stopped above my ass cheeks and a G-string that rode up my crack, I felt self-conscious. The only man who ever saw me like this was Angelo. In a black, lacy bra that pushed my boobs up so high they were practically touching my chin, I wanted to run and hide.
Anthony hooked his arm through mine and guided me out of the room. I glanced over my shoulder at Lucky, holding out a sliver of hope she would come to my rescue. She offered me a tiny smile and a wave.
“The boss is going to like you, Raven,” Anthony said, my new name which sounded weird coming from him.
I had faith in Angelo.
I had hoped I’d make it through this long enough to see his face again.
He would come.
My white knight always rescued me.
But would he save me in time?
Chapter Ten
Angelo
My father taught me how to swim in the shallow end of the pool at the YMCA. I was maybe four or five years old, still in need of the orange armbands I wore around my tiny biceps. But one day, my dad decided it was time for me to learn for real. He said men didn’t need a life preserver to stay afloat, and that a man who was worthy would float to the top.
It was one of the few days my mother hadn’t accompanied us to the outdoor pool, leaving my brothers and me with the old man. Pete was around ten years old, Marco was eight, and I was a little runt who still latched onto his mother’s leg. Dad didn’t see any of us as children. We were always men put on this earth to serve him. Morelli men didn’t have weaknesses, only strengths. That was how my father was raised, and he passed down his father’s beliefs to his sons.
Pete jumped into the pool first, followed by Marco. They were splashing each other in the face with water, already fighting over something. Even back then, Pete was a dick. He put Marco into a chokehold and dunked him under the water, forcing him to kick and beg until Pete let him up. My dad smirked, never smiled. A look of pride scrolled across his wicked face as he watched my brothers.
I was waiting for my dad to put my swimmies on my arms when he leaned down and whispered, “It’s time for you to act like a big boy, Angelo.” He placed his palm on my back and inched me closer to the pool. “You’re my namesake, make me proud.”
Then, he pushed me into the shallow end without knowing how to swim on my own. I sunk almost to the bottom, my mouth open and full of water by the time I reached the surface. I was choking on the water, hardly able to breathe. My lungs were tight, and my body numb from overexertion. I screamed for Marco and Pete to help me.
Pete laughed, crossing his arms over his chest. Marco moved closer to me with his hand outstretched. But my dad ordered my brothers to leave me alone, told them I had to become a man. I was too short to touch the ground, my arms not long enough to make a proper stroke.
Gasping for air, I reached for the edge of the pool, feeling out in front of me for anything for support.
“Be a man,” my father said, standing over me at the edge of the pool.
My father had taught me so many life lessons I hated him for at the time. He was showing me how to become a Morelli. The old man was sick and demented, but he was teaching me invaluable life lessons. No one could show me how to be the man I’d become, not the way my father had.
With my fingers threaded through Sal’s dark curls, I shoved him onto the plank in the kill room with a gun to his head. Sonny strapped down his legs, and I worked on his arms and head, fastening Sal to the wooden board so he couldn’t move an inch.
Sal peeked up at me with fear in his eyes. “I didn’t hurt her. I promise. It wasn’t me.”
I ignored his comment and reached for the gallon of water on the table behind me. Sonny stood off to the side next to my brothers. Pete looked as though he wanted to join me. He wanted to be the one to make this man suffer. But we’d made a deal. Dom and his men were my kills. Their blood would be on my hands.
I tipped the bottle in my hand, dumping water in Sal’s mouth and down his nose. He fought me, his body thrashing and begging to rip free from his shackles.
“Tell me who took Gia,” I yelled, easing up for a second.
A beat passed where Sal coughed on the water, choking on it. “I don’t know. I would tell you if I did.”
I repeated the same process as before. This asshole would tell me what I wanted, or he would drown to death. It was his choice. All I cared about was information. The truth was Sal was a dead man no matter what. Dom and his crew were traitors. Our family had to tie up loose ends.
