Page 11

“FAMILY” FUCKING SUCKS

Rain clouds swathed the city in darkness, sending tourists scrambling for refuge before the storm broke free. A sigh escaped my lips, fogging up the town car’s window and obscuring my view. This weather was eerily appropriate for my frame of mind.

Dark and ominous.

There was something incredibly demoralizing about being capable of killing a person over a hundred different ways but still bowing your head like an obedient bitch to your deranged uncle. Honestly, it almost deflated my self-confidence, which would be a shame because that was the only thing keeping me from falling into a crippling depression, thanks to my sunshine-filled past. Or at least that’s what the therapist had said to me before I flipped her off and told her to suck my dick.

Not that I didn’t want to kill the fucker, but he’d put fail-safes in place to ensure that if anything suspicious happened to him, every member of the Romano Mafia would be on my ass. Dominick had made it clear. If anything were to happen to him, I should be the first person they look for. Rich coming from a loathed crime boss.

Sure, the Four Families had a peace treaty, but it was bullshit. At the height of New York’s crime wave, the four leading factions made a cease-fire alliance with each other. Too much heat was being brought down on them by the feds, and their rivalry was killing them, literally.

So, territory lines were drawn, and the Four Families were created. Everyone was supposed to go on their merry way and operate in peace. Keep their noses out of each other’s business. But that was well over thirty years ago, and they were all conniving bastards, cloaked in proclamations of peace while holding knives to one another’s backs. Just waiting for someone to land a blow and start the inevitable bloodbath.

The Italian Mafia, the Irish Mob, the Russian Bratva, and the Japanese Yakuza all operating in beautiful harmony?

Fucking bullshit.

The indistinct murmur from the moving divider drew my attention. I rolled my eyes when the driver lowered it less than an inch. Like a fucking divider would save him.

Stab one guy on staff, and suddenly no one trusts you.

Technically, I’d stabbed two. The first one no one knew about, though. I was twenty-one when one of Dominick’s capos decided that I should cater to all of Dominick’s men. Julius tried to take something I was unwilling to give. He was the first man I’d killed. Up until that point, all I’d done was training with weapons and complete heist jobs that had never ended in violence.

The dark interior of the car slipped away, morphing into the memory of blood-soaked carpet. My mind perfectly recreated the metallic scent. Julius lay on the once-cream flooring, staring up with wide eyes. Shock. That was the expression on his face when I drove the letter opener between his ribs, sinking it home into the muscle that pumped his life force. I’d thrust it home when his greedy fingers were busy undoing the button of my jeans.

My chest felt too tight, like my lungs wouldn’t expand and feed my body the oxygen it needed. This happened every time I thought about that day.

“We’re here, Ms. Romano. It’s 354 West 22nd Street.”

“Don’t call me that,” I shot back, pushing open the car door.

My panic subsided at the sound of the driver’s timid voice. It was barely above a whisper, thick with the undercurrent of fear. His unease reminded me that the girl who’d once been kept in this home was gone.

She’d been too sweet, innocent…trusting.

Weak.

Julius’s death was my rebirth. The moment I’d shed my old self and embraced the ever-present desire for darkness and violence. Now I didn’t disguise my brokenness. I embodied my sharp edges and fucked-up view on life. Fucking who I wanted and killing who fucked me over. One day, I’d drag my uncle and every Romano to hell with me.

Anche nella morte.

I grimaced at the sight of the arched black doors of the brownstone. Their gothic knockers taunted me. Years had passed since I’d stepped foot in this house. It’d been almost as long since I’d seen Dominick in person. Enzo had acted as a liaison for years. I schooled my features into an unreadable mask, all too cognizant of the green light on the camera in the upper corner.

“Here we fucking go.”

My uncle’s house manager rushed forward as the door opened. A sneer popped up on her aged face when she realized it was me. Silvia wasn’t the only one pissed. Hatred for her thrummed through me. When I was a kid, the bitch made me watch her dump untouched food into the garbage while I sat there, clutching my stomach. Guess she never considered I’d grow up to have more affluence and money than her.

Or maybe she assumed I wouldn’t survive to be an adult—fair assumption.

My shoulder slammed into hers, sending her stumbling back against the doorframe. She slapped a palm over her mouth, and the edges of my mouth pulled up in a sneer. The help wasn’t allowed to be heard in this household, and Silvia had worked here long enough to know the consequences. Her eyes burned into my back, but I didn’t bother acknowledging her. The snub would do far more damage to her ego than any words.

The french doors to the office stood open, displaying Dominick’s hunched form frantically scribbling. My fingers itched to grab the Sig holstered by my ribcage and put two in his head. But it would be a death wish, and as much as I liked playing chicken with Death, I wasn’t ready to meet him just yet. The fact that the mafioso let me near him with a weapon was a show of power, another way for him to rub in my face that he had me on a leash.

I’d bet money I wouldn’t be allowed near him with a fucking pencil if he knew about the assassinations and hits. I resisted the grin that threatened to appear.

He would’ve thrown me in a dark pit if he had learned about that skill. Julius was my first kill and my first coverup job, and it had been a bitch. Even with my shoddy job, Dominick still had never uncovered that it was me who’d killed the capo.

Now I hired cleaners when I needed that particular skill set because dissolving a body was a fucking skill.