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A sleek black car with tinted windows appears, and she keeps walking like she’s on any other street. The only people brave enough to be in this area are gangsters. The car stops in front of her, and she shrivels into herself.Interesting.I can’t hear the exchange of words but recognize Jonny Mancini. He’s my age. Mean motherfucker. Smart too. I have to admit my interest is piqued. What would they want with a girl like her?
I can understand the draw of her innocence, but she’s too young to be a whore. Maybe age doesn’t matter to them. Killing children never was a problem. I find myself preparing to defend her honor. Men who try to take advantage of women are scum. A real man should never have to force himself on someone to get laid. Being in the mafia is like a big shiny badge that saysFuck Me, and everyone listens. There is never a shortage of women who want to get under one of us.
Jonny doesn’t seem interested in her. His scowl stays permanently painted on his face as he walks beside her. I take a quick photo, hoping I can get some type of ID on the girl. She’s important enough to be escorted by a Mancini.
* * *
I find myself back in front of the diner, changed, free of any evidence I just murdered someone in cold blood. I’m pushing my luck being in Mancini territory, but I’ve never been one to follow rules.
As I push the door open, a bell rings above my head. I scan over the diner before I see a vacant booth off to the side. It’ll give me a decent view while staying in the back.
“I’ll be right with you, handsome,” an older lady greets me with a warm smile.
I have to give the girl some credit. Her back straightens as soon as my eyes land on her. She goes to the large window and peeks out.Wrong way. For the briefest moment, I watch her get spooked, and I thrive on it. But then she squares her shoulders, pushing them back, and walks to her next table. I can see her slight twitches in recognizingsomeonehas their eyes on her, but she never allows it to stop her.
The diner is out of date and below someone who would be tied to the Mancini family. Pierre is a cocky bastard, and nothing of his would be caught in a rundown place like this.Who is this girl?
Her movements are graceful, and she talks easily to all her tables. For a young girl, she is beautiful in that “I need to grow into myself” type of way. I see the way everyone is nice to her, adding to the conversations around her, but when she walks away, the whispers start. It’s almost as if they are afraid to be rude to her but don’t accept her as one of their own.
The older woman brings me my drink, hamburger, and fries. It takes me a minute of talking to her, when finally the resemblance between her and my mystery girl starts to take root. The way they interact together confirms my suspicion. They must be mother and daughter.
I leave a bit of a tip, but not big enough to be remembered clearly. When the older lady leaves, she’s slow and has a slight limp to her step. She goes the way of the dim lamp posts, then down a dark walkway cutting through a park. The wind has picked up from this afternoon, pushing and throwing her hair, even though it’s pulled back in a ponytail. My steps match hers as I stay behind. She never notices me, unlike her daughter. I plan to learn everything about this girl. She’s important to Pierre Mancini, which means she’s important to me. I have never forgotten the way he killed my two best friends without any mercy. One day, I plan to return the favor, to show him the same fate.
His people are always encroaching on our territory, trying to mark us as weak. My father, Nicoli Rossi, is a smart man—smarter than Mancini. We need to stay ahead of them; otherwise, they will attempt to ruin us to the best of their ability.
Chapter 5
Aly
Isentmymomhome once the rush died down. She became clumsier as the night progressed, dropping two plates that will cost her part of her paycheck. Her multiple sclerosis diagnosis weighs heavily on my mind, but she refuses to acknowledge it. She has dark bags under her eyes, even with all the concealer she wears. My mom is beautiful, but her hard life is starting to show.
The scattered streetlamps leave the empty street dim. It’s just past midnight, and I enjoy the quiet walk alone. I’m not bothered by walking in the dark. Something about the night relaxes me; maybe it’s the fact that I can easily blend in. With each step that takes me closer to home, my feet cry out in pain, wanting to feel that instant relief of not holding me up.
As a black town car idles around the corner, the soles of my feet pinch harder. Stopping, I lift one foot, giving it the release it needs. Placing it back down, the ache becomes worse than before.
My father steps out of the car, his wide stance intimidating. He’s an attractive man, his hair jet-black with the sides slightly peppered with gray. He never smiles, his facial features chiseled and rough.
My lips purse as I wait for the reason I’m seeing him twice in one day. “Get in.”
I jump at his deep, angry-sounding voice and nod, slipping past him. People consider me weak because I’m quiet. I’m not. I’m always thinking, calculating. I use my personality against others. The best thing about me is that I can slip in and out without being noticed.
The tension is thick in the air. This must be important for him to come himself and not send one of his men. We stop in front of his family’s mansion. My heart pauses momentarily. I’ve never been inside before. It’s not like I’m invited to his family gatherings. I’m meant to be the forgotten mistake of his past.
“Why am I here?” I ask, my voice strong.
He doesn’t answer me but steps out, holding the door open for me to follow him.
Obeying, I begin to walk, my eyes darting everywhere, storing the information for later. The house is large, its main foyer bigger than the house I live in. Some of my father’s bodyguards trail behind us, making me wonder where they came from.
He leads me down some stairs, the door closing with a latching sound. I refuse to check over my shoulder to see if I’m locked in here. My half-brother and his cousins come into view as I reach the bottom of the stairway. I’ve memorized all their names and have managed to figure out most of their ranks too.
I’m led to a floral chair that should be placed in a living room. It sticks out down here in the cold and uninviting basement. The floor is concrete, with patches of stains from things I don’t want to think about. I guess the concrete makes for an easier cleaning job.
“What were you doing by the refinery?” Jonny asks, standing up.
I glance toward Father, trying to gather who’s in charge. “Answer his question,” my father tells me. Each day, Jonny is training and getting more responsibility to take over from our dad.
I may appear scared, but I’m not. “I was late for my shift, so I took the shortcut.” I shrug.
