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SASHA
How in the motherfucking hell did I end up in this shit? I didn’t put up with my own father and boss’s bullshit Bratva rules. It’s why I rebelled. I don’t do this Mafia gangster crap life. It’s all blood and death. Sure, I love to punch a bitch in the face or send a leg so far into their gut it feels like their spine is going to shatter, but that doesn’t mean I want to kill people for not falling in line with my brand of order.
I don’t have the stomach for that life, nor the insanity that must come with it. I hate that my brother refuses to leave the life. I begged him to leave with me. I wanted out. I wanted to leave the East Coast for the West, to move as far away from my father as possible, but then Lorenzo put the marriage bug in my ear. It solved more than one problem—or so I thought at the time. So that’s what I did. I married the only boy I’ve ever given a piece of myself to.
Just because I dance on a stage and take off my clothes doesn’t mean I’m a whore. I gave my virginity to Lorenzo. He was the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen. Hotter than any guy in school or on TV. Even as a man, my attraction to him has only grown more intense. I’ve known him since grade school, yet the passion has never once waned.
When I said I do, I really did think I was giving myself to the one thing in the world I wanted the most, plus getting out of two nightmares at the same time. The problem is, I was young and stupid and not thinking clearly. My vagina takes over when Ren speaks, walks, or does virtually anything. I didn’t get out of either of my nightmares. I just prolonged them and dragged Ren with me.
I’ve spent two years trying to right my wrong. The morning I woke up next to Lorenzo with a ring on my finger, reality crashed down on my head: I was going to get him killed.
That isn’t something I can live with. I will not be the cause of someone taking his life because I wanted a life I was never destined to have. My future was set in stone before I said my first word. By being me, I fucked all that up. It’s a wonder no one has found that out before now. I’m no closer to figuring out how to get Ren unattached from my mess than I was the day after my New Jersey wedding on the shores of Atlantic City.
“What’s the plan?” Lorenzo’s voice pulls me from my dark thoughts. Our plane landed an hour ago. After we grabbed our bags, he had to pick up the Range Rover rental that had been reserved for Domenico. Now we’re headed to Salvatore’s residence nestled somewhere in or near the French Quarter, that’s all I know.
“Walk in there like we own the shit, I guess,” Domenico tells him. “You’ll be able to pull a trigger if it comes to that, right?”
There were automatic weapons already inside the vehicle when we got in, as well as knives. Whoever outfitted the SUV either knows Ren’s preference for blades or was instructed well. I don’t really favor one or the other. I know how to use both, plus all of my limbs, so if someone tries to fuck with me, they better be ready to bring it.
“I’ll do whatever needs to be done. Don’t start this with questioning that, brother. This doesn’t work if you don’t think I’m capable of having your back.”
“Never said I didn’t think you wouldn’t have my back. I just know that—”
“I got this, Dom,” Ren says, cutting him off.
Ignoring both my husband and his brother, I pull my purse onto my lap and snatch my cell phone from inside. After I turn off airplane mode, my notifications begin to flood my screen, which doesn’t surprise me after the stunt I pulled this morning. A smidgen of guilt eats at me but I shove it away and click on the notification that Sienna tagged me in.
@SiennaDCaputo: Aw, thanks, sis. Too bad I couldn’t congratulate you first when you and my bro tied the knot. Welcome to the fam!
I’m in such shock that I focus on the wink emoji at the tail end of her tweet. Oh, my fuck, she did not. This is bad. This is so fucking bad.
God, I’m not ready for this. She has no idea the war she just brought down on all of us. What am I going to do? How am I going to stop this before it escalates to something I cannot come back from?
You only have yourself to blame, my inner bitch taunts. If I hadn’t sent that original tweet, she wouldn’t have done one of her own. Stupid. I am so fucking stupid.
My phone chimes multiple times with text messages, so absentmindedly I click on the first. I read two messages.
Sienna:Suck it, bitch.
Sienna: You aren’t the only one that can play dirty.
I back out of hers, and when I see the name of the most recent text, my heart bottoms out. The contact is actually saved as “The Devil,” but that doesn’t change who it’s from.
Dimitri: Tsk. Tsk. Someone has been a bad girl. Do you know what I do to bad girls, ptichka?
I hate when he calls me little bird. It sours my stomach. It makes me want to hurl all over the floorboard in the back seat of the Range Rover Dom rented after the plane landed in New Orleans.
Dimitri: Spoiler alert: you’re going to find out. See you soon, Sasha.
