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“It’s okay, baby girl. It doesn’t break us. Your brother is going to take it harder than me.”
“How so?”
“His best friend was one of the patrons at the parlor. When he saw police, he couldn’t keep his itchy finger off the trigger. Killed a cop. He’s done.” My father exhaled and lifted his drink from the table—a golden liquid with ice cubes swimming around in the glass.
“Poor Ro.”
My brother, Roberto, had big dreams for the business, though his small stature didn’t make him intimidating enough. He swam in suits, always needing them to be taken in to accommodate his slight frame. Roberto was handsome and well-liked by the women in the families, but the businessmen spoke above and behind him instead of to him.
Ro appeared in the library’s doorway. “What was all the yelling about?”
“Come here, kid.” Our father gestured with his drink toward the chair beside him. Being summoned toward our father was rarely a good thing, and Ro’s face showcased his concern.
“What’s wrong?” he asked as he scanned our expressions. He brushed the long, dark hair out of his face as his lips tightened. “Tell me!”
“Fonz got arrested,” our father said.
“That dumb bastard. For what?”
“Ro, he killed a cop,” I said. I hated when bushes were beaten around.
Roberto’s dark eyes rounded as the corners of his lips turned down. “What...why?” Ro turned and punched the wall. Nothing broke. He couldn’t even create a dent.
I wiped the bridge of my nose beneath my glasses.
“The parlor got raided,” our father said, “and well, you know Fonz.”
“He’s gone. He’s a lifer.” Ro sighed.
“Yup,” our father said as he shook his glass. “Such is this life, Ro.”
“We didn’t ask for this, Dad!” Roberto paced the hardwood floors.
“You think I did? I was born into it just like you and your sister! You have responsibilities as a Silvani. I rebelled against the drug trade, said that I wanted nothing to do with that life after I saw what they did to the children of other families. Take out a family from the bottom, Ro. That’s what they do.” My dad stood, his tall frame towering over Roberto. “I tried to give you all a different life, a better empire to run once I’m gone!”
I crossed my legs and leaned onto my hip, twirling my black hair around my fingers. If you asked me at eighteen what I believed in, it would have been dreams of becoming a boss bitch. At twenty-five, I just wanted to leave the East Coast, maybe even the country. I wanted peace. There was no rest for the wicked here.
ChapterThree
Gia
Ilooked at the phone on the counter as I stepped out of the shower. The screen illuminated, showing no calls, and I groaned.Come on, where are they?My resolve was weakening, the guilt building with every passing day.How hard is it to plan an abduction? Maybe they decided against it.There was no way to contact the Vigliones, and they kept it that way on purpose. Sure, I could visit their home, but it was always a risk to show up at a rival family’s sanctuary.
The cold porcelain made me shiver as I dried my long black hair. Soft curls nearly level with my chest framed the tan complexion I inherited from my mother. I painted my lips a deep maroon, accentuating my full lower lip, which always made me look pouty. My dark brown eyes nearly melded with my pupils. Unless someone got close enough to kiss me, they wouldn’t be able to differentiate them. I was a black widow. Almost every man I had slept with ended up dead. Maybe it was my father’s doing or maybe it was dumb luck, but I possessed a kiss of death. It had been years since I let a man touch me, and I didn’t plan on changing that any time soon.
A buzzing sound broke my concentration, and I looked at the vibrating phone on the counter. My hands went numb, and I almost couldn’t answer the call. The phone beeped as I hit the green button. I lifted it to my ear and waited, hearing nothing but silence on the other line.
“Seven p.m., Gerusso’s restaurant parking lot.”
The call ended before I could respond, but the nauseating words replayed in my head as I looked at the phone and sighed at the clock. It was already after five.Not very much time.
I walked to my room, dressed myself in a low-cut black shirt and a pair of tight jeans, and began to pack a small bag. My palms dampened with every passing minute.Am I really doing this?A photo of my family guilted me from its place on my dresser, and I packed it away in my bag.
* * *
Enzo
My eyes lockedon the black BMW pulling into the parking lot. I rubbed my hand through my beard as I watched her step out of the car and into the cool night air. Seeing her flooded my mind with memories of when I let myself be weak and miss a target. I remembered her standing in front of me, those deep, dark eyes staring back at me as the pistol trembled in her hand. She wasn’t a killer yet, still naïve to that part of our lives. She fired the gun and the bullet whizzed past my head. My finger pulled the trigger in response, almost instinctively, but the slight rise in my barrel sent the bullet sailing above her head. Was it intentional? I don’t know, but it was the only reason she was still alive, standing in front of me.
