AllFreeNovel
Share Us
And Finneas Fox is the worst of them.
The bloodshed only stopped when a delicate and brittle ceasefire was agreed upon before the two families eradicated each other. Mutually assured destruction or survival.
I hate what they did, but I hate what we did too. Framing Finn’s father, Aiden Fox, for the murder of the governor, driving him to kill himself in prison. All of it sickens me.
I wasn’t cut out for this life. I’m cold but not ruthless. I’m cold because I was never shown the warmth of love, except for that one summer—No, forget about that, that Finn no longer exists.
A woman steps out, her blonde hair slicked back in a tight bun, her midriff visible between a tight, cropped tank and cargo pants cinched at the ankles. With one scan of her athletic build, I’m sure she knows twenty different ways to kill me with her bare hands.
My father meets her at the bottom of the steps, shaking her hand as men take the designer duffel bags from her hands and put them in the trunk of a limo waiting on the tarmac.
The rest of the women follow and once everyone has deplaned, Jonathan and I walk over to the group. “My daughter, Euphemia,” my father swipes his hand out as I step up to the circle of people. “She will be your point person and has already arranged your living arrangements.”
“You can call me Effie.” My father grinds his jaw, hating my nickname, but quickly turns his sleazy grin back on—always putting on a show.
The women introduce themselves. The one that looks like a mercenary is named Linnie and has only a slight French accent. A short-statured and lean woman with tanned skin introduces herself as Hadis, her dark brown eyes with flecks of gold flit over the surroundings, constantly surveying, reminding me of a hawk. The last woman, with short buzzed, dark hair and fair skin is Marguerite.
The drive to our home is passed with my father jabbering and the women politely laughing at his sexist jokes. Though I watch Linnie’s knuckles whiten around her champagne glass, and I half expect it to explode.I think I’m going to like her.
My mother greets us and presents the dining table full of home cooked Italian food as if she made it herself. I doubt she even got out of bed thirty minutes before we arrived.
“You all must be starving after that flight, how long was it now?” my mother asks as she flits around the table to her seat at the opposing head from my father.
“Just shy of nine hours,” Linnie responds, tucking in her chair and flapping her napkin onto her lap.
Once we are seated and begin eating, I notice my mother skeptically observing Marguerite’s shaved head and can practically hear her in my head. “What would possess a beautiful woman to do that to herself? Must not be looking for a husband, that’s for damn sure.” And a healthy dose of cursing in Greek.
My mother and father’s marriage was political, of course. The merging of the Luciano and Papadimitriou families. Though, I do think they’ve learned to love each other in their own way. Like how a spoiled child loves his favorite toy simply because it’s his and no one else gets to have it. I grew up knowing my worth was my hand in marriage.
Marriage for love is for princesses in the fairytales, not princesses in the Mafia.
Finn
I check my watch again. They should be arriving any minute. I straighten my respirator and cross my ankle over my knee. The room is empty and dark, I am sitting in the only chair in the room. The only light is coming from the three monitors mounted above the door streaming three of the many cameras covering every inch of this old hotel.
It was decommissioned years ago because the whole thing is riddled with asbestos and when renovations were needed there was nothing to do but abandon it.
Now, it’s my playground.1
A black, windowless van drives through an opening in the construction fence that surrounds the dilapidated property. One of my men in a ski mask drags the fence closed behind the van.
A subtle sort of adrenaline leaks into my bloodstream. It’s not deafening, but heightening. The blue light emanating from the screens is crisper, the air behind the respirator fresher, and the need to hunt growing stronger.
I used to be consumed with my thirst for violence. After my father’s suicide, I wanted nothing more than to feel the slick, warmth of fresh blood spilled on my hands. The desire—need—is still there, but it’s quieter, more patient and calculating.
It seethes through my veins as I watch a man being pushed out of the back of the van, a black pillowcase over his head and his hands zip tied in front of him. He stumbles, crouched and shoulders curled, as he tries to brace himself in his new surroundings.
Calvin, my second, jumps out of the back of the van and rips the case off Martin’s head. His usually neatly styled Ivy League cut is mussed, and I’m annoyed but amused when his first instinct is to raise his bound hands to fix his hair.The pretentious fuck.
Pretentiousandstupid.We hired him as a fence for a parcel of diamonds and he swapped half of the stones with fakes, pocketing the real ones.
And sure, we could have roughed him—broken a few bones, retrieved the stones— and threatened him if he ever pulled another stunt like that while representing the Fox name. But I neededmore.
I use my phone to remotely unlock a door that used to be a back service entrance. Calvin opens it and ushers Martin in, my eyes track the movements on the screens. All the doors and elevators in the hotel were set up with electronic locks for key cards. I’ve reprogrammed them so that I can control which doors open from the palm of my hand.
I see Calvin’s lips move as he explains the game to him and the corner of my mouth curls watching fear sink into his eyes. Now, the fun can really begin.
The rules to the game are simple:Run.
