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My black polished shoes thud loudly on the hard wooden floor, then are silenced as I cross the Persian rug and stop where she’s crumpled on the floor. I look down at her, and even though she stirs something protective in me, I’m also aware of how easily I could crush her. How truly helpless she is lying beneath my feet.
The mother tuts, drawing my attention. Her cruelty is something I hadn’t expected. Even in our vicious world, women are demure, silent, the men’s lesser halves. That is the normal way of things with our women; the ones who rise up and show even a molecule of power get shot down.
Just like Madre.
I blink, the pain still unbearably fresh. A full year hasn’t dulled my pain or my desire for revenge. It’s why I’m standing here in the Valachi’s drawing room.
All roads lead here.
I had decided I would keep an open mind. After all…it was only one word on the lips of a dying woman, and there were things that simply didn’t make sense. She could have possibly meant something different than “the Valachis are responsible.” She could have meant…merda, I don’t know. All I know is that while I want my revenge, I also want therightrevenge. I need to be sure.
But Marcus had informed me of some vague threats he had intercepted, chatter about the growing might of the O’Hanlons and how a woman, mymadre, was leading them.
She had kept her involvement in things quiet, but it was not inconceivable that it had been discovered. Her presence at the O’Hanlon helm, joining the biggest syndicate in Ireland with a smaller, but no less influential family like the Papparados, would not have been good for the Valachis. An alliance with the wrong person in charge made both families too strong. A Valachi response to this made sense.
But I still needed to know for certain. Because why would Lorenzo Valachi invite me into his home, invite me to become his made man, if he had just had my mother murdered? Was he that arrogant?
This violence, springing from the Valachimadreherself, is confirmation. They are animals, these people.
Every night for the past year, I’ve been ripped from sleep, my mother’s dying word ringing in my head.“Valachi.”They had succeeded inputting my mother into the ground, but they had no idea how her death would ignite my blood like a flint sparking flame to tinder.
I swore I would cut everyone involved down, and yet here I stand over one of their offspring, feeling this curious sense of protectiveness.
Why?I can’t spare her. Can’t spare any of them, not if they’re responsible. I won’t.
“Leave her,” Nina Valachi tells me, the stink of liquor wafting from her breath. “I barely touched her. As always, Lulu loves being dramatic.” Her mother’s eyes roll back with the effects of the drink, and her attention moves back to her original target, the youngest Valachi, Vivi.
The mark on the side of Luciana’s face is not the result of a slight tap, though. A purpling lump is forming fast, and the girl’s gaze is unfocused as she lifts a hand to brush the site where the heavy lowball crystal made contact.
“Are you okay?” My voice sounds strained and angry, which isn’t my intention.
My heart says help her, while my brain tells me to leave her on the ground—one less Valachi to take down. The conflicting emotions have me standing stiffly.
Her head rises, her swanlike neck craning back as she blinks rapidly at me. How easily I could stand on her neck and crush bones.
“Look what you did,” the mother accuses Vivi. She points at Lulu on the floor, and when Vivi doesn’t follow her manicured finger, instead staring at her in horror, she reaches across and grabs the young woman’s chin, forcing her to look at her sister.
“Look what you’ve done,” she repeats, as if Vivi was a puppeteer and manipulated her mother’s violence toward Lulu.
“I’m okay.” The words emerge as a hoarse whisper, Luciana all but swallowing them. “It’s okay, Mother.”
She reaches out a delicate hand to find her balance as she tries to get to her feet. I’m wiser than my actions right now as I lean down and take her by the elbow, filled with the awareness that I should just leave her.
At the contact, Lulu stills, her uncertain gaze stretching up to meet mine. God, she’s so young. Early twenties, maybe, which is not a child, and yet it’s likely she’s been so fiercely protected her entire life as to render her completely innocent. I need to leave her alone.
A muscle ripples in my jaw, and I’m debating releasing her when she moves, allowing me to help her to her feet.
I want to ask her again if she’s okay, but then I remember why I’m here. My fingers slide from her slim arm.
Luciana runs her hands down the front of her dress as if she’s brushing out wrinkles that aren’t there. She raises her head, and her expression, as she turns to her mother, sends shivers down my spine.
Formidable.I’ve seen that look before, a very long time ago, and my eyes narrow. Her strength reminds me of my mother.
I suspect Lulu Valachi might well be a worthy opponent… or prize. Perhaps even a possession. A smirk tugs at my lips, but I suppress it.
“I’ll just check on Angel.” Despite the ruthlessness in the glance she sends her mother, Lulu’s footfalls are unsure, like those of a newborn deer.
She leaves and I glance at the mother, whose eyes are at half-mast. The alcohol is doing its job. Vivi sits with her head bent, her hands in her lap. She won’t look up, and she won’t leave, either. I’m surprised she hasn’t followed her sister out of the room to make sure she’s okay, but clearly, they’re not crafted of the same fibers.
