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I chuckle darkly. “There is nothing to feel shit about. Carusso was an asshole. He deserved what came to him. Go home, Luigi.”
“Okay,boss,” he replies, leaving me in stunned silence. It’s the first time anyone has referred to me as ‘boss’ instead of ‘kid’.About fucking time.
I dry my wet face and hands on a fluffy towel monogrammed with Carusso’s initials, then walk back into the bedroom.
It takes me twenty minutes to sweep the whole house and the grounds again, making sure we didn’t miss anything. Tonight didn’t happen. The Carussos didn’t happen. Tomorrow, every single one of them, including all the men that stood by them, will be dead. Poof. Disappeared like they never existed in the first place.
Nicolosi is one fucked up motherfucker, but it’s his revenge. And I’m still too young to intervene. Things will run differently when I’m in charge…
I make my way back into Alessandro’s bedroom, giving it a quick once over before pulling my phone out and dialling the number for the cleaners.
As I’m giving them the details of the job, I keep coming back to the dead corpse on the bed, scrunching my brows as a thought crosses my mind.
I finish the call and follow his eyes to the piece of furniture he’s blankly staring at. It’s just a fucking antique wardrobe, nothing out of the ordinary, but there’s a sick feeling in my stomach. Like something unpleasant is about to happen. He better not have a fucking decomposing body in there.
Fuck it.
In a few short strides, I’m right in front of it, turning the key in the lock and opening the door.
My heart stops beating.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
“You,” I whisper, going to my knees and trying to untie the ropes from around the scared three-year-old girl. Her whole body is shaking as tears are running down her cheeks, pulling around the duct tape covering her small mouth. “It’s okay, I’m here,” I murmur as I pull my knife out to cut her bindings off. My hands are shaking too much to try and untangle the stupid things. “This will hurt a little bit, okay?” I grip the edge of the tape, stroking her hair once she’s free to move around. She nods, her huge green eyes so fucking trusting it nearly breaks my heart. I rip the tape off in one quick move, then pull her into my arms, shielding her from the corpse on the bed as she starts sobbing. “Shhh. It’s okay. I’ve got you.”
“Dantie?” Her watery eyes lift to mine. The last time I saw her cry was exactly one week ago when she fell over and scraped her knee. I put a bandaid on it even though she didn’t break the skin, then played with her for an hour after, to the amusement of every soldier on our grounds. I didn’t know that at the time, her father just found out about the affair. From what Papa told me, he came in, asking for help with retribution. Needless to say, it wasn’t granted, so the fucker took matters into his own hands. But...Shewas supposed to be dead. Everyone thought she was dead.
“Why is Daddy angry at me?”
My blood boils again. How could he do this to an innocent child? How long has she been in there? Has she been here, tied up and alive all this time?
“Never mind that. You’re safe now, andhewon’t be able to hurt you again.”
“I want my mommy,” her chin wobbles as her little fingers curl into fists around my shirt.
“I...” Fuck. What do I do? What can I do?
If I tell anyone that Carusso’s daughter is still alive, Nicolosi will make it his mission to find her and kill her. I’ll also be disobeying direct orders. Leave no witnesses.
Everyone in this house is supposed to be dead.
I pull her tight to my chest, stroking her matted hair as the need to protect her wars with the obligation to follow my papa’s orders. I may be a Santoro, but I’m no saint.
“I’m sorry.” I squeeze my eyes shut. “Mommy can’t help you anymore.”
No one can.
1
ALESSA
Nineteen years later
You’d think after years of having to wash myself with gas station soap and wet wipes, I’d be used to it by now. You’d be wrong.
The possibility of someone walking in on you as you try to dry yourself with toilet paper never gets old. But I like cheap thrills, so I always just roll with it. Hence why, with my duffel between my legs, I lean down, swinging my head under the hand dryer, hoping to god no one walks in on me. I swear they put those things specifically at hip level so they can have a good old laugh at idiots like me bending over backwards to try and dry their hair.
I try not to think about the thousand times I had no choice but to do this. Or about the thousand times I wasn’t sure where I’d sleep that night or what I’d eat. I ignore the feeling that I’m back at the start. That, somehow, instead of going forward, I have taken a giant step back. I do all that because it’s been years since the last time I was in thisposition. And deep down, I know I’m no longer the same girl who lived on the streets and almost gave up. I’m no longer inthatplace, and even though I still don’t have much, I have enough.
