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Lifting his head from its reclined position, my father looks at me for the first time. “You did well tonight,” he says. “You’ve grown a lot this past month.”
“I grew up fast when I realized the world has no patience or sympathy for children—or childish mistakes,” I state flatly.
Then, as my hand rests gently on my belly, I turn my attention back to the black night outside my window. I’ve been doing that a lot more lately, touching my tummy as if seeking comfort. Somehow, it helps me feel less alone, though I can’t yet feel a baby bump.
The vehicle falls silent after my rather chilly statement. My mind soon returns to thoughts of what I’ve learned tonight and how it might help my newly forming plans.
Because I’m not about to settle into a lifetime of misery if I can find a way to bring the Moretti empire crashing down.
The best part is, no one would suspect my family of retribution because the Morettis are just as keen to hush up my extramarital pregnancy as my family is. So, no one will know my motive except for the family I intend to take down.
And by the time they find out I’ve betrayed them, they’ll hopefully be unable to stop their fate.
Then, out of their ashes, the Guerra family can rise again.
9
LEO
“Put them on their knees,” I command, glancing at my watch to check the time.
I’m going to be late to my own wedding at this rate. Still, I have a message to send, and what better way to get the point across to the Valencia family than to show them I mean business. Even on my wedding day.
My men do as I say, shoving the three simpering thieves to their knees in the back alley beyond the Valencia trucking warehouse. Each in their early forties, and I can guess they’re loyal workers who have been with the Valencia family for a long time. But they’re not high enough in the ranks to have come up with their plan on their own.
“I’ve made your boss a very generous deal,” I state, standing before the kneeling men who sweat visibly through their business shirts, “allowing him and his men to keep a share of the profits. Not everyone gets so lucky.”
They’re nervous—as they should be. They stole from me, and today, they get to learn what happens when they take what’s mine. Regardless of who put them up to it.
“But you men weren’t satisfied, were you?” I ask, stepping close to straighten the middle man’s collar.
His lips twitch with fear, but no words come out, and after a moment’s silence, Johnny slugs the man nearest him with brutal force, sending several teeth flying across the cement ground.
“You answer the boss when he’s talking to you,” Johnny states.
“N-N-Noooo,” the man stutters a reply, blood burbling between his lips.
“So, tell me, did Aldo Valencia put you up to this?” I turn my gaze on the man whose teeth Johnny just knocked out, hoping the punch might have loosened his jaw.
The three men share a glance, utter terror in their eyes.
“If you tell me the truth, I’ll let you live,” I promise, placing my hand over my heart in a gesture of good faith.
“H-He said you wouldn’t notice… if we just took a little,” the middle man says, his eyes round with fear. “I swear we didn’t take much!” The man starts to snivel, curling in on himself as he prepares to take a blow.
I nod and look at the men on either side of him, who nod vigorously in confirmation.
“Thank you for your honesty,” I state. Then I glance at my men standing behind the three thieves, a silent command that they understand without question.
Sharp cracks echo in the narrow space, followed by a scream of pure terror as the middle man covers his head as best he can with his bound hands. The two men beside him fall heavily to the ground, their eyes staring lifelessly before them.
“What the fuck!” the last man screams upon seeing his dead buddies’ brains on the sidewalk. “You said you’d let us live!” His voice climbs several octaves in his hysteria.
“I did.” Eyeing either of his compatriots with cold disdain, I crouch in front of the lone survivor. “You told me the truth. They didn’t.”
Intense relief floods the man’s face at my cold-blooded reasoning. As long as I intend to keep him alive, it seems he won’t question my blatant manipulation. Once again, I glance at my men standing behind him, and the last thief is hauled to his feet before they guide him into a paint-spackled metal chair. They push him into it with more force than necessary, considering his knees give out before he even tries to resist.
Beside him is a plain wooden table that looks worse for wear. Like it’s been used as a cutting board one too many times. I’m idly curious as to how the trucking warehouse men must use it. Not likely what I intend to use it for, I would assume. But I’m not curious enough to ask.
