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I knew where each scar came from, though.
One long one running down the outside of my thigh marked where the surgeons had to cut me open to bolt my broken femur bone back into place, and both my knees were heavily scarred from repeated abrasions, and nearly invisible at this point was a small line across my forehead where I’d been pistol-whipped as a teen.
Then, of course, the starburst of gnarled, darkened skin sitting low and tight on my sternum.
Without any of my trappings, I looked more like a street rat than a Don. It was my favorite version of myself.
I stepped under the warm spray and started kneading at my shoulder muscles, pondering over those photos again.
The most recent one, in particular, had my eye; in it was Nicola, sitting at a table with two men on either side.
I recognized Faci and Sprezza, but then there was another man with strawberry-blonde hair and lastly one with a tattoo on his neck. They were sitting at a table in a darkened venue that I couldn’t place, which meant it had to be owned by the Pellicos.
There was a crowd, what looked like several tipsy people holding drinks and laughing, but the mood at their table was serious and tense.
They were clearly talking business, and based on the somber looks on everyone’s faces, it looked like a war meeting.
I had worked towards my revenge for more than two decades, and I was so close to finally looking Cristiano Pellico in the eye as I tore down his empire.
Whether Nicola had really been trying to overthrow his father or something else was going on, I didn’t know.
I couldnotlet unforeseen circumstances derail me from my quickly approaching justice.
I was going to hold Cristiano’s life in my hand, show him how useless it was, and then crush it. And no one else would distract me while I did it.
I kept my shower short and utilitarian, dried off briskly, and didn’t bother to redress as I made my way to the kitchen.
If I was going to be up all night trying to find these mystery men, I was going to need the fuel.
I had one goal, one single-minded purpose, and I was too close to seeing it through now to waste time sleeping.
Chapter Three
MARY
Iwas up all night, eyes glued to the glowing screen as it fed me a slow drip of information.
The news hadn’t shown photos, but I’d found them online—I knew exactly how much blood Nicola lost and where each bullet had landed.
Only one of them went all the way through him; the rest ricocheted around inside his body, bouncing off of bones and slicing through organs.
I wish I hadn’t seen them. Now I had no hope of sleeping.
I chewed my nails down to stubs, leaning forward on my secondhand couch like a gargoyle in the dark. I couldn’t bear to turn on the lights.
2 am.
3 am.
4 am.
The hours crawled by in slow-motion while my mind sank further into silent static.
Mom had kept me over last night, and I’d stayed all day too, but eventually I had to go home.
I didn’t want to, and mom didn’t want me to, but she said that any change in our usual routines could tip off anyone who might be watching us.
The idea that anyone might be sitting there watching me microwave leftovers made me nauseous. But if Pietro had figured it out, then who’s to say other people hadn’t too?
