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I racked my memory, then froze.
Yesterday. I'd seen that same car yesterday…
And last week, the same damn car passed by the house as we turned in.
I took a, step forward, the gun still in my clutch. But the moment I did, the vehicle rolled forward and pulled onto the street. I swallowed hard, panic filling me now. I knew what that warning in the pit of my stomach said…someone was following me.
8
Lazarus
Two days ago…
“And you’re still not going?” Dad crossed his arms and leaned back on the sleek wooden counter in the kitchen. “To the island, that is.”
I held his gaze, watching the old man squirm. “Why? You want me to go?”
There was a second where he paused…and Dad never paused,only when he wanted something.
“No. Not at all.” He shoved away from the counter. His hard muscles flexed under his tight black t-shirt as he drained his coffee, leaving the cup neatly in the sink for the cleaners. “Word is the Salvatores are going.”
Fuck.
Now why the hell did he have to go and say that?
Pretty boy Finley Salvatore and his broody fucking glare. I licked my lips and inhaled deep. A spark of life flared inside me. Fucking up that asshole’s entire week almost sounded…appealing. “I asked a month ago and they said he wasn’t.”
Dad just gave a shrug and strode toward the door. “Looks like he changed his mind. Classes start tomorrow…it’s not too late to change yours.”
Sitting on a damn island in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of rich wannabes? Fuck that. Even if they had changed the rules now, letting women attend classes, I wasn’t interested in the catty fucking bullshit that went with it.
Dad’s boots thudded on the polished concrete floor. I looked his way, watching him stride into the hallway and out the back door. The black Bentley’s engine started with a growl. Gravel was sitting behind the wheel playing chauffer, ready to take Dad into the city to‘the office’.
We’d come a long way since our small home in the suburbs.A helluva long way.I drained the last of my Red Bull, yanked open the cupboard, and tossed the can into the trash. It’d taken a year to build, but the three-story house was starting to feel more like a home. Sleek, cold concrete, polished wood, and black metal. The place Dad had built all the way out here was perfect. Quiet. Calming.
I snatched my gloves off the end of the counter and strode toward the back of the massive house. Cool Spring morning air hit me as I pushed through the door. I lifted my gaze to the thick ash trees that surrounded the property. Jesus, I never got sick of it out here. My boots crunched on the pebbles as I strode toward the garage set back from the main house. A smaller building was built at the side of the towering playpen filled with bikes, cars, and four-wheel drives. Gravel lived in the rooms above the garage, and the other guys crashed here most nights when business called for it.
Business.
The Rossi name had earned a reputation in the last few years. I'd earned my own in the last few months. I yanked on my gloves, remembering my bloody knuckles from two months ago. On the day of Finley’s mom’s funeral…the day I'd almost beat a man to death. But pretty boy had said fucking nothing, just stood there and watched one of his men get the beatdown of his goddamn life.
I punched in the code and waited for the garage door to rise as the thought of Finley Salvatore wore at me.
Detached motherfucker.
The thought of pissing all over his goddamn parade at Cosa Nostra was sounding better every fucking second. I strode into the garage, yanked my leather jacket from the hanger, and climbed onto the Night Train. The Harley had been a gift to myself. Sleek, black…it was thunder on a clear spring day, throbbing between my legs better than anything a woman ever gave me.
I started the engine, shoved back the kickstand, and pulled forward before hitting the remote on the keyring. The garage door slid down as I eased around the side of the house and onto the driveway. Five minutes later, I was out on the open highway.
Cars whipped past me, but a few thought they’d hug my ass as I headed toward the city. One car in particular, dark gray…I divided my attention between the traffic ahead and the rear-view mirror, then swerved out and quickly back in around a slowass Jeep. Whaddaya know, the asshole behind me did the same.
Dark-tinted windows pretty well obscured the interior. It was a guy behind the wheel, that much I could tell. Just some jackass anyway. I focused on the road ahead and opened up the engine a bit. The Harley surged forward as the cars slowed for traffic lights up ahead.
Fuck that.
I gunned the engine, shooting across all four lanes, leaving the gray sedan and the asshole behind. A glance into the rear-view mirror and I was gone, turning down Hudson Avenue to take me into the city. Towering buildings rose in the distance. The heart of the city was made for stuck-up wealthy pricks, not the Rossi’s. I turned the bike toward Gippsland Dark, the place where those like us worked, played…and fucked.
The closer I got, the darker and seedier the streets became. Trash seemed to cling to the buildings and the towering ten-foot fences that made up Gippsland. Gangs and working girls stood on every street, watching me with careful gazes as I drove past. They all knew who I was…and they wanted nothing to do with us. The Stidda ran the brothels and the clubs from this side of the Parade, stretching over three districts. No one sold anything here without us knowing…and taking a cut. Not dime bags and pussy, not guns or shakedowns. We got a cut from everything, unless they wanted to disappear.
