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“For what?” Ariana asks.
I take another step toward her. “For saving Sophia. Seeing what those men did to you, I can’t imagine what they would’ve done to my sister. I’m sorry you got caught in their crosshairs, but I am grateful that you were there and didn’t just stand by and let them take her.”
“Sitting on the sidelines isn’t in my nature, and you’re welcome. Is she—?”
“She’s fine. Listen, if you need anything, you can press this button.” I move to the nightstand and point to the button built into the backside of it. “My maids can bring you food or whatever else you need. Dr. R will give you enough medication to ease the pain and help you sleep, but if you wake up, you can buzz down and request more.” As I speak, Ariana’s brows furrow. “What?” I ask.
“You’re just…not what I expected.”
“Oh yeah?” I cross my arms over my chest. “And what did you expect?”
Ariana smiles and shrugs her shoulders, though the grimace that follows lets me know she regrets it.
“I don’t know.” She brushes off the pain. “I guess I expected you to be emotionless, ruthless, cruel, and vindictive. Basically, I imagined you’d have a tail and horns, even if just figurative.”
I smile, unable to tell her that she’d be right. I’m all those things and more. I’m the Devil to those who threaten my family. Until she becomes a threat, she has no need to see that side of me, at least any more than she already has.
Before the conversation shifts back to her request for help, I take my leave. “Feel better, Ariana.”
“Thanks. Wait, my phone. Where’s my phone?” Ariana asks, searching the surrounding covers.
“That you will get in the morning when I take you home.” Disappointment returns to Ariana’s features as I exit the room, leaving her in the care of Dr. R. Though as I walk away, thoughts of her and what I will do if she doesn’t takenofor an answer stay with me. If she becomes the threat I know she’s capable of being, I’ll have no choice but to prove her right and reveal to her the side of myself I hate the most. When the Devil comes out, it won’t matter that she’s FBI. It can’t. Let’s just hope it doesn’t come to that.
10
With over two hundred guests,it’s hard to find my suspects in the camera footage of the party. So, instead I focus on tracking Ariana. With her white angel wings, she stands out. And since she’s with Sophia most of the time, I’m able to spot them as they return to the party from their walk.
“Caleb. That son of a bitch.”
I fast-forward through Sophia’s interaction with her lying, cheating asshole of an ex. He must’ve been someone’s plus-one, because Sophia oversaw the guest list, and despite his family’s wealth and connections, there’s no way she would’ve included him after what he did to her. It’s Caleb who separates Ariana from Sophia, making her an easy target for the men who tried to abduct her.
I pause the feed as a man I don’t recognize approaches the two of them. I shake my head and pour myself another glass of bourbon. Sophia said the man asked her to dance to get her away from Caleb. A simple but effective tactic. Who wouldn’t want to escape that entitled prick? It was after he got her away from Caleb that things got complicated. According to Sophia, he told her his men had eyes on me and that if she didn’t go with him, they’d kill me. She knew he could’ve been lying, but just as much as she is my weakness, I’m hers. So, she left with him without putting up a fight. She didn’t mention anything about Ariana showing up, because once the men got her out of sight of the party guests, they drugged her. I decided it best not to mention Ariana’s involvement, since that would lead to more questions regarding Ariana’s job and reason for befriending my sister. After such a traumatic night, I don’t want to add to Sophia’s stress by revealing her friend isn’t who she says she is. Though, all things considered, I couldn’t be happier that Ariana was there.
I down the rest of my bourbon and nearly break the glass as I slam it against my desk. Deep breaths. I must stay in control if I’m going to find out who’s behind this attack. At that thought, I zoom in on the camera footage to take a closer look at the man in question. The best visuals I have of him is a side shot from when he first approaches Sophia and Caleb, and then, as he and Sophia make their way to the forest’s edge, a tree camera picks up a frontal image. I take screenshots of both images, doing my best to focus on the perp and not the sadness etched across Sophia’s face nor the tight grip the animal has around my sister’s arm.
He’s tall, well over six feet, perhaps even taller than me. Though, he’s got more of a medium build compared to my stockiness. I grab a sticky note and write down my assessment of him to hand off to Gio. He’s got a buzz cut, which makes it hard to know what his hair color is, though his fair skin and eyebrows suggest he’s probably a blond, meaning he’s more than likely associated with a competing criminal organization rather than someone from within the Mafia. All capos and soldiers are Italian, per tradition.
At first, I thought the hit was ordered by someone closer to home, someone who would’ve known about this party. But the party is advertised as one of the most exclusive events in New Orleans each year since it’s sponsored by the Historical Preservation Society. A simple internet search on my family or upcoming New Orleans events would’ve let the world know when and where the event would take place and that Sophia and I both would be there, which means proximity to New Orleans isn’t necessarily a factor for tonight’s assailants. No. This could’ve been anyone and for any reason. News of Cara’s death hasn’t had time to travel. Even my own capos who may secretly envy the throne wouldn’t have had time to plan an attack that organized between the press conference and now. Whoever did this clearly has a vendetta against my family that began long before the public knew anything of Cara.
After pouring myself another glass of bourbon, I search the suspect’s visible skin for tattoos and notable markings but find none from either angle. He’s wearing a black suit with matching black gloves and a high-neck sweater that covers most of his skin. The gloves let me know I won’t find any DNA evidence on Sophia or Ariana—another detail that tells me I’m dealing with professionals.
“Found anything?” Gio asks as he enters my office.
“Maybe,” I say, pouring him a drink. “You?”
Gio shakes his head. “None of the party guests left early or around the time of the attack, which would suggest guilt. We scoured the woods and found nothing—no listening devices, no hidden weapons. The dock is clear too. Our men did catch a glimpse of the boat as the assailants made their escape. They described it as a white cabin cruiser. Super typical. Nothing unique of note under the cover of night.”
I nod. “That’s not surprising. Everything about this attack was perfectly planned.”
“The only thing they didn’t account for was an undercover FBI agent,” Gio says.
“Yeah, that was something none of us saw coming, though I guess that’s becoming the norm lately.” Anger courses through me as I think about all the ways my home has been invaded—the night my mother was killed, the morning the brotherhood abducted Julian and Mason by posing as police officers, and now. After three months of upgrading my home security and weapons stock, I thought for sure I was prepared. I swore to Sophia that she was safe here, that no one would ever breach the walls of our home again. But I was wrong. I’m always wrong.
Cara’s abduction and death triggered a fear in me that I first felt after my mother’s death, a fear absorbed from my father. In the weeks, months, even years after my mother was taken from us, my father evolved into a hypervigilant, paranoid man. Effectively, his evolution was the end of Sophia’s and my childhood as we knew it. Weekends were spent training in hand-to-hand and weapons combat. For me, more so than Sophia, but even she was tasked with learning certain skills. It was my father’s way of coping, and I don’t blame him. But his desire for us to be able to protect ourselves isn’t the only thing he taught us, well, me.
Everything my father did since my mother’s death was out of fear—fear of losing us the same way he lost her. He felt he had to be perfect, and so I grew to feel the same way. I adopted his fear, his desire to protect, and his need for perfection, not from others but for himself. The day he died, those feelings inside me only amplified, because I knew I’m all my sisters have. I’m the one tasked with protecting them. And yet, I’ve failed them, time and time again. First Cara. Now Sophia. Well, not anymore.
I shake my head and scroll back through the camera footage to keep myself from getting lost in my own wicked mind. That’s when it occurs to me. I check the timestamp of when the man gets Sophia to the forest’s edge. Eleven p.m.
