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As we enter the club,it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the pink overhead lights that illuminate the otherwise red space. Red velvet chairs surround white tables adorned with poles, while floor-to-ceiling curtains of the same fabric hang along the back wall of the club, separating the VIP booths from the main floor. It’s there that we will find Parisi. But, before we reach him, we’ve got other bullets to dodge. For our sake, let’s just hope they remain figurative.
I glance over my shoulder to make sure Ariana and Gio are behind me and then proceed through the club, turning away the women who approach and avoiding eye contact with the scantily clad performers dancing atop the tables to the melodic notes of a haunting song. Though, theirs aren’t the only eyes I feel on me. All around the perimeter of the room, men stand from their tables and watch as the three of us walk in silence. Likely Parisi’s underlings, they know who I am and that I wouldn’t be here if something wasn’t about to go down.
As the overhead lights shift from pink to red and the black booths of the VIP lounge come into view, I move my hand from my side to my hip, readying myself to pull my gun from its holster, my eyes locking with Gabriel’s. At the sight of him, my lips press into a flat line and rage bubbles in my blood. The bounds of sanity threaten to burst inside me with each step I take. As much as I want this to be over, I don’t want it to be Gabriel. Though, as he sends the women in his booth away, his friendly expression leaving him, I fear my original suspicion was right. The music blaring through the surround-sound speakers intensifies, as if sensing what will happen next. It works with the adrenaline racing through my veins to drown out any hesitation, any fear, any anxiety left inside me. Ariana was right. She shouldn’t trust me not to kill him.
“You’re hereby relieved of your duties for the night,” Gio says, stepping forward to address the two armed guards standing outside Gabriel’s private booth. As my underboss, Gio oversees all of my capos, so he sees the soldiers more than I do. They recognize him and obey him. Though, not without first glancing at Gabriel and leaving us with a wary gaze. I maintain eye contact with the one on my right as he passes by me and Ariana, and I fight the urge to reach out to her and pull her closer to me. But as much as I want her by my side, claimed as my queen, I must remain indifferent for her own safety. Even if Gabriel turns out to be innocent, others who wish me ill may still be present tonight.
With Gabriel’s armed guards dismissed, he stands and brings his palms together in front of him. He means to disarm me. By keeping his hands visible, he wants me to believe he isn’t a threat. Despite our friendship, I am not so easily convinced. Gio takes a step inside the booth. He glances from side to side, checking for additional men or weapons that could be used against us. Finding none, he motions for me and Ariana to join him. I take a step back and allow Ariana to enter first, our eyes meeting long enough for me to register her fear. Her chest rises and falls more rapidly than normal. Her hands shake with nerves as her forehead glistens with sweat. Ariana and I may not have known each other that long, but in our time together, we’ve come face-to-face with many challenges. Not the least of which were three men who restrained and tried to assault her. And yet, through it all, I’ve never seen her this afraid. I’m not sure I’ve seen her afraid at all. As she turns away from me and sets her sights on Gabriel, I realize she isn’t scared of facing him. She’s scared of what she may do to him if he is proven to be whom we suspect.
I once asked Ariana to save me from myself. I never thought I may have to return the favor. But that look in her eyes lets me know I might. With Ariana safely away from prying eyes inside the booth, I do one last perimeter check for anyone or anything suspicious. I count at least ten men standing at the ready. The question is, do they await my command or Gabriel’s or someone else’s? Not wanting to wait around to find out, I step into the booth and tug the red velvet curtains closed behind me. As I turn to Gabriel, confusion contorts his features, and an uneasiness settles upon his shoulders. He moves his eyes from Gio to Ariana to me.
“Boss, is there something I can help you with?” At his words, Ariana’s fists ball and she parts her lips as if readying to obliterate him. Seeing her close to unraveling forces me to suppress my own anger long enough for us to make it out of the club without drawing any more attention than we already have.
“Perhaps, Gabriel,” I say, taking a step forward and reaching for Ariana’s hand. She turns to me, surprise distracting her from her rage, at least, for a moment. “But you’ll have to come with us. Is that a problem?”
“No, of course not.” Gabriel takes a step forward, which I counter by stepping in front of Ariana.
“Not that way,” I growl. Gio motions toward the door to the alley behind Gabriel. He looks between the three of us once more. If I’m reading him correctly, he knows he’s in trouble, but I’m not sure he knows what for. Then again, if he is guilty, he’s a master of manipulation, covering his tracks, and framing others to protect his own hide. He won’t be easy to crack. But something tells me, if he is guilty, it won’t be long until his traitorous forces come for us. And when that happens, I’d much rather be at Laroux House than here. Gabriel exits the club through the door and is immediately guided by Cassio’s men to the unmarked SUV. Gio follows behind them and Ariana and I behind him.
“We’re not riding with them, are we? I don’t think I can stomach the hour drive without tearing him into him,” Ariana says, her eyes focused on Gabriel’s back.
“No,” I say. At that, I let go of her hand to brush a strand of hair behind her ear, caressing her cheek ever so slightly. The simple movement draws her attention just as I hoped it would. “No, you’re riding with me.”
She nods. “How are you so calm? I was fine. I’m always fine, but when I saw him, I just…”
“Wanted to jump out of your skin and on top of him,” I finish her sentence. “Yeah, I feel the same way. The thing is, we can’t both give in to our emotions. If we do, we’ll burn this place to the ground. And then where would we be?”
Ariana nods as she absorbs my words. She and I both know they apply to more than this moment as does her answer.
“Dead. We’d be dead.”
I admitted that I care for her. I didn’t use the wordlove. I didn’t prove my affection for her in the ways I want to. But it’s out there. Like a rose lying between us just waiting for her to pick it up, I’m waiting for her to admit her feelings same as I did. But, if she does that, our goodbye only becomes more painful, even though I would give anything to hear her say it, just once, that she cares for me. Until then, whatever she may feel for me is only a figment of my imagination—a dream I wish could be reality. But, as in this moment, so then. Our love would be the death of us just as much as it would give us life.
I nod and take a step back. “Exactly.”
26
Being backat Laroux House makes my heart ache in a way I didn’t expect. Though perhaps it isn’t the place, so much as the purpose. Parisi left the Temptress with us willingly. That was two nights ago. Ever since then, Sophia, Cassio, and I have been doing a deep dive into him and his family’s past while Alister and Gio interrogate him in the dungeon. Just the thought of what they must be doing to him makes me nauseous, even though on his first night with us, I begged Alister to let me have ten minutes alone with him. The slightest possibility that he may be the man responsible for my mother’s death made me want to hurt him in a way I’ve never wanted to hurt anyone, well, with one exception. Thankfully, Alister refused my request. I saythankfullybecause the more I learn about Gabriel Parisi, the more I believe he’s innocent.
In addition to developing state-of-the-art combat weaponry, Cassio also creates cyberintelligence weapons in the form of various codes and viruses. To be honest, I don’t understand how he does it. But somehow, he’s developed a back door that grants us access to most, if not all, pertinent sources of information. That, plus Alister’s access to the FBI database through none other than Supervisory Special Agent Bilieux—what the actual Hell—has given us everything we need to conduct the most thorough of thorough background checks on the presumed criminal mastermind.
We’ve checked Parisi’s phone records, property records, and bank accounts. We even tapped into the security cameras at his home and throughout the city, tracking him to and from the Temptress. He hasn’t spoken with anyone with connections to the Irish mob or even any of the other capos. He doesn’t own or rent any properties that Alister doesn’t already know about. We even searched for properties under possible aliases. Nothing. And his bank accounts don’t reveal any suspicious expenses, like money used to keep Walsh’s crew hidden in New Orleans for an entire year, or deposits, well, aside from the disguised drug money Alister vouches for.
I even took it a step further and searched his travel records. After Joseph Cullen died last year, it’s possible the New Orleans traitor may have found another partner to help him take down Alister. But, on all fronts, Gabriel Parisi checks out. He’s either that good at covering his tracks or he’s innocent. And seeing as Alister wasn’t entirely convinced of his guilt to start with, I’m leaning toward the latter.
My eyes scream for a break, so I close the laptop in front of me, and take in my surroundings. I’m not sure when Cassio and Sophia left or where they disappeared to, but I’m thankful for the private moment to register the gravity of my investigation. From my mother to Alister to Walsh to Gallagher to Parisi, every decision I’ve made has led me here, sitting three stories beneath the earth in the Amato Blood Cellar—yes, Blood Cellar.
There’s a wooden cabinet behind me, full of books, photographs, and records I’m sure no one outside of the Amato bloodline has ever seen. Behind me, to my left, is the stone staircase leading up to the main house, or, if you know where you’re going, it will also take you to the dungeon. The room is anchored by the most gorgeous wooden table Alister says his ancestors brought with them from Italy. It is flanked by a red and gold tapestry of the Amato family crest and a wall of portraits. There is one for each of the Amato bosses, the first of which is nothing more than a pencil sketch. And finally, the focal point of the room and its namesake, the wall of blood that stares back at me.
Pressed into the ancient stone wall of the Amatos’ underground Blood Cellar,andmakeshift war room, is a mahogany bookcase of sorts. Except, instead of books, it is full of tiny bottles containing the bodily fluid of the prominent victims of past Blood Kings and the current one, Alister himself. Each king, dating back to the late 1800s, has a section of shelves dedicated to their kills. According to Alister, the bottles don’t necessarily represent every fatality, but they do represent every hit, which sometimes has more than one victim. Each vial is labeled with the initials of the deceased and the date of death, which corresponds to the record of hits kept by the boss.
The first thing I did once Alister explained what exactly I was looking at was check for any labels beginning with aV. Alister has said there is no evidence suggesting his father had anything to do with the murder of my mother. Plus, after learning of Josephine’s father’s involvement in the plots against the Amatos and the fact that Alister’s father never sought revenge against him for the death of his wife, I’m inclined to believe it’s true. My mother’s death was just another of the traitor’s schemes to frame the Amatos, just like, as we’ve recently learned, the placement of my mother’s Polaroid in the Temptress. Still, I had to double-check and, of course, I found nothing.Nothing.That’s exactly what I feel when I look at the wall that should scare me straight and send me running in the opposite direction of all things Alister Amato.
Exhausted, I rest my arms on the wooden farmhouse table in front of me and bury my face in them. My body needs rest, but my mind refuses to grant it. If Parisi is innocent, then there are only two suspects remaining. Now that Alister has finally given me the keys to the kingdom and revealed the names of his capos, I have everything I need to put my hard-earned investigative skills to use and end this. And yet, perhaps that’s the cause of my nausea just as much as what occurs on the other side of the stone walls surrounding me.
As thoughts of Alister and the past few months dance through my overworked brain, tears of frustration sting as they fill my closed eyes and force themselves out. I’m tired—tired of pretending I don’t care for him, tired of being warned to stay away from him, tired of getting so close only for him to pull away again and again.
I sit up straight, pressing my back firm against the intricate woodwork of the chair I sit in, and I realize my decisions over the past few months have not only led me to an unlikely physical destination but also an emotional one.
