The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  Then her expression flattens, and she settles down to glare at me. “Wait a minute. You answered my question with a question. You only do that when you’re evading the truth. Does that mean you’re not happy?”

  There’s no way I can tell her why I’m upset. I’m not sure she would understand anyway. Instead, I paste on my most sincere smile. “It’s nothing. I’m just being silly. Nerves, you know. It’s not every day a girl gets married. I’m sure we’re going to have so much fun shopping.”

  Caitlín rolls her eyes. “I’m fifteen, not five. I can smell bullshit from a mile away. You still didn’t answer my question. Are you not happy?”

  I study her. This young woman before me is almost someone I’ve never seen before. Where did my little sister go? It’s as though she’s grown up and somehow I missed it. I sink onto the corner of my bed.

  “First, stop swearing. Second, what did Mother tell you about my marriage?”

  She seems puzzled. “What do you mean, what did she tell me? She said that…oh, what’s his name?” Her nose scrunches and she waves her arm at me.

  “Emilio?”

  “Yes,” she says triumphantly. “That Emilio asked you to marry him, and you said yes. Although, I will say, I’m a bit put out with you for not telling me about him. I didn’t even know you had a boyfriend.”

  I laugh humorlessly. Of course our mother wouldn’t tell her the raw, ugly truth. With that knowledge, I can’t either. Despite Caitlín’s aura of maturity, the fact remains—she is only fifteen. I want her to enjoy being a teenager without worrying about duty and what being a member of our family might entail. Who am I to be the one to destroy whatever innocence she has left? I’m no better than my mother.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about him.” I join her on the chaise and pull her hand in mine. “I am happy. I’m also really nervous. Typical bridal jitters. Will I be a good wife? What if his family doesn’t like me?”

  “How can they not? You’re immensely likable,” she says with all seriousness.

  At my side eye glance, she bursts into laughter, and I join her. “I’m not sure everyone agrees with you, but thank you.”

  Caitlín stifles her smile and truly turns serious. “Do you swear it’s only nerves and not something else going on?”

  I do the only thing I can. I look her straight in the eye…and lie. “I swear.”

  The burning need to fill my lungs grows, but I hold my breath, praying my sister believes me.

  “Fine.” Thankfully, she starts chattering again, her previous concern seeming to vanish. “Have you thought about what kind of dress you’re going to get? Don’t get one with all those ruffles and frills. They won’t suit. You need something elegant. Classy. I can’t wait to see Emilio’s face when you walk down the aisle. He won’t know what hit him.”

  As I stare at my sister, there’s nothing I wish for more than for her to remain this innocent. To be woefully oblivious of alliances and duty and only focused on pretty dresses and boys. I can’t imagine it happening, though. Despite my insistence that I’m happy about this marriage, the truth will come out eventually. My heart cracks at the thought.

  A noise at the door causes Caitlín and me to jerk our heads in that direction. My mother stands in the doorway, and I rise. My heart aches a little more at the hesitant smile she sends my way. There’s a new tension between us that’s never been there before. It won’t leave though. Not now. Not after all this.

  “I see your sister has weaseled her way into your room. I assume she’s let you in on our plans for the day?”

  For Caitlín’s benefit, I maintain the smile on my face. “It would seem we’re going dress shopping.”

  Caitlin jumps up and dances around the room excitedly. “I, for one, can’t wait. Oh, do you think they serve champagne while you’re trying them on? I saw that on one of those reality shows. You get a glass of bubbly and little chocolates.”

  I’m unable to contain my laughter at the sight of my sister gushing. “Even if they do, runt, you’re too young to be drinking.”

  I hip bump her and she fake stumbles a few steps. The cheeky grin that always manages to get her out of trouble crosses her face. She shrugs. “You can’t blame a girl for trying.”

  My mother rolls her eyes. “Go get your jacket and meet us by the front door. I need to speak with your sister for a moment.”

  Caitlin dashes out the door with the same energy she’d arrived with. Makes me wish I could turn back the clock to before Grand-da signed any contract. Find some way to try and alter the future. In the end, I have no doubt that we would still arrive at this same moment in time, where I’m still engaged to a stranger.

  I turn and face my mother. “I’m glad you didn’t tell Caitlín the truth.”

  She sighs. “I’m sure I’ve done you girls a disservice by keeping you in the dark about the ways of our family. I thought I was protecting you. I wanted you both to lead normal lives away from everything. Away from the violence. Away from being used as collateral.”

  I’ve had two days to come to terms with my situation. It isn’t my mother’s fault. It’s never been a secret that we’re part of the Irish mob. Until now, that fact has never touched me, though.

  “My life has been normal, Mother. I mean, as normal as someone from our kind of family could have. Don’t think I’m not grateful for the opportunities I’ve been given.” I wrap my arms around myself, but it doesn’t remove the chill coursing across my skin. “But I also think by protecting us, you’ve left us unprepared for reality. For twenty-four years I’ve lived in this safe bubble. A bubble you’ve all just popped. What did you expect was going to happen?”

  My mother’s hand is warm against my cheek as she stares at me earnestly. “I know you’re unhappy, and I’m sorry for that. I’ve only ever wanted what’s best for my children.”

  I step away, and her hand drops to her side. “We should probably get going. You know how Caitlín is when she’s left to her own devices for too long.”

  A twinge of guilt hits me at the sadness that crosses my mother’s face. It’s not fair to punish her, but I’m feeling petty. I’ll apologize another time.

  I pull in a deep breath, hold it for a three count and slowly let it out. I put on my game face and lead the way to the front door where my sister waits.

  Wedding dress shopping, here I come.

  Chapter 5

  Jacob

  * * *

  I spend a restless night filled with visions of blood and the lingering scent of lilacs. I hear her voice, her laughter. The silken strands of her golden blonde hair glide through my fingers.

  I wake covered in a sheen of sweat. Naked, I pad across the room and turn on the shower, knowing I’ll never be able to wash away the memories. Being back in this city does nothing but serve as a reminder of all I’ve lost.

  The cool water rains down over me. In a few short hours I’m meeting with the other families. Paulie mentioned it on the ride to my father’s house yesterday. I have been given one test of loyalty already. No doubt there will be many more to come. At some point before the wedding, I’ll also need to meet with our new ally, Donnelly.

  I step out of the shower, dry myself off, and dress in my tailored black suit with red pin-striped tie. As a kid, my father always told me that men who wear a perfectly fitted suit demonstrate power. He’s never worn anything else. I adopted his attire in my early twenties. Today, it is important that I show the others just how much power I have.

  I adjust my platinum-and-black cufflinks, tug my sleeves down, and take one last glance in the full-length mirror. It’s not for vanity’s sake, but rather a final look at the soon-to-be new ruler of an entire kingdom. The thing I’ve avoided for seven years.

  Pierce is waiting outside my room. “I spoke to Gregory Rossi last night. He texted me the listings for a couple places he thought you might be interested in. I set up an appointment to look at them this morning.”

  Living in this house has never been an opti
on for me. I can’t stay at Pierce’s place, though. Not with Francesca living there. But I certainly hadn’t planned on a real estate tour being one of the first things I did upon my return.

  “What time?”

  “In thirty minutes. I’ve already notified Giovanni. He’s outside with the town car.”

  “Let’s get this over with.”

  We head down the stairs to the first floor. The house is quiet.

  Marta steps into the foyer as though waiting on our arrival. “Good morning, gentlemen.”

  I nod at her before Pierce and I step outside and descend the front steps to reach the waiting car.

  Giovanni opens the back door. “Morning, Mr. Ricci. Mr. De Luca.”

  I nearly stumble at hearing my father’s—and now my—name.

  The driver sends me a look of uncertainty. “Sir, is everything okay?”

  I’d better get used to the formality. “It’s fine.”

  Pierce and I settle into the back of the town car. If it weren’t nine in the morning, I would pour myself a drink from the mini bar at my left.

  I turn to my cousin. “Marta. Who exactly is she? Surely not my father’s mistress?”

  He shakes his head. “She’s his assistant, to those outside. She fields any visitors or phone calls if your father’s too sick to see anyone. Makes his excuses. I believe she also plays the role of nurse. Sees that Sal is taking his medicine. That he’s eating healthy.”

  It’s hard to imagine the well-dressed woman who answered the door yesterday being a nursemaid. “And Franco?”

  “One of our soldiers. He’s also Marta’s son.”

  “My father trusts them with his secret?” I find that hard to believe. Having anyone besides Paulie, Pierce, and me know is dangerous.

  “To my knowledge, only she knows. Apparently her husband was one of your father’s captains twenty-some years ago. He was killed by the Russians, but first they made him watch her being raped. Franco was hidden. After it was over, your father tracked down those responsible. He sent her a monthly stipend, paid for her son’s schooling, and has made sure she’s been taken care of since. While not impossible, I don’t believe she’d betray him.”

  That is one thing about the syndicate. We look after all the families. If our enemies manage to kill one of ours, we take retribution. Still, I plan on watching the two of them. Loyalty can be bought, for the right price.

  The town car slows before coming to a halt. Giovanni pulls the door open and Pierce and I step out in front of a six-story building on a corner lot. The dirt-brown brick fades into the background of the giant windows that stretch from every floor to ceiling, and reflect not only the surrounding buildings, but also the beams of sunlight shining onto them.

  I glance around and take in the neighborhood. Cars line up along the curb and run down the entire length of the street. A pile of black garbage bags litter the edge of the sidewalk near the drive leading under the building. A contemporary, black-glassed building sits across from where we stand. Newly-constructed or recently-renovated buildings surround me. I’ve been away so long, I’m not sure I recognize the area. I have no doubt the agent inside will talk up what a fantastic property it is and expound upon all the wonderful conveniences it has to offer.

  I pinch the bridge of my nose to try and alleviate the headache starting to develop. “Let’s take a look so we can be done with this. We have more important things to take care of today.”

  No doubt I should be taking more of an interest in where I live, but it only serves as a reminder of the reason why I’m purchasing a new home. And for whom.

  Pierce leads the way inside. The interior of the building smells like a combination of fresh flowers and new construction. The faint buzzing of a drill and the thwack of a hammer in the distance reaches me.

  The realtor greets us and introduces us to the security guard manning the desk.

  We’re shown all the property amenities first including the fully equipped gym, the children’s play area, and the rooftop pool with a view of the Williamsburg Bridge and the East River. I don’t care about any of those things, although maybe Brenna will. My brain hiccups over the name. Better get used to saying it, since she’ll be your wife soon.

  Finally, the realtor shows us the four-bedroom, three-bathroom townhome on the top two floors. It’s a corner unit, so the living room is two walls of windows. I barely listen as he drones on about the open floor plan, the state-of-the-art appliances, the twelve-foot ceilings, and hardwood flooring throughout.

  The second floor of the townhome is comprised of all four bedrooms. There are two closets—“His and hers,” he says, in the master bedroom—and the en-suite bathroom has a double vanity and rain shower. Pierce responds to questions about any interior design needs. I do have to admit it’s a nice place, and I’m sure I’ll be satisfied living in it. I’m not particularly excited about doing this with any other properties, plus this one’s not far from my father’s house, and one of the family businesses is nearly around the corner.

  I glance at Pierce and give him a nod. He and the realtor discuss the sale while I stare out the window. The headache that started as a dull throb earlier has begun pounding like a drum, and the scenery goes out of focus as the memories come. It’s been hard not to compare this place with my old penthouse and see how different they are. Here, everything is blindingly bright, as opposed to the darker, muted tones I prefer. My penthouse had been designed for function as opposed to fashion.

  Soon, a new woman’s items will be scattered around. I won’t find a brush with strands of long, blonde hair. They’ll be red. Like the color of the blood-stained sheets I found her lying on.

  I shake off the thought and return to the present. So many things are changing quickly, and it’s a lot to adjust to.

  The two men approach, and I turn to face them. The realtor reaches a hand out. “It’s been a pleasure, Mr. Ricci. I’ll let the sellers know you’ve agreed to the full asking price, and that you’re interested in going forward with the sale. Since you’ll be paying cash, it won’t take me long to have all the paperwork ready for you—perhaps tomorrow. You should be able to move in quickly.”

  “Thank you.” We leave the realtor and head out to Giovanni and the waiting car.

  “It’s nice,” Pierce says as we slide onto the backseat. I don’t care what time it is anymore; I need a drink. The pulsing behind my right eye has gotten worse.

  I pour myself a whisky from the dry bar. My mind has already moved to the meeting we’re on our way to next.

  The drive to the body shop is a quiet one. I mentally prepare myself to enter the back room full of the captains of the families.

  Giovanni pulls up to the garage and honks. Within a minute, the door raises and he pulls the town car into the darkened cavern. Once inside, the door lowers, enclosing us into the dim interior lit only by fluorescents that flicker and hum before surging bright, then dimming again. The garage is full; some cars are raised up on lift platforms while others remain on the ground in various stages of repair. Pierce and I exit the town car.

  A familiar face steps back from underneath the hood of a vehicle wiping his greasy hands on a towel. He smiles brightly upon seeing me. “Emilio, my friend, welcome home. It’s good to see you again.”

  “You as well, Roberto.” I shake his hand. Once upon a time, we’d gone to school together. His father is one of the syndicate’s soldiers.

  “They’re waiting for you inside.”

  I nod my thanks and stride across the cement, bypassing various puddles of oil and other liquids soaking into the floor. Pierce knocks and the lock is disengaged before the door opens to the inside. He enters first and steps off to the left, and I follow immediately behind him.

  I spot my father. He’s standing confidently behind the desk, his face paler than usual aside from the dark circles under his eyes. Otherwise he appears well. My eyes take in the rest of the room, and the door closes with a loud click behind me.

  “Emil
io, welcome. You know nearly everyone here.”

  “Yes, I’m familiar.” I let my gaze linger on all the men, showing them that I’m not intimidated by their presence. I’m also watching for any sign of discontent. A few of the men glare at me, but they keep their comments to themselves.

  “As you know, Emilio will soon wed Colm Donnelly’s granddaughter. It’s an alliance between the Italians and the Irish that brings with it not only money, but also power.” My father pauses, his eyes moving around the room. “For too long, the Russians have been encroaching on our territory. They’ve raided our storage units and stolen guns. They’ve intercepted both drugs and money. By aligning ourselves with the Irish, we strengthen our numbers. We’ll show our enemies they cannot win.”

  “He’s been gone a long time. How do we know his interests are the same as ours?”

  I fix a stony glare on the man who asked the question. Although the question is posed to my father, I answer, which is no doubt what my father expects. He certainly won’t speak for me. It’s up to me to show these men that I am now the man they answer to. “Where were you, Angelo, when the Russians took Francesca? When they repeatedly raped an eighteen-year-old girl? Where were you when Pierce and I tracked them down and made them pay for what they’d done?”

  My eyes quickly shift to the man standing next to Pierce. “And Marco…”

  In a split second, my cousin has the man pinned against the wall, a gun shoved in his mouth, as the rest of the men shift and more guns are drawn along with cries of confusion. I stroll around the room as though fifteen weapons aren’t pointed at me, while I stare every single man down. My father takes a seat, not because I’m in control, but from fatigue. It’s on his face and in the way he sags in his chair.

  “Did any of you know that Marco here has been selling information to the Russians?”

  Mumbles of denial race through the room, and I turn to stare at the man held by Pierce. His eyes are narrowed in defiance. “I have video surveillance of him meeting with Mikhail Popov two days before the latest shipment of drugs was intercepted. Isn’t that right, Marco?”