The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  What sounds like “fuck you” emerges from his mouth. Pierce shoves the muzzle further down his throat and he chokes, his eyes watering. I spin around and face the room. “My interests are the same as this syndicate’s. My loyalty is to this syndicate. Just because I haven’t been in Brooklyn doesn’t mean I don’t know what’s been going on here. While you’ve been questioning my return, you’ve let a fucking rat get away with stealing from us.” I pound my fist on my chest. “A fucking rat who’s allowed our sworn brothers in bond to die. Don’t ever question where my loyalties lie again. Pierce, you and Paulie take Marco to the warehouse. Find out what else he’s been talking about.”

  The two men take the traitor away while I move next to my father, who’s risen to his feet. He stands tall, and for a moment, he’s the Salvatore Ricci I used to know. “The time has come for Emilio to take my place as head of the Brooklyn syndicate. You will each pledge your loyalty to him as you’ve pledged your loyalty to me. Your word is your bond.” His voice is strong and confident.

  My eyes travel the room as all fourteen men holster their weapons and place their fists on their chest, directly over where we all have a crown tattooed. It’s the crest that belongs to the men who pledge their loyalty to the Brooklyn Kings. To dishonor that pledge is punishable by death. Something Marco will soon discover.

  As will any other man who tries to take what’s mine.

  Chapter 6

  Brenna

  * * *

  I stare into the mirror. I don’t recognize the woman looking back at me. Her hair is artfully curled and sections are pinned back to showcase the contoured cheekbones, the pale skin no amount of foundation can cover, and the rose pink lipstick that highlights her plump lips. All together, it only emphasizes the emptiness in her eyes. There’s a gasp behind me. I turn and lose sight of the stranger.

  “You look so beautiful.” My mother’s fingers cover her mouth and tears well in her eyes. I envy her ability to cry. I seem to have lost mine. Emotions have disappeared to be replaced with numbness. She fusses with my dress and veil, running her fingers over every nip, tuck, and fold while I stand motionless.

  It’s my wedding day. A day that is supposed to be filled with joy and love. Instead, it’s filled with loneliness and fear. Warm hands cradle my cheeks; dry lips press against my forehead.

  “It’s time. Remember what I told you. Love can grow from only a tiny seed.”

  I nod, because she expects it of me. She buttons my train to the back of my dress, and we take the elevator from our residence to my grandfather’s. The music room of the brownstone has been transformed. The notes of an unfamiliar song come quietly from the speakers. Multi-colored lilies and tulips from my mother’s garden have been used to accent the white-cloth covered chairs, separated evenly down the middle to provide a natural aisle. At the end of it stand the priest and another man, but my gaze quickly darts away.

  Grand-da, my father, and siblings sit to the left while two men sit to the right. One is massive, scary-looking, and overshadows the other. His shoulders are tense, his jaw clenches, and his eyes seem glued to my grandfather. My gaze is unfocused as my mother leads me partway down the aisle before taking a seat next to my father. Alone, I proceed the last few steps, my soon-to-be husband’s shoes coming into view. I finally focus on the outstretched palm and stop to study it.

  It’s a strong and powerful looking hand, calloused. Is it capable of gentleness, though? Despite my grandfather’s age, his possesses great strength. My cheek heats at the remembrance of his slap. To him, gentleness equates to weakness.

  A throat clears behind me, and I toss away my fanciful thoughts. I place my hand in his; a shiver dances up my arm. He leads me to stand directly in front of the priest and clasps my other one so we face each other.

  My eyes lock on his chin, and I study the dark shadow of growth along the sharp jawline. I can’t force my gaze any higher. Not yet. I’m afraid of what I’ll see in his eyes. Triumph? Ruthlessness? Hunger?

  The ceremony is a blur. The priest is speaking, but I don’t hear what he’s saying. Someone coughs loudly, and I blink. At last, I tilt my head back to meet the eyes of the man standing before me holding my trembling hands in his. His expression is impassive. The air freezes in my lungs. He’s beautiful. He stares down at me with a hooded gaze. I can’t tell what he’s thinking. Beside me, the priest clears his throat. Did I miss something? I dart a quick glance in his direction.

  “This is where you say ’I do’.”

  There’s a heavy pall over the room. I look back at the man I’m supposed to be pledging my life to. He doesn’t squeeze my hands in encouragement or smile at me in reassurance. He merely peers back at me. Waiting.

  An hour ago I’d been numb. Unable to shed a single tear. It would seem I have one left though. It chooses this moment to spill over, slide down my cheek, and drip off my chin to splash on my chest. It’s soaked up by fabric and vanishes like my dreams. There’s nothing left to do but accept my fate.

  “I do.” The words are whispered so softly I’m not sure anyone can hear them. The priest continues.

  “And do you, Emilio Jacob Ricci, take Brenna Erin Donnelly to be your lawful wife? To protect and honor her from this day forth until death do you part?”

  “I do.” There’s no tenderness, no love, in his tone. I don’t expect there to be, but the tiny part of me that hopes for some emotion crumbles with the reality that for him, this is a business arrangement.

  “By the power vested in me by the state of New York, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss your bride.”

  I steel myself for the assault. Instead, his dry lips barely ghost over mine and then he’s turning us to face the small crowd comprised of my family and the two men I assume are his. I can hear the priest speaking behind me, but I’ve blocked out the words again. My mother is crying while my father sits stoically by her side. I can’t look at my brothers and sister. My gaze, instead, locks on Grand-da. His expression is one of satisfaction. Why wouldn’t it be? He got what he wanted.

  He rises from his seat. “Come to my office.” He turns on his heel, expecting us all to follow.

  My—I swallow hard—husband places his hand on my lower back, and I flinch at his touch. I hear a heavy sigh at my side. Like a sheep being led to slaughter, I leave the music room and enter my grandfather’s lair. I stand near the desk, out of the way. I’m surprised to discover the only people who arrive behind me are my new husband and the huge, terrifying man.

  My grandfather scowls at his appearance. “You may leave.”

  The man ignores the command and positions himself against the wall, arms crossed, with a bored expression on his face. My jaw nearly drops at the blatant disregard.

  “I’m afraid Pierce doesn’t take orders from anyone but me,” my husband says, drily, his voice deep and low.

  A vein throbs near my grandfather’s temple and his face turns the color of a ripe tomato. No one disobeys him. At least not without suffering the consequences. With a deceptive calmness he moves to his desk and picks up a pen lying on top of a piece of paper. My eyes land on it. Certificate of Marriage.

  “Sign.” He holds the pen up in front of me.

  I stand frozen, unable to move. With my signature, everything is final. There’s no undoing any of this.

  I can’t do it.

  There’s a flash of movement and then blinding pain. Tears spring from the impact of Grand-da’s hand across my face again. On its heels is a roar of rage. I turn my head in time to see my grandfather pinned against the wall, clawing at my husband’s hand wrapped around his throat.

  “I don’t give a fuck how powerful you think you are. If you ever touch my wife again, I’ll slit your throat and bury your body where no one will ever find it. Do you understand?” he growls.

  Grand-da’s face is turning deep purple. He manages a short nod…and my husband releases him. He coughs and chokes and desperately tries to suck in air. Utterly disregarding the man gaspin
g for breath, my husband turns, and in a blink, he’s standing before me. He towers over me, and I have to crane my neck to look up at him. A shadow of brutality lingers in his eyes. He reaches out, and despite myself, I flinch…again. He merely picks up the pen my grandfather dropped and holds it out to me.

  “Our marriage is a business arrangement, so I understand your being opposed to it. Neither of us wants this, but one thing I can promise is that I will never lay hands on you in anger.”

  I shiver at his gruff tone. Wait. If he doesn’t want to be married to me either, then why did he do it? My eyes travel over his shoulder to latch onto my grandfather, who’s still rubbing his neck and glaring at me. Next they move to the massive man who remains lurking in the corner. He’s staring at Grand-da. His continued silence and steely glare unnerve me. There’s an alert readiness in his body, as though he’s waiting to dive into action and defend his boss. At last, I turn my gaze back to my husband who’s still holding the pen in his hand.

  I take him in again. His dark hair is swept back off his forehead, his eyebrows a sharp slash over eyes that bore into me. A chill dashes across me at their intensity, and I could almost lose myself staring into them. They’re the color of my father’s favorite cognac. Despite the ferocity he displayed only moments ago, they seem almost gentle now.

  In a move that surprises me, I reach out and take the pen. Our hands brush. Before I change my mind, I scribble my signature on the line above my printed name. I can feel my husband’s eyes on me. He takes the pen from my fingers, his skin gliding along mine. Goosebumps travel up my arm. Confused over my reaction, I hastily take a step back while my husband—Emilio—signs his name next to mine.

  He rolls up the certificate and tucks it into the inner pocket of his suit. It’s final. I’ve signed my life over to a stranger. A man who, only moments ago, showed me how brutal he is. Despite his promise, I don’t know if I can trust him.

  Dear God, what have I done?

  Chapter 7

  Jacob

  * * *

  My blood continues to boil over the fact that Donnelly hit my wife. Business arrangement or not, in our family, wives are treated with respect, and marriage is a sacred vow. One you do not break. No one touches a Brooklyn Kings’ wife. That piece of paper we just signed makes Brenna mine. According to our law, I have every right to kill a man who lays a hand on her. I need to get her grandfather out of my sight before I put him in the ground.

  “Come, it’s time to leave.”

  My wife flinches. “What do you mean, leave? I need to pack my things. Say goodbye to my family.”

  A throbbing begins behind my right eye. I bite back my irritation. “Fine. Do what you need to do. My driver, Giovanni, will be back in an hour to get you. I assume you’ll be ready.”

  It’s not a question, but she treats it as such. “Yes.”

  I ignore the tremor in her voice. I also have no intention of leaving her in this room alone with her grandfather. “I’ll escort you downstairs.”

  She casts a quick glance at the old man who’s glaring at us with pure hatred before returning her attention back to me and nodding. “Okay.”

  While she gets her things, Pierce and I need to follow up on a rumor about the Russians. Despite being my wedding day, this is business that can’t wait. I gesture toward the door and then move behind her, Pierce taking up the rear, his focus no doubt on Brenna’s grandfather’s every move. Lucky for him, he remains in his office while we travel the hallway and the elevator door closes us inside.

  The ride down is quick and filled with a thick silence. We come to a stop and then exit near the front door of the brownstone. Brenna’s mother is standing there, her hands clasped at her front, a faint smile on her face, and Brenna goes to stand next to her. I can see where she gets her beauty from.

  “Welcome to the family, Emilio,” Brenna’s mother says.

  “Thank you.”

  Before stepping into the elevator earlier this afternoon, I’d caught a brief glimpse of her family’s living quarters. This time, I take more than a cursory glance around the place. I can tell this is a true home. Family photos line the walls. There’s a lived-in look to it. It’s warm and inviting. My mother would have loved it. I clear my throat and shift my gaze back to my wife.

  “One hour.” With that final reminder, I quickly pivot and shoulder past Pierce, heading outside like demons are chasing me.

  Before my foot hits the bottom step, Giovanni is already opening the back door of the town car.

  “Take us to Empire,” I command.

  My eyes are unfocused on the passing scenery, and I ignore Pierce’s pointed stare until I can’t take it any longer.

  “Say whatever it is you’re going to say.”

  The stench of disapproval is thick in the air and coalesces with the scent of leather wafting off the seats.

  “You’re running again.”

  I’ve never been good at hiding my emotions from him. Pierce has always been able to read people, but most especially me. There’s no point in lying.

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “She’s your wife, Jacob. Someone who is just as much a pawn in this alliance as you are.”

  I sigh in frustration, because he speaks the truth.

  “It’s been seven years,” he says.

  I dive across the seat and punch the window, my fist flying past the side of his head. I’m directly in his face. “You think I don’t fucking know how long it’s been? As though I don’t count the months. The weeks. The days.” My voice is strained. “I still see her in my dreams. Smell her. I also see the blood. Every time I close my eyes, I see the blood. So don’t tell me how long it’s been.”

  A normal man would be trembling in fear. Pierce merely stares me down. There’s a flash of pity in his eyes. I push away with a jerk and collapse back against the plush seat. My breathing is ragged.

  “I can’t begin to understand what you’re feeling. But Brenna is now your wife. It’s your wedding day and you left her with barely a word.”

  “You know we need to talk to Enzo. There’s a deal going down soon, and the Russians have already played us for a fool one too many times.”

  The weight of his stare is heavy, and even to my own ears I hear how pitiful an excuse that is.

  “The meeting with Enzo could have waited until tomorrow.”

  It could have. I can’t explain the pressing need I had to get away. Actually, that’s a lie. She’s the reason. Brenna. The picture I’d seen before the wedding hadn’t done her justice. The flare of awareness that sparked from her touch when she’d taken my hands during the ceremony and later, the pen, still makes my fingertips tingle. I’m not supposed to be attracted to her. It will only lead to complications.

  “It’s not just the meeting,” Pierce continues. “How do you expect the families to react to this private wedding? They should have been part of the celebration. A way to introduce her to them. To show their respect to her and your marriage.”

  Fuck. I’d agreed to Paulie’s suggestion to keep it simple and ease everyone into this alliance. Even though the captains had been made aware of the union, he thought it best not to remind them that we needed help against the Russians. Which is why he recommended keeping the ceremony private. My father had attempted to change my mind, but I stood firm. I’d taken what I thought was the easy way out.

  Pierce is right.

  “Maybe Francesca can help organize a reception. We’ll invite the main families as well as the Irish. A way for everyone to show their support.” It’s the best solution I can come up with.

  “It certainly can’t hurt. But, Jacob, you need to step carefully. There is still unease within the organization about your new role. As well as a traitor we have yet to uncover. This alliance is important.”

  I understand Pierce’s concern. The town car rolls to a stop in front of the massive building with its bright lights casting bursts of colors across the white concrete. The black letters, standing
more than ten feet tall, spell out “Empire” across the front of the casino owned by the syndicate.

  We exit the stopped vehicle. I button my suit jacket and tug my shirtsleeves down while I take in my surroundings. Men in suits with women dressed in formal wear and draped in diamonds and other gemstones who hang off their arms disappear inside. The raucous noise of slot machines spills out to us even though it’s barely past three in the afternoon.

  I turn to Giovanni. “Return to Mrs. Ricci. Get her things and deliver them and her to our townhome. Remain there.”

  “Yes, sir,” he says with a nod and returns to his place behind the wheel.

  One more thing needs to be taken care of. “Can you have Francesca meet my wife at our home? That way she’s not by herself when she gets there.”

  Pierce pulls out his phone while I look away from his knowing stare. I barely listen as he talks to his sister. All I can think about is how lost Brenna seemed standing next to her mother. I wanted to comfort her. Soothe her.

  “She’s on her way,” he says, drawing my attention back. “I gave her your thanks.”

  I nod in appreciation, ignoring his sarcasm. It’s time to push thoughts of my wife away and focus on business. A traitor within our organization is working with the Russians. Marco had alluded to the fact during his interrogation, but before Pierce could get more information, someone had snuck into the warehouse and silenced him.

  My hope is that the man inside can give us some information, because so far, we’ve hit a dead end. We have an arms shipment coming in soon, and we need to make sure that our enemies don’t get to it first.

  “Let’s go talk to Enzo.”

  Chapter 8

  Brenna