by Ivy Fox
When my uncle demanded we return home, calling off the search for Selene, I’m not sure who was more disappointed. Honor and obedience to my boss bound me to cease my ventures, leaving all questions unanswered and my hope shattered. But Ciro had just invested two years of his life with little reward or acknowledgment from my uncle. Maybe that was what made me thaw a little in regards to Il Bastardo. No amount of sacrifice or hard work would ever be enough for my uncle to acknowledge him as his blood. But I took notice. So did the men who had been with us, especially Dominic.
Ciro had gained enough favor with my men that not even the boss himself could refute him. As a made man, I have to admire Ciro’s gumption and professionalism facing such odds. But as a Romano, I cannot let his ruthless virtues blind me from the fact he can easily use them against me. In that way, I too must take a page from my uncle and keep my inner circle consisting only of my true family—one that will remain loyal to the end.
I’m about to step foot out of the car when my phone starts to ring. My first instinct is to ignore the asshole that is blowing up my phone at five in the morning, but when I see Gio’s name pop up on the screen, I reconsider. Maybe he has news which will uplift my current mood.
“Pronto? Kind of late to be calling, don’t you think?” I answer, annoyed.
“Or early. It all depends on your perspective,” I hear him goad me on the other end of the line.
“Just tell me things are up to par up there. I could use a little good news,” I huff out, closing my eyes while pinching my brow to lessen my current headache. I lean my head back on the headrest; my body slumps, relieved at the small moment of rest. My aching, burdened shoulders—a sign of my true exhaustion—yearn for the hot, waterfall shower I promised them.
“Aww. Who’s getting the big, bad mob boss down?” Gio continues to taunt childishly, his contagious laugh ringing out, always a reminder of youthful, carefree times.
“Give you one guess,” I reply, frustrated.
“Don’t think I need it. It can only be those fucking old cowards. Remind me again why we can’t just put a bullet in them and be done with it?” he growls, irritated that I don’t follow his counsel on this particular matter.
“Our code won’t allow such savagery. If I start killing off capos on a whim, then I’ll lose the trust I have with the ones I leave standing. No made man will feel secure in their role thinking I might kill them off just because they share a different opinion than mine. That’s not how we do things.”
“Whatever. Just seems like too much of a hassle to keep those dicks at the table. They smile with their hands out when they get their cut, but then turn around and bitch about how they got it in the first place. I say, let Dom pay them each a visit and show them some manners, that’s all,” Gio informs impassively.
“I’m starting to miss the days when you were a pacifist,” I interject gravely.
“Yeah, well, we all had to grow up sometime, right?” he quips back unremorseful.
“Hmm.”
“Anyway, talking about those dipshits is not why I called. I wanted to let you know that everything is fucking amazing here. Just visited the third casino tonight and am starting to think that living in Canada has some major rewards. If any Fed were to look at their books, even with a fine-toothed comb, they’d find nothing. Calabrians sure know their shit,” he informs me enthusiastically.
Last fall, after Anna Maria’s funeral, I went to meet up with the Calabrians. We formed this alliance as I felt it in my bones that it would greatly benefit the Outfit. Giovanni confirming my suspicions is just the boost I needed to hear tonight.
“Good to know. Stay there another week or so to make sure everything is on the up and up, and when you return we can inform Bianchi his laundromat services are no longer needed. That little pinch in his pocket should inspire him to be more creative in getting his power back.” I smirk, thinking of how close I am to ending The Butcher.
Joyful days in my life have been seldom and far between, but the day I finally get to kill Silvio Bianchi will make up for every missed opportunity. The amusement I expect from Gio falls short of my expectations when he only offers a small, timid chuckle as his reply. The minute he opens his mouth though, I understand why.
“Vince, there’s still one more piece of business we have to talk about. Antoine wants to know if you’ve given more thought on his proposal. If you might have had a change of heart, maybe,” Giovanni mutters cautiously, knowing exactly how I feel about the offer made by the Calabrian boss.
“She’s cute, you know? Maybe a little too demure for your taste, but hey, she’s French-Canadian, right? I’m sure she has to have some fire in her veins,” Gio continues on, and I’m two seconds away from hanging up the phone on my best friend.
“I said no when Antoine suggested marriage, and my answer remains the same,” I counter unemotionally.
“You know, marrying Antoine’s daughter might get those old farts off your back. You know as well as I do, they don’t look too favorably on your single status as a boss. She’s a highborn principessa and marrying her could be advantageous to the Outfit.”
“I said no, Giovanni! I think I’ve sacrificed enough for the Outfit, don’t you?” I howl, infuriated he’s insisting on this farce.
“Fine, asshole. You don’t want to marry her, knock yourself out, but at least get laid already. I mean, when was the last time you got your dick wet, for crying out loud? Poor bastard has probably shriveled up and died with your lack of action,” Gio grunts, aggravated.
“You do know that fucking isn’t the answer to every problem, don’t you?” I deflect, uncertain how this conversation got so sidetracked.
“There was a time you felt differently,” he counters, smugly.
“Things change.” I shrug.
“Yes, they do. Never thought I’d be the one telling you it’s time to move on. Your love life is depressing the hell out of me.”
“I’d rather you keep yourself focused on business instead of my absent love life,” I deadpan, completely done with his poor choice of topic at five in the morning.
“I just worry about you, Vince. Living all alone in that empty house in the godforsaken woods, secluding yourself from everyone. It isn’t healthy,” he cautions apprehensively, showing his true cause of concern.
I let out a long breath, knowing nothing I say will ease his mind. Still, I try regardless.
“I like the quiet. And besides, I have you if I ever need some noise in my life. You’re loud enough for both of us,” I mock back, finally gaining a true chuckle from my best friend.
“True. You would be a shut-in if it weren’t for me.”
“Let’s not overreact,” I smirk at the presumptuous bastard.
The line goes awfully quiet, and I feel it in my gut that Giovanni is about to delve into uncharted, fragile territory if I let this phone call persist any longer.
“I got to go,” I announce, my skin already itching to cut this call short before it destroys any peaceful rest I still hope to have this night.
“Okay,” I hear him mumble, “but Vince?”
“Yeah?”
“You do have me, brother. Always.”
I let his caring words reach my imprisoned heart, and let it touch its iron bars, if only for a second before its steel reminds me why it’s locked up in the first place.
“Ciao, Giovanni. I’ll call you later in the week for more updates,” I reply coldly before hanging up the phone, putting an end to my anxiety.
I get out of the car, wanting that stiff drink even more after such a conversation. I look at my empty house surrounded by the foreboding forest growth, with nothing but black shadows and unlit rooms to welcome me, and I wonder if Giovanni isn’t right on this one. Maybe I should move into one of the apartments in the city. It would simplify my life immensely just by eliminating the hour-long commute. And I’m sure the men who guard the property twenty-four-seven, would also appreciate a
reprieve from the cold, somber residence.
But I wasn’t lying to Gio when I told him I liked the quiet my safe haven offered me. It’s one of the few places I can go each day that holds no lingering memory of anything that haunts me. I can breathe within these empty walls. I can close my eyes and dream of nothing at all. There is a certain peace in being alone. There are no witnesses to see how numb I am.
The minute I step foot in the house, my gut warns me that something is wrong. My only alarming evidence is a distant flowery scent I once treasured above all. I tell myself I’m being pathetic and overly vigilant. That my cautious steps inside my own home are uncalled for. Simply a triggered impulse, provoked by Gio’s telephone call, blown out of proportion. Still, the sweet fragrance hits my nose and heightens further once I reach my study doors. A dormant heart starts pumping madly within my chest as I let myself in and confirm my suspicions—I’m not alone in this house.
Holding a glass of whiskey in her hand, while admiring the framed photographs I keep on the fireplace mantel, stands a striking blond in the dark room, with only the beams of moonlight as company.
Fucking Giovanni.
This reeks of him and his constant meddling. He should know me better.
“Whoever sent you made a grievous mistake. I don’t take kindly to strangers invading my home when uninvited. Drinking my whiskey doesn’t get you any brownie points either, sweetheart,” I huff out, annoyed at the intrusion.
What was the idiot thinking? If I don’t pay any attention to all the free pussy that is shoved in my face left and right, did he actually expect I’d care to have the attention of a paid escort?
“Duly noted,” the alluring woman finally replies, and her soft tone, accompanied by the heavenly reminiscing perfume, makes my skin crawl with hate and my chest tighten with memories long buried. “But I thought you wouldn’t be too upset if a friend took some liberties,” she adds, taking another small taste of the hard liquor while keeping her back to me at all times.
“Friend, you say? Refresh my memory because I don’t recall a blonde in my circle of friends,” I provoke, strolling over to the bar I have in the corner of the study and pouring a double.
“I wasn’t always a blonde,” she whispers, and I close my eyes to keep myself from falling to my knees in both relief and contempt.
“No. I remember red being your color,” I quip back bitterly, drinking my glass in one fast swig, and knowing it won’t settle my nerves in any way tonight.
“I agree,” she admits, placing her glass on the mantle and picking up a photograph I haven’t touched in years.
“You look so young here. Happy,” she says wistfully, and I watch her delicate finger trace the faces of the two steadfast cousins she helped destroy.
“Do I? I can’t remember,” I grunt back resentfully, walking over to an armchair and taking a seat to watch her full performance in action.
“Yes, you do. You remember everything, in the same way I can’t forget,” she hushes, letting out a long sigh before placing the picture back to its familiar spot.
“I like your house. It suits you,” she ventures and her feeble attempt at small talk is what does me in. I have no time for whatever game she’s playing or her presence.
“What do you want, Selene?” I growl, wanting her to say her peace and leave my sight as fast as possible.
“I need your help,” she responds, her soothing voice no longer holding up to its placid tone.
The minute she turns around, I have to grind my teeth to keep my cold exterior in place. This ravishing stranger will get nothing from me, and surely not an ounce of emotion either.
“My answer is no,” I exclaim dispassionately, hiding away the fire burning at my throat.
“But you haven’t even heard why I need it,” she replies fiercely. Her brows push together in aggravation.
“I don’t have to. You are no longer any concern of mine. You made sure to cut those ties years ago,” I recall, making sure she understands that she knocked on the wrong door. Come to think about it, she didn’t knock at all.
“How did you get in, Selene? Did you break in without tipping off my men outside?” I ask, truly curious if it was her resourcefulness or her uncanny manipulation that got her way inside.
“Well, I did learn a thing or two.” She gives me a soft smile, and I want to rip it off her face.
“I don’t doubt it. No matter what tricks you’ve acquired, it won’t do you any good. Duty orders I slice your throat where you stand.”
“I’m sorry?” She asks outraged, her smile no longer visible.
Yes, this is much better.
“You should be. You broke syndicate law by running away from the famiglia. If anyone discovers you’ve returned, they’ll expect the boss to cut you down and make an example of you for your treason.”
“But you’re the boss,” she hollers, pointing toward me with the same pain-filled disgust I feel traveling all through my body.
“I see you’ve been well informed. How ingenious of you to know about my life when I know so little of yours,” I counter coolly, while retrieving my cigarette case from my suit’s inner pocket.
She always detested when I smoke in her presence, and I bowed to her will on every occasion. Right now, I want her to see how my yielding days are long over.
“As you’ve said, my life is of no concern. All you need to know is that I need your help,” she snarls at me, losing her temper, and her fiery glare slices me open with the memories it inflicts.
“I couldn’t give a rat’s ass what you need or want, Selene. What I do care, is that you are in my house, and I want you gone before you do or say something that will force my hand.”
“You won’t lay a hand on me, Vincent,” she exclaims triumphantly, but the stiffening of her back contradicts her assurance.
“Try me. It won’t take much,” I cajole, blowing the gray, nicotine-filled cloud her way.
The venom in her emerald eyes almost poisons my resolve, and a sliver of want wishes this room wasn’t so goddamn dark, as it’s depriving me a perfect view of such angry jewels. This small, suffocating desire is all I need to know that I’ve been in her presence long enough.
I abruptly stand from my seat and watch as she instinctively takes a step back. Without even trying, she ends up being the one slicing and dicing. That small, fearful step away from me inflicts a wound greater than any I could ever be capable of giving her. I walk to my welcomed escape and stop at its threshold.
“Get out of my house. Get out of my city. Get out of my state, Selene. Crawl back into the hole you came from and don’t come back. Next time I won’t be so merciful,” I threaten and walk away from the woman who is still able to incite every latent feeling now bubbling inside me.
I just wish hate was predominate above all others.
SIX
Selene
“And where do you think you’re going?” the six-foot-five monster of a man growls at me, halting my attempts to side-step behind him into the club.
“Inside,” I counter, continuing to try and bypass his intimidating form.
“Oh no, you don’t, Blondie. Club’s closed. Come back later when we’re open. Then you can party,” he grunts, pushing me just hard enough to take a step back from the main door.
I huff out, exasperated at the tower in my way, and place my hands on my hips.
“I’m not here to party, obviously. I’m here to see your boss,” I retort assertively.
“Here to see the bossman, huh?” he asks, scrutinizing me from head to toe. I have to force myself not to roll my eyes at his distasteful inspection.
“Yes. Now can you please let me in so I can talk to him? We’re friends,” I add, overly sweet, in the hopes that playing the coy girl card will open the doors behind him.
“Yeah, all of you are bossman’s ‘friends’. Still not letting you through, though. Come back tonight, Blondie. Oh, and FYI, you should get your
self a nice short dress. Maybe then, if you’re lucky, you’ll get to see him. If you come back looking the way you are now, I can tell you straight off that he’s not interested,” the bouncer snickers, apparently not appreciative of my casual ripped jeans, hoodie, and leather jacket ensemble.
I bite my inner cheek instead of stomping on this big oaf’s foot for the insult and his not-so-subtle insinuation. Sure, he’s big and could snap my neck easily enough, but I doubt he’s fast.
On second thought…
“OUCH!” he wails while bending over after I stomp his foot, giving me the perfect distraction, and just enough time to sneak my way in.
I run inside the lavish nightclub and see it’s almost empty, save for a few staff members who are busy filling up the bar and cleaning tables. Everyone is too focused on their task to register my unwarranted presence. I’m almost halfway to the stairs that will lead me to DeLuca’s office, when grubby hands pull my arms behind my back, thwarting my plans. I’m hit with the smell of menthol breath on my neck, as I struggle to break free from the giant’s fierce grip.
“Now, was that nice, hurting me like that? I was trying to be civil, and you stomped me,” he grunts in my ear, his tone half-entertained and half-annoyed.
“Oh please! It barely made a dent on you. I doubt a cement truck could hurt you,” I cry out, shuffling erratically, hoping he’ll give me enough wiggle room to hurt him again.
“You’re a feisty little mouse, aren’t you?” He chuckles.
“Not quite a compliment, coming from you. I bet everyone looks small to you.” I sigh out, frustrated that my efforts to free myself from the brute are completely futile.
“Hmm,” he replies, his eyes crinkling with amusement at the sides.
“I just need to see him. Please,” I plead earnestly, hoping my sincerity reaches his ears.
“Persistent, too, huh?” He huffs out.
“I don’t know how to be anything else.” I shrug, and he lets out a muffled laugh. “Just five minutes. Please.”
