by Amy Brent
“You and Tony will continue the Antonelli legacy,” he said. “And I want – no, I need – to make sure you're taken care of before I die.”
“You're not going to die tomorrow, papa,” I said, rolling my eyes. “Doctors say you still have months to live. Maybe even years. They don't know for sure.”
“But I'm not the same man I was. I'm weak – and growing weaker by the day – and my enemies know it,” he said. “And that's why Deacon was able to kidnap my daughter the way he did. Because I'm weak. But Tony is not weak, Emelia. He's very strong. Very powerful. He will be able to protect you and keep you safe in a way I no longer can. And of course, he will make sure you're able to keep our family's proud legacy alive.”
“Sounds like you're more worried about your legacy than you are me,” I said, feeling my irritation growing.
I knew I shouldn't have said anything, but I did anyway. I was upset by the cavalier way my father talked about me needing protection – about making sure to safeguard and carry on our family's legacy. He didn't even seem to care about me – his daughter. I was nothing more than a poker chip that he could play to make sure he stayed in the game – long after he was gone.
Of course, my impudence and what I'd said earned me the very predictable and not entirely unexpected backhand across the face. I held my hand up to my stinging cheek, but rather than cry, I narrowed my eyes and gritted my teeth. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction. But that slap did more to encourage me to get the hell out of there, away from my father and the Antonelli name, than anything else he could have said or done. It reinforced my notion that I was nothing but a tradeable commodity to him – not that it needed much reinforcement.
“This family is everything to me, Emelia. Everything,” he said, his voice burning with a quiet intensity. “It's what I've worked so hard for. It's what I've bled for. It's what I've sacrificed everything for. You're one small part of it, yes, but only part of it. I have countless other people who depend on me – who will depend on you one day too, to keep things running smoothly. You would do very well to remember that, dear daughter. This family name – that you seem to so willingly scorn – is all that you have. And it can open many doors for you.”
“You mean depend on Tony. These other people you talk about will have to depend on Tony,” I said. “Because they wouldn't suffer having a woman in charge.”
My father could smack me again, it didn't matter. I didn't care anymore. No matter what he did, I was going to say my piece. He was going to hear me. I'd make sure of it. The pain of his hand hitting me was no match for the pain in my heart anyway. He'd hurt me too much for too long, and I wasn't about to hold back now. I was well beyond that point.
My father didn't say anything to that though. There was nothing to say. Nothing he could say. I was right and it was the God's honest truth. There was absolutely nothing he could say to dispute it and nothing I could do to change it. That's just how things were in the little empire he'd built. How things would always be.
“Why are you fighting me so hard on this, Emelia?” my dad asked. “Before the kidnapping, you were okay with all of this. You were happy with Tony. And you were willing to do sacrifice for this family. You were willing to do what needed to be done. And believe me when I say, it's going to happen sooner or later anyway. We might as well do it while I can still walk my baby girl down the aisle.”
He was wrong. I was never okay with any of it. Ever. But I'd along with it all because I saw no way out. Back then, I'd believed that I was stuck. Trapped. With no means or opportunity to escape.
But now, I saw that I had an opportunity to get out of the life. A way out from under this family, the name, and all of the bullshit it brought with it. And after I'd had a taste of it, there was no way I would go back to it. Not easily or willingly, at least.
And besides, my father didn't know about the baby growing inside of me. Deacon's baby. I already knew that there was no way Tony would raise another man's child – nor would I even give him the opportunity to. And there was no way in hell I was giving up my child or going to watch it be neglected or abused by a cretin like Tony.
“If only I was still your baby girl, father,” I said, smiling weakly. “I miss those days. The days when being your baby girl was enough. When I was enough. The days I actually thought you loved me.”
“I do love – ” he started to say, but I never heard him finish his statement.
By the time he'd started to speak, I'd already walked out. I didn't need to hear anymore of his pathetic lies or bullshit manipulations. If he truly loved me like he claimed to, what he was doing to me was one hell of a way to show it.
DEACON
Domenicos. Owned and operated by the Antonelli family since 1964. Nice place, all things considered, but not the type of place I'd ever be seen at. For good reason, obviously. It was old, traditional, and had a loyal clientele. But I didn't see anything overly special about it. Looking at it, I thought it looked like your typical Italian eatery.
It was supposed to be the best in Chicago. But somehow, I doubted that. I'd eaten in some fantastic Italian places and I doubted this place would measure up. But I wasn't about to test it out for myself.
No, I knew I couldn't afford be seen inside the joint, just in case someone recognized me. So, instead of going inside, I hung out back, watching the catering trucks loading up for the even out at Antonelli's place. Last night, I'd done the same thing from a safe distance. I'd watched to get a feel for the flow of things, see how they worked, what they did. And I also wanted to get a good look at the employees. Last night, I'd done the same thing, but tonight was different. Tonight, maybe they didn't realize it, but I was going to be tagging along with them to Antonelli's place.
There was one man, a large, pot-bellied Italian guy, who stood on the back dock and barked orders at the others. Several of the other workers did most of the heavy lifting while Boss Man was content to hurl insults at them and generally be an ass. Sounded about right based on what I knew about the Antonelli's. Boss Man went back inside, yelling that the driver should be ready to head out. Poor sap, he had no idea what was coming. If I didn't need to do what I was about to do, I'd feel bad for the guy. But I needed to get into Antonelli's, and this was my only ticket in.
Before he even saw me, I was on top of him. I used the baton I was carrying to hit him over the head – not badly enough to kill him, just bad enough to put him to sleep for a while. He was going to have a wicked headache when he woke up, but at least he was going to wake up. I quickly pulled his limp body behind the dumpster, stripped off his clothes and located the key to the truck in the pocket.
Now I looked like an employee of Domenicos. More or less. I pulled the hat down low over my face, trying to keep anybody from getting a good look at me. And then, with key in hand, I walked over to the truck, climbed in, and started it up.
As I rumbled away from the restaurant with my load of hot food, I thought that this had all been too easy. Not that I thought the entire mission would be that simple, but at least that part had gone off without a hitch. Made me feel like maybe luck was on my side and that I could get in, get Emelia, and get out again without too much of a problem.
Behind the wheel of the catering truck, I could just drive up and enter the premises, no questions asked. As long as no one recognized my face, I should be fine. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.
ooo000ooo
As expected, when I approached the gates, the guards just motioned me past without even giving me a second glance. Fools. I waved at them and they nodded back, not so much as looking at me as they carried on their conversation. I drove down the long, curved driveway until I saw the Antonelli mansion up ahead. I'd never personally seen it with my own eyes, so I was blown away by what I saw. It was as large as people had said it was, but it really was a beautiful, elegant home. It's just too bad it housed one of the biggest assholes on the planet.
As I pulled around the circular drive, I saw that there
were at least a dozen men in dark suits – guards. And I had zero doubt believing that they were all armed. What worried me was that although I could see a dozen, I had a feeling there were just as many – if not more – I couldn't see. Getting in and out might not be nearly as easy as I'd hoped, but I'd find a way. I always did.
A guard motioned for me to stop the truck, so I complied. He walked up to the driver's side door, looking at me, and for a brief moment, I thought things were about to go sideways . I held my hand on my gun, well out of his sight – afraid that he might recognize me. The adrenaline was already coursing through my veins and my heart was hammering in my chest. I didn't want to fight right then and there, but I would if I had to.
“You're supposed to pull this piece of shit around back,” he said, pointing toward more driveway. “The kitchen is located back there. The staff will be back there to help you unload. Now, get going, you're running late already.”
Not wanting to speak – my accent was hard to hide – I simply nodded and did as I was told.
I pulled around back and shut the truck off. As I climbed from the truck, I unlocked the back where the food was, like I assumed a real employee would, and did my level best to act completely normal. A woman came up and started speaking to me in broken English, telling me – or at least, doing her best to tell me – where to take everything.
She was a tall, exotic looking woman and seemed a little to clean cut to be part of the kitchen staff. Plus, she wasn't wearing the uniform I saw some of the others buzzing around in, so I assumed she was probably in charge of the event. Probably a party planner or whatever it was they called those people who organized events like this.
Her phone rang and with an annoyed expression on her face, she walked inside with the phone pressed to her ear, yelling into the phone about something – but she was speaking Italian so I couln't understand a word she was saying. I just prayed it had nothing to do with the naked, unconscious driver I'd left behind the dumpster.
I knew I should have killed him and stashed his body somewhere it wouldn't be found, but Emelia had apparently made me soft. She'd started to dull the edge of what had made me so effective in the big seat of the Brotherhood. But the guy I'd clubbed was nothing more than a low-level catering employee. He was just a guy doing a job and was probably no relation to this God-awful family. Yet, he could be my undoing. Because I'd chosen to spare his life than do what needed to be done.
With a nervous knot in my stomach, I watched the woman on the phone carefully, looking for any sign that she knew I wasn't the real driver. And once she was inside the house, I stopped what I was doing and quickly rushed into the kitchen, a tray full of pasta in my hands. I pretended to be looking for somewhere to put it as I walked into the dining room, all the while keeping an eye on her – and an ear out for the sound of Antonelli's men approaching. My body was tense and the gun under my shirt pressed into my skin reassuringly as I watched and waited, ready for a fight if it came to that.
As I walked into the kitchen and saw the dining area beyond, my eyes grew wide when I saw the number of people in attendance. All of them dangerous. All of them powerful. And almost all of them would recognize me in a heartbeat.
Keep your head down, Deacon, I said to myself as I pushed my way through the crowd. I tried to keep an eye out for Emelia, but that was easier said than done. There were so many people that I could have walked right by and not been able to see her in the crowd.
“Over there!” The woman from earlier shouted. “Where are you going, idiot.”
She grabbed my shoulder and yanked me over to the buffet table. Her eyes were narrowed, her nostrils flared, and the pinched, sour expression on her face made her look like she'd just sucked on a lemon. Yeah, I bet she was a real peach to work for.
“The food goes here,” she said. “Were you not paying attention to what I said? Are you a moron or something?”
Having her in my face berating me was pissing me off and I wanted to get right back in her face. But I held myself in check. The last thing I needed was to cause a scene and draw unncessary attention to myself. The woman was annoying as hell, but at least I knew they hadn't found the other driver yet.
She walked away, and I heard her say, “Mr. Antonelli, the food is arriving, do you want to make your announcement soon?”
I turned, following the sound of her voice and I saw old man Antonelli standing next to Tony. They both looked incredibly pleased with themselves as they stood there like best friends, with a glasses of wine in hand. I quickly looked away and pulled my hat a little lower, focusing my attention on the pasta I was sitting out on the buffet table. It was at that moment, somebody walked up and stood next to me.
“Excuse me,” they said, and I turned without thinking, finding myself face-to-face Neil.
Neil's eyes grew wide – as did my own – and I hissed, “Be quiet.”
“Deacon, it's – how did – ”
“Be quiet,” I said again, looking around to see if anyone was watching. “Have you seen Emelia?”
“She hasn't come down yet. Rumor has it, she's pissed off and is refusing,” Neil whispered, trying not to draw attention to himself as he spoke under his breath.
“So she's in her room?” I asked. “Do you know where that is?”
“Do I look like the type of person who knows where Emelia Antonelli's room is?”
Good point. I gave him a shrug and a weak smile.
“Now Neil, just walk away from me, okay? Just turn and leave, you hear me?” I said. “Don't you dare say a word about this to anyone. Nobody can know I'm here. Nobody, man. And I have a gun if things go south – I'll shoot my way out if needs be. But if things are cool, I'll slink out of here with Emelia and everything will be just fine. Got it?”
He nodded, but he was as pale as a ghost. “Yeah, sure. Got it.”
“Can I trust you?”
“Yes, Deacon,” he said. “You can trust me. Always.”
“Good boy,” I said, patting him on the shoulder.
As he turned and left, I knew it would be hard for Neil to stay quiet. He'd undoubtedly want to tell some of the Brohters I was there – the ones he perhaps mistakenly believed remained loyal to me. But I couldn't afford for him to breathe a word. I was left to hope and pray that he would remain quiet about my presence there.
“Attention everyone,” Antonelli intoned, his voice raised to be heard above the crowd as he clinked his glass. “My daughter, the beautiful Emelia, might be under the weather this evening, but I know she appreciates each and every one of you for attending tonight. So, thank you one and all for being here.”
Yeah, I'm sure she really appreciates everybody being there on such a joyous occasion, I thought to myself. Given the old man's announcement I had to wonder if that meant she wasn't planning on coming down at all. If that were the case, slipping upstairs and finding her room could be a piece of cake.
I'd just started to get my hopes up for a quick, quiet exit, when the old man answered my question.
“My beautiful daughter will be making an appearance shortly,” he said, “but for now, the appetizers should be coming out shortly, so please, help yourself.”
Appetizers. A bolt of adrenaline shot through me as I realized that was on me – the food was my responsibility. As the crowd turned toward the buffet table, I quickly turned away, rushing off to the kitchen with my head down. I didn't hear any raised voices or anybody calling my name, so I breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that nobody had seen me.
“Where are the appetizers?” the woman – looking even angrier than before – demanded the moment I stepped into the kitchen.
I had to admit, I wanted to punch her in her fucking face right then and there and be done with her. Ordinarily, I would never let anybody talk to me like that. But this wasn't an ordinary situation and I had to just eat shit and feign a smile.
“They should have gone out before the pasta, you idiot,” she railed at me. “You have one job, moron. Seriously, o
ne fucking job. And you can't even seem to get that right. Where are the others?”
That was a question I couldn't answer, so I just shrugged, content to let her figure it out on her own.
“Can't speak? Cat got your tongue?” she asked, her eyes growing even narrower, her face even more pinched. “My, they really are scraping the bottom of the barrel for decent help over there, aren't they?”
She picked up her phone and called someone and I heard her asking where the rest of the help was at. I walked back outside and looked over the trays until I found one label “apps.”
Grabbing it, I turned and looked up at the house, staring at the windows, trying to discern which room might be Emelia's. There was deck on the second floor that I thought could be Emelia's room. Maybe. There was a window that was partially open, and through it, I heard music. As I stared at it, I started to wonder – could that be it? There was a light on inside the room as well, meaning someone was in there. But there was no way to see if it was really her room or not.
“Hurry up, idiot!” The woman yelled from the kitchen door.
I resisted the urge to throw the food down and knock her out because I had to keep up the charade. I had to keep this act going until I got to Emelia. But if I had my way, one day, all of these crooked assholes would pay. And pay dearly for how they not only treated me, but for how they treated Emelia as well. And I would have my way. Every single one of these pricks was going to pay a price.
Emmy, I'm coming for you, I thought to myself as I carried the tray of food inside.
Deacon
Scowling, I put the appetizers down on the table and still saw no sign of Emelia. After tossing the food down, I slipped off to the side of the crowd, slowly but surely making my way to the hallway – and out of that room. There was nothing good for me in there. But I had to make my movements look natural and do everything I could to avoid drawing attention to myself.
