by Addison Jane
“Fuck you,” I spat, sitting forward in my seat, my cheeks burning. “You have no idea what I’ve been through.”
He shrugged. “You’re right, I don’t. If you’d like to go back to your father’s and take orders on how to live your life again, so be it.”
I stared at him, unable to form a response to his harsh words.
The truth was, he’d struck a nerve, and fuck, I hated that he could be right.
Is that what I was doing?
Acting like a spoiled brat?
Life didn’t go the way I wanted it.
I’d lost the one person in this world who I loved more than anything, and now I was ready to toss the only thing I had left and loved the most in the trash because of it, and go back to living by my father’s rules.
Jesus, Sophie would have a fit if she could hear me now.
Dance was my world, and she was one of the few people that knew it and realized how much it meant to me. I felt tears brim my eyes, but I blinked them away. I was sick of fucking crying. No amount of tears was going to bring her back. Instead of sadness, I drew on the anger.
“You’re a fucking asshole. A fucking high and mighty, suit wearing, goddamn asshole,” I hissed under my breath.
His eyes brightened in delight, a smug smirk climbing in the corner of his mouth. “It’s funny, you think the girl you used to be died with Sophie. Yet, I can clearly see that fire in your eyes. Maybe you have it wrong. Maybe she didn’t die with Sophie…” he paused, and I held my breath. “Maybe she was just being born.”
I slipped out of the car, my body feeling heavy and dragged down with the weight of the day.
I’d buried my sister.
I’d stood up to my father.
And now here I was, meeting with an uncle that I barely knew, alongside a man who twisted my gut every which way until Sunday, and feeling like I was walking straight into the fires of hell.
“Emerson!” someone yelled, and I spun around at hearing the sounds of footsteps rushing toward me from behind. I backed away as a woman with a microphone and two men with cameras on their shoulders rushed at me.
“How do you feel about your family’s ties to the mafia?”
“Was Sophie’s death an organized hit?”
“Are there plans of retaliation?”
The words flew at me so quickly that I stumbled backward.
Two strong hands caught me before I could fall, and an arm slipped around my waist, holding me securely against a hard chest.
“Allontanarli da qui!” Angelo roared as his body wrapped around mine, and he herded me toward the mansion’s front doors. I wasn’t a stranger to members of the press and the media leaping out of weird places, but it was the questions she’d thrown at me that I couldn’t quite wrap my brain around.
Angelo had to physically pick me up and carry me through the doorway, his body shielding mine from the flashes of cameras outside, and more people hollering questions that I couldn’t quite make out. He set me on my feet, and the young man who’d been our driver rushed through the door after us, slamming it closed so we were finally safe. I stared up at Angelo, his hands still resting on my hips and a dark glaze over his eyes as if he knew the question that was coming next.
His fingers tightened, and I braced my hands on his chest. “What the hell was she talking about?” I asked, trying to keep my voice calm, but noticing the way it cracked right at the end.
He didn’t answer, his sharp jaw clenched tightly and his thick eyebrows hiding part of his eyes as he dipped his head and looked at me from beneath his brow. It was like he was daring me to say the words, he was waiting for me to say them, to realize that they were true and put all the damn pieces of the puzzle together.
“Tell me,” I demanded, smacking my palm against his chest and pushing him away. He let me go, his fingers trailing over my stomach and causing every muscle in my body to tense as he stepped back and allowed me some space. My shoes creaked on the tile floors, the tap of my heels echoing in the large space as I shuffled from one foot to the other, waiting for a damn answer. “What’s. Going. On?” I asked, saying each word slowly, my voice getting louder with each pause. I suddenly felt defenseless and scared. The way Angelo was watching me, his body tight and his hands clenched into fists, was like he was expecting me to make a run for it at any moment.
And if I did, there was no way I was going to make it out of here.
He wasn’t going to let me.
I started to shake, and my heart rate kicked into overdrive, beating so hard that my head began to thump and I could hear it in my ears. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught movement. There were two more men stepping into the foyer of the large house, both dressed much like Angelo and his driver. They watched me cautiously, their eyes plastered to me as they moved around the edge of the room like predators.
Suddenly, I felt like I was back there, in Sophie’s bedroom, with no place to go, nowhere to run, no one to help me.
Looking down at my hands, I could see her blood staining my fingertips, I could hear her screams in my head.
It was happening all over again.
I’d walked into a trap.
Was this what my father meant when he said it was my uncle’s fault that Sophie had been killed?
Were they with Tobia?
Had he come back to finish what he’d started?
“Breathe, Emerson,” Angelo ordered sharply with a deep growl, causing me to gasp.
I’d been holding my breath. I sucked in as much air as possible. But my breaths were quick and sharp, and the room was beginning to spin. My legs which were usually filled with amazing strength due to my dancing abilities felt like they were going to collapse under me at any moment, and if I hit the floor it would be hard and unforgiving.
“Are… Are you with him?” I stuttered, meeting Angelo’s scrutinizing gaze. My voice barely a whisper as I wondered whether I’d underestimated the darkness that swirled around this man who made my stomach stir in ways I’d never felt before.
“With who?” He raised one eyebrow and took a step forward, but I matched it with one of my own, scooting back unsteadily.
I didn’t want to say his name. I knew if I did, I’d probably be sick all over the pretty and expensive looking white tile that filled the room. Then they would all laugh like those other men had done. They would get off on my pain, probably joking about it with each other later.
The poor little girl who threw up her lunch because she was a little scared.
“Emerson?” My uncle’s voice startled me and I spun around, my heart pounding in my chest, making it hard for me to breathe. I could see the concern in his eyes as he looked me over. “What’s going on here?”
“I want to leave,” I demanded, finding my voice finally.
He frowned. “I brought you here so we could talk—”
“I don’t want to talk. I want to leave,” I insisted, not missing the way Uncle Anthony’s eyes moved to Angelo questioningly.
I was dizzy, and my legs were wobbling. The room was starting to spin the more I panicked while trying desperately to watch every man in that room with me—waiting for them to pounce—the more I felt the shadows overcoming my vision.
I knew what my body was doing. It was trying to protect itself, forcing me into the darkness so I couldn’t be afraid of whatever happened next. That and the fact that I hadn’t eaten for almost five days was taking its toll on my body.
One last look at Angelo was all it took.
He stepped forward, everything moving in slow motion as I felt my body heading for the floor. I knew it was going to hurt, and I remember bracing myself for the impact, but it never came. Shadows clouded my vision, and I heard his words whisper in my ear before they engulfed me.
“I’ve got you, Bella.”
A wet cloth being pressed to my forehead caused me to gasp, my eyes blinking against the bright light that seemed like it was being shone directly at them.
“Welcome back, sleeping be
auty,” an amused voice greeted me, pulling away the damp cloth. I recognized him as Angelo’s driver. He was young, probably the same age as I was. Placing a hand on my back, he helped me to sit up on the large antique styled sofa. “How do you feel?”
My mouth was dry, and I felt dizzy, and a tad nauseous. “Fine,” I answered stubbornly, my voice coming out raspy and a little slurred.
He smirked, seeing straight through the lie. “My name is Andre,” he said, as he pushed to his feet. His dark brown, almost black eyes sparkled in the light of the room, and his inky colored hair fell across his forehead.
“I’d say it was nice to meet you, but if you work for Angelo, then I’m already judging you.”
His deep laugh was a rumble, it rolled smoothly over me, and even I couldn’t help the smile that pulled at the corner of my mouth.
“Well, it’s actually nice to meet you,” he replied, holding out the cold cloth which I took gratefully and pressed against my head, sighing happily. “It’s amusing to see Angelo so wound up over a woman, I’m getting a kick out of it.”
I snorted, which only caused Andre’s grin to grow wider. “Nothing can wind that man up, trust me. Based on our last two interactions, I’m not sure I’ll ever crack that man’s shell.”
Andre shook his head. “Trust me, there’s already a crack.”
With the haze filling my brain, I couldn’t even think of a reply or ask him what the hell he was going on about. Angelo was infuriating, he was cocky, self-assured and patronizing. But he was also the sexiest and most beautiful man I’d ever laid my eyes on.
“Come on,” Andre said, obviously finding my confusion hilarious. “They’re waiting for you in Anthony’s office.”
Andre helped me off the couch and walked closely beside me, his hands at the ready to catch me if my wobbly legs decided to give way from underneath me.
When we entered Uncle Anthony’s office, my eyes were immediately drawn to Angelo. His eyes watching me as he leaned against a far wall, a short glass in his hand with an amber colored liquid inside.
Uncle Anthony’s shoulders slumped, and his eyes warmed as he took me in.
Andre led me to a large brown leather chair with intricate and fancy stitching that looked like it was about one hundred years old.
“You haven’t been looking after yourself,” Uncle Anthony observed, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his hands cupped in front of him. “When’s the last time you ate?”
I pursed my lips and linked my fingers together. Strange that it had only taken this man, who I’d met all of three times in the duration of my life, less than thirty minutes to deduce that I hadn’t been looking after myself. And yet, neither my mother nor my father had commented on my lack of eating or shrinking frame, and I’d been with them since Sophie had died.
Just the thought of food made me screw up my nose. Anything I put in my mouth felt like it was going to come straight back out again. I could actually feel the muscle strength in my arms and legs that I’d spent so long working up with dancing, deteriorating.
“I just want to know what’s going on,” I told him as sternly as possible, ignoring his question.
Uncle Anthony was an intimidating man, and while he’d always been perfectly sweet to Sophie and me the few times we’d met him, I knew he was a man who took no shit.
“Why was that woman outside asking questions about the mafia?”
I felt Angelo’s eyes on my back, burning holes through me. I dug my fingers into the arm of the chair, and in my head prayed that this was all just some crazy mistake, that my uncle wasn’t a member of the mafia. Maybe I could pretend that all these men in suits who looked like they’d stepped out of The Godfather, were just businessmen here for a meeting.
Even in my head, it sounded stupid.
Even after everything that had happened that day, after burying my sister and walking away from my father as he screamed in Italian across the graveyard, I knew that shit was about to get very real.
Uncle Anthony rolled his shoulders and lay his hands on his knees. “Unfortunately, I really can’t tell you what I know you want to hear, Emerson.”
I could feel my body shaking, whether it was with fear or anger, at that stage, I was unsure. “You’re part of the mafia?” I asked, my voice unsteady and unsure.
“It’s complicated—”
“No,” I cut in. “No, it’s not. I don’t care about technicalities or explanations. You and I both know what I’m talking about.”
A smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth, and all it did was make me sit a little taller with annoyance. Uncle Anthony nodded slowly. “I guess the uncomplicated answer would be yes. The DePalma family is part of what we call, La Cosa Nostra.”
I tried to take a deep breath, but his words felt much like a kick in the guts. I licked my lips, wanting to ask the question that was right there on the tip of my tongue, but that I couldn’t quite bear to hear the answer to.
“Yes,” Angelo said, finally speaking up and rounding my chair to stand beside my uncle. He stood there with a blank expression, the only emotion coming off him was one that was totally unapologetic for the bomb he was about to drop on me. “You want to know if Sophie’s death had anything to do with the life we live? Then the answer is yes.”
I instantly felt tears build, and without even thinking I began to shake my head back and forth as though I could somehow deny my way out of this situation.
“Angelo,” Uncle Anthony scolded, hitting him with a dark glare that could have burned a building to the ground. Angelo didn’t falter or even acknowledge him, his eyes were trained on me as if he was just waiting for me to break down and shatter into pieces.
And in all honesty, that was exactly how I felt. My life was suddenly different, altered in a way I could have never anticipated.
“How… Why?” I couldn’t decide what I wanted to know first, or whether I wanted to know anything at all. My mouth was dry, and my head was fuzzy, almost as though clouds were swirling around inside it.
Uncle Anthony sighed deeply. “This was never meant to touch you or Sophie.”
“But it did,” I said loudly, surprising both of the men.
It was strange how easily puzzle pieces could fall into place once the picture started to form. The outline was there, and now it was like suddenly every piece had a place, and the image that was appearing was one I’d never seen coming.
I’d been blindsided.
Was this why Dad had kept us away from the rest of his family?
Was he actually trying to protect us from a world of criminal activity and bloodshed?
Uncle Anthony formed his hands into fists. “You’re right, it did, and I will feel a lifetime of regret for not ending this all when I should have. We live by a code, at least, most of us do. We don’t believe in punishing women and children for the choices that their husbands or fathers may have made.”
My nose tickled and I sniffled. Clearing my throat, I tried to raise my chin a little higher.
“Unfortunately, others do not have the same beliefs, and men like Tobia are weak. They prey on those who can’t fight back, because they know if they come at us head on, then they will be killed.”
A chill had settled over the room, and I shuddered as I felt it brush against my skin. It was strange to hear how easily someone could talk about ending another person’s life. He didn’t even flinch or show any kind of emotion that might indicate he would feel bad about killing another man.
Nothing. Stone cold.
What the hell have I stepped into?
My eyes moved to Angelo, growing wider as I suddenly realized who I was dealing with. Here I was arguing with him, and I really had no idea just how dangerous he really was. I wasn’t totally in the dark, I knew who the mafia were. I knew what they were capable of, and I realized the lengths that people like this went to in order to do business.
Or so I thought.
I could know nothing.
Was The Godfather r
eal life accurate?
I knew I wasn’t dealing with some bad boy who liked to make money by dealing drugs on a street corner. No, I’d just taken a huge step into hell, and the devil was sitting across from me.
“Why?” I whispered, finally finding my voice. I kept telling myself over and over that this man was not here to hurt me—he was family, he wanted to help. It was hard not to cower away. To try and pretend that I hadn’t just realized that my world was about to be upheaved and thrown into disarray.
The questions the woman had yelled at me outside, the way they had stalked us and managed to somehow get inside a place like this that had such heavy guarding, told me that the media had this on their radar.
It was a huge story—famous socialite dies and ties to mafia are discovered.
This was going to be a shitstorm.
“Tobia’s father killed my wife,” Uncle Anthony answered. I heard his voice catch, and it twisted my gut. “He was on a power trip, and when I refused to let him use the DePalma name any longer to continue his tyranny, it made him look weak and like a target.”
My fingers tapped against the leather chair, struggling to keep my breathing calm and passive, but on the inside, I simply wanting to scream out loud.
“Tobia’s father paid for his mistake.” His jaw clenched tightly, and he pushed his shoulders back like a proud soldier. “We let his wife and two children walk away, agreeing that they would not return.”
I could hear in the way his voice softened that he knew he’d screwed up.
Of course, he’d screwed up.
“So Tobia’s father paid for his mistake. Great. Why the hell did we have to pay for yours?” The words were sharp and pointed directly at him. I shook my head. “I thought that Tobia was some crazed fan of Sophie’s. It made sense. When you put yourself in a place where you’re in the world’s eye, you get weirdos and people who are obsessive.” I swallowed back the lump in my throat, my eyes narrowing. “But this was nothing to do with Sophie. It wasn’t anything to do with me or my parents. Yet, I’m the one who has to live without her. And now, everyone will know that we share blood and they will paint her with a dirty brush, make out like because she was related to you that she had it coming.”
