by S. Massery
“Give us a minute, Jack,” Aiden says evenly.
He scrambles up, more than eager to be out of the office. The door slams behind him, and it’s just us again. This time, though, the air is thick with tension. I can’t figure it out, though. It’s like trying to solve a puzzle blindfolded, and no one will tell me anything.
I shove off Aiden and stride back to the window. “What’s going on?”
“Your father is in the weapon smuggling business.”
I cross my arms and refuse to face him. The truth of the matter is that I knew that. I never was invited to be part of the business side of the family, but… well, how is a girl supposed to prove herself if every door is shut?
My answer: break the fucking windows.
“Rubert is a small time gunrunner. An asshole who’s been supplying New Jersey, little shipments down south. Nothing too crazy. We were leaving them alone.”
I whirl around, contemplating him. “But something changed.”
“A dead customs officer killed by an unusual bullet.”
It clicks. The accusation.
“You think Rubert’s guys supplied the gun that killed your customs officer. The one who must’ve been killed when your shipment was stolen.” I glare at him. “I already told you, we don’t have shit to do with construction, or whatever else was in your stupid container.”
He doesn’t believe me.
Why would he?
“We didn’t kill him,” I grit out. Some days it seems I’ll die defending my family—but I refuse to believe we had anything to do with this. I’m reminded of the politician in their pocket, the one with the power to approve—or deny—any construction permit they might need. How interesting it is that no one seems to give a shit about the councilwoman.
Amelie did. Or her mother, the owner of that stupid magazine. They might’ve seen through the watered-down crap the DeSantis family is feeding everyone.
He stalks forward and wraps his hand around my throat, shoving me back against the window. “You didn’t, Gemma. You can’t speak for your whole family.”
I sneer through my fear. “Fuck you.”
His face darkens. “Try me.”
We stay locked in our stare-off until his office door opens. Aiden’s lips press together. Without releasing me, he pulls his gun and points it at the door.
“Leave,” he orders.
“Charming,” Jameson drawls.
I wince. Second time in one day—I wonder if this is normal, or if it’s a new record for them? I’ve never hated anyone more than I do Aiden’s father, but this is a timely intervention. I’m pretty sure Aiden was a few seconds away from going caveman on me. Although, even just thinking of that, my body tingles.
Aiden watches my reaction and smirks. But he releases me and slides his gun back into the holster, shielding me from his father while I discreetly tug my dress farther down my legs.
“We’re going to be late.” Jameson is positively gleeful.
Dread pools in my stomach. If he’s happy about this lunch, something truly awful must be about to happen.
15
Gemma
We climb into Aiden’s car. It’s a dark-blue Porsche that he seems particularly eager to drive. I eye him, then the light-pink air freshener hanging from the mirror.
“Whose car is this?”
Jameson is in the vehicle ahead of us. He doesn’t do much driving, apparently, preferring armored SUVs and bodyguards. We follow him onto the street. I suspect neither of us knows where we’re going, so Aiden sticks close to his father’s black vehicle.
“Aiden, come on.” I flick the air freshener. “Unless you’re into pink…”
“It’s Amelie’s.” He chuckles. “She said I should drive it occasionally to keep it running.”
“Uh-huh.”
He grins. “I’ll show you her speed on the open road. But fair warning, it’s addictive.”
I snort. “We need to survive this lunch first. Any ideas?”
His smile drops. “No. But whoever it is, stay alert. My father always has a plan… unfortunately, I think Wilder’s death has unhinged him a bit.”
Great.
We cross into Queens, one of the few boroughs not covered by West or DeSantis shadows. It used to be considered a safe place. Neutral ground. But now… I have a feeling all bets are off.
We finally roll to a stop at an Italian restaurant. I don’t recognize it—I can’t say the last time I’ve been in Queens, actually—but my stomach flips. Something about the area seems familiar. Like another punch of déjà vu.
I hop out of the car and wait for Aiden at the curb. He circles around, taking my hand in his and leading me toward his waiting father. The three of us enter. The hostess doesn’t ask for a name, just glances at Jameson and blushes. She leads us through the empty restaurant to a table in the back.
My heart skids to a stop.
Dad rises from his seat, narrowing his eyes at Jameson. His gaze flicks to me, taking me in, then returns to the danger in the room.
“Sit,” Jameson orders Aiden and me.
I take the chair across from my father, trying to shoot questions at him with my eyes. Jameson and Aiden claim the two remaining seats facing each other. We sit in silence for a moment.
It’s only a matter of time before all hell breaks loose—Jameson is smug, there’s no denying it. But neither Dad nor Aiden open their mouth to ask what’s going on, so I do it.
“What is this?” I ask.
Jameson snags my wrist, yanking it across the table and twisting it so my forearm is exposed. Aiden and my father do great statue impersonations, but I catch the worry on Aiden’s face. Dad has had far too long to control his reactions, but Aiden… Aiden’s never had me.
“I called this meeting because I sense a bluff,” Jameson explains. “So we’re going to play a little game of Russian roulette.”
I narrow my eyes, refusing to feel scared in front of him. “What’s the bluff?”
“That you and Aiden are in love.”
“Well, that’s a fucking riot, because we’re not.” I yank at my wrist. “Aiden’s possessive. He takes what he wants—and he wanted me. You should understand that.”
“You misunderstood my compliance, DeSantis,” Dad says. “The whole point of my attendance was so you wouldn’t harm my daughter.”
I shudder. Why would Dad even trust him?
“Let her go,” Aiden says. His hand is under the table, but the audible click of his gun’s safety switching off is unmistakable. He glares holes in his dad’s face.
“Aiden and Gemma will be married in three days, or I’ll slit her throat.” Jameson is unbothered by the threat his son makes and runs his finger up my arm, tracing the bluish purple vein under my pale skin. “Aren’t you happy for our blushing bride-to-be?”
“Thrilled,” Dad answers. He leans back and crosses his arms. “Release her.”
Jameson does, and I retract my arm quickly, cradling it in my lap. Aiden’s foot presses down on top of mine, gently. Like he’s checking to see if I’m okay—which doesn’t make sense, because he’s the reason we’re in this position.
If he had killed me, then this war wouldn’t be happening. This lunch wouldn’t be happening. But now, apparently Jameson is going to take my life himself.
“Three days,” Jameson repeats. “I don’t think you need to attend, Lawrence. After all, we’re not under the guise of a truce. Not when your boys are killing mine in the streets.”
I bite my tongue to control my reaction. I’ve been stuck in the ivory tower while our families spill blood across Manhattan?
Dad lifts his chin. “A war is a war, DeSantis. Did you not expect casualties on your side?”
Aiden grimaces. “We’re here to celebrate, right?”
“No,” Dad and Jameson both snap.
I get the impression that this is a standoff between the three of them, and I’m powerless to stop it. Who would stop Jameson from killing my father in front of us?
>
Not a damn person.
I glance around, trying to find Dad’s angle. Why he’d come here without backup. Why he’d show at all.
But Aiden presses harder on my foot, and I swivel back around.
Food we didn’t order is brought over—a salad with grilled salmon for me, sandwiches for the rest of them. My mouth waters at the smell of the fries on Aiden’s plate.
“That’s all,” Jameson says to the waitress. “Leave.”
She gives him a wild nod and rushes away. The kitchen door swings shut behind her. The whole restaurant has cleared out—not just empty of patrons, which it was when we arrived, but the staff, as well.
“Eat,” he orders his son.
Aiden leans back in his chair and places his gun on the table, facing his father. It sits between him and I—it would be so easy to grab it and just end this. Until Jameson’s gaze flickers over me, and he smiles.
“Would you like to know what I found when researching you, Gemma?”
Not particularly.
“You went through a lot of tutors for the last few years of high school. Before your little incident that required homeschooling, you were… adventurous.”
Was I? I would disagree. A lot of students called me the quiet one. It was Colin who was outgoing, dragging me straight into trouble. Kai supervised.
My stomach twists at the thought of my fallen cousin. Dad’s here, looking perfectly normal, when I know the whole family is probably anything but that. I wonder if most of the women are still out of the city.
“It’s no surprise that you’d take on this new adventure,” Jameson adds.
Dad goes still.
That should be my first clue that things are about to go wrong.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” Aiden snaps.
“She’s a spy.”
We all stop, and I stare at Aiden with wide eyes. I want to say I’m not, to automatically deny it, but… I still am loyal to my family. It’s just that he’s given me nothing. I’ve seen the inside of Aiden’s bland apartment, a restaurant, the roof, and a handful of other places.
To spy would be to actively seek intel and pass it along… right?
Jameson stands and circles behind me, lowering his face until it’s right next to mine. The knife comes up under my chin and touches my throat.
“Didn’t we prove ourselves?” I grit out.
“As I said—I’m calling your bluff.” His hot breath touches my cheek as he turns his head slightly toward me. “You have two men who would do anything to save you, Gemma. But what would you do to save just one?”
My blood runs cold. “What?”
“Pick one to save, Gemma, or it’s your blood that will stain this table red. You’re a survivalist. Adventurous. So, who do you want to save?”
“Stop this,” Aiden demands.
His father laughs in my ear. “He’s afraid you won’t pick him—or maybe he’s worried that I’ll disregard your choice.” He grabs my hair and tilts my head to the side.
“You’d kill your son?” I dig my nails into my palms and try not to panic. I can’t seem to focus clearly on either Aiden or my father. “If I chose to save Dad, you’d hurt Aiden?”
He shrugs and digs the knife deeper into my throat. “Let’s find out. This is a game of roulette, after all. Is that your choice?”
“Gemma,” Dad snaps.
My gaze flies to him.
He stares at me, and… it feels like goodbye. I just saw the same look on Kai’s face before Aiden shot him yesterday. There’s pity in there, too, because he knows the guilt will keep me from ever finding peace. But Aiden can’t be safe, either, not with Luca still in the mix. I can only imagine how far Jameson would go to bring back the last son, ensuring the DeSantis line continues.
Lawrence West has always been an enemy to them.
There’s acceptance in Dad’s eyes, and he nods like he knows the way my thoughts run. We could’ve spent more time together. He could’ve taught me better. Mom always kept me away from that life, but then she died. Everything else fell to the wayside, anyway.
There’s no time to stall. I get the sense that refusing to pick one of them would just prompt Jameson to drag the knife across my throat, and he’s waiting for that moment. Dad clearly doesn’t think I should say his name, even though my heart aches for it.
“Not enough motivation?” Jameson whispers. He drops the knife, and it clatters on the floor.
It’s the only noise for a handful of seconds, then silence. Aiden and Dad’s eyes bore into me. Jameson pulls out his gun, running the muzzle down my temple. I suck in a breath.
“Are you trying to figure out if I’d shoot my own son?” He aims at Aiden’s head. His other hand, in my hair, directs my attention to my fiancé. “I like that you’re trying to figure me out. You’re a smart little girl—but don’t try to outsmart me.”
He squeezes the trigger.
I scream, lurching against his hold.
But Aiden isn’t dead. He sits there with a shocked expression, and a hole in the sleeve of his shirt. Blood seeps out—the graze might’ve been accidental, but I still can’t tell.
“Please don’t kill him,” I babble. The violence has me talking, and as much as I want to reel my voice in… I’ve lost control. “Don’t kill them. Please. There’s no point—”
Jameson presses the muzzle into my throat. It sears my skin, and tears spill down my cheeks.
“Jesus, women talk a lot,” he mutters. “Back to the question at hand, Gemma. Will you pick the son you claim not to love? Or old daddy dearest?”
I choke on a sob.
“It’s okay, Gemma,” Dad says.
“Shut up, West.” Jameson shoves me forward, pressing the hot metal into the back of my head. “Choose who to save. Right now, or I’ll blow your brains out.”
I don’t think about my decision. I can’t. Instead, I go with my gut—and what Dad seems to be screaming at me to do. “I pick Aiden.”
Jameson laughs, ripping my head back. “Consider this your wedding present, then. Don’t say I never gave you anything.”
He points his firearm at Dad, and my heart lurches.
He squeezes the trigger.
Not once or twice. He empties the rest of his magazine into Dad’s chest.
I don’t scream this time. I can’t breathe, I can’t move—not with his fist still curled in my hair and his other arm framing me in. Dad falls backwards in his chair, toppling to the floor. There’s hot liquid on my face, and I blink a few times.
This has to be a dream.
A fucked-up nightmare.
But then Jameson DeSantis yanks me up by my hair. He drags me around the table and throws me to my father’s side. I take one look at Dad’s pale face and force my gaze away.
Jameson plucks his napkin from the table and dunks it into a water glass. He dabs at his face and holsters his gun. His attention goes from me to his son, who hasn’t moved.
“Clean this up,” he says. “You know what will happen if the Wests discover this.”
And then he just… leaves.
We let my father’s murderer stroll out the door.
I turn back to Dad. His shirt is shredded, blood pooling under his body on the tile. My hand hovers over his chest, and I’m caught between wanting to salvage… salvage what?
His chest moves slightly, his gaze sliding to mine.
I grab his hand and press closer. “Oh my god. Dad. I’m so sorry. I don’t—”
“It’s okay.” Blood comes up on his lips with his words, staining his lips red. “Love you.”
“Aiden. We have to save him.” I clutch Dad’s hands. My vision goes blurry, wet drops falling on his shirt. I don’t know what to do. Put pressure on the wounds? “Call an ambulance.”
Aiden kneels on the other side of my father, but he makes no move for his phone.
“Please, Aiden, I can’t lose him. Help me.” My plea comes too late. “Dad. Hang in there. We’re getting you help, i
t’ll be okay. I’ll make sure Colin is okay.”
Dad squeezes my hand once, maybe acknowledging my words. Maybe it’s a spasm. Our skin is slick with blood. He closes his eyes and exhales, and he doesn’t take another breath.
I don’t know where we go when we die, but I hope it’s somewhere peaceful.
I sniffle, running the back of my hand under my nose. Mom died only eighteen months ago—but I was spared seeing it. This… this is so much worse. Worse than Aiden shooting the DeSantis who wanted me dead. Worse than Kai’s death. I open my mouth and babble apologies to my father for every little thing I can think of—every atrocity, in my mind, that I committed.
The grief wells up in my chest, but just like in the apartment, none of it wants to come out. I lean forward and press my forehead to Dad’s bloody shoulder. My disbelief almost hurts—it seems to bang around my skull, waiting for absorption. But what I don’t feel is sadness. Not yet, anyway.
Someone comes in the restaurant. Minutes later, hours. I don’t know. Hands haul me back, onto a lap. Aiden. He’s on the floor, too, and he clutches me to him. I watch as two men come over and lay out plastic, then lift my father’s body onto it. They begin to roll it, and my stomach heaves.
“Stop—”
“Let them,” Aiden says in my ear.
I wriggle free and bolt to my feet. I step in front of one of them and shoot him my worst glare. “I said stop!”
“You heard her,” Aiden says.
The one I stand before and my fiancé exchange glances, then the latter motions for them to put down the plastic.
“Give me your phone.” I hold out my hand to Aiden.
He rises and watches me carefully, then retrieves his cell from his pocket.
I snatch it before he second-guesses himself and swipe it open. I dial Colin’s number and pace away from them. I focus on my anger toward Jameson—that’s the only thing from keeping me together.
“What?” Colin snaps.
I suppress my irritation. “Colin.”
“Gemma? What—”
“Do you know where Dad went today?”
He’s silent for a moment, then audibly swallows. “He got a call from Jameson DeSantis. The lunatic wanted a meeting. He threatened to kill you if he didn’t show.”
