Entice

by Rachel Van Dyken

  “There he is.” Trace nodded in the direction of the door as Chase and Mil made their way through the crowds to the opposite end of the bar.

  Damn, Chase was earning points for looking so hopelessly in love. He trailed after Mil with wide eyes and a smile that said he’d just gotten lucky. Then he touched her ass, and she grinned and grabbed the hand and lifted it off of her with a smile and shake of her head.

  “They look relaxed,” Trace said loudly in my ear.

  “Yeah well, sex has a way of doing that to a person.” I couldn’t decide if I was frustrated that he’d let his guard down or proud that he’d done what it had taken to get answers out of her. It still felt wrong. Every damn thing felt wrong about the club, from the way my clothes were pressed against my body to the music they were playing.

  Chase held up his hand and motioned for the bartender and laughed with Mil, every once in a while touching her knee with his hand.

  His smile faded when a figure walked up to them. I didn’t recognize him; he was tall, clean-shaven, and had dark hair. His suit was expensive, from what I could tell, and he seemed distant but friendly.

  Chase eyed me across the bar, lifted his drink one last time, and grabbed Mil’s hand as they were led to a back door.

  “Shit.” I pushed away from the bar then, remembering Trace, doubled back and pointed at her face. “You. Stay.”

  “Staying.” She raised an eyebrow.

  I glanced up, made eye contact with Frank, and then motioned for Luca to follow me.

  Trace froze and I turned back to her. Recognition flared in her wide eyes, but she was looking over my right shoulder. Something hard pressed into the small of my back, and the cold steel of a gun filtered through my shirt. Well shit, didn’t see that coming.

  “Let’s go.” the voice said, the gun pushing harder into my back.

  Grimly, I nodded and reached for Trace. She held my hand as we all walked out of the club. Nobody noticed — or if they did, nobody cared that there was a gun pointed at me. Just as it seemed nobody noticed my smile was tense or that Trace looked like she’d just swallowed a bug.

  I caught Luca and Frank in the corner of my eye and stretched my neck to the left, which was the usual sign for them to follow. They slowly walked toward us but feigned disinterest. I couldn’t look directly at them so I wasn’t sure if they recognized who was escorting us out, or if they were getting ready to put a few bullets in our captor’s chest. Out of the corner of my eye, though, they seemed not to be interested.

  Once we were out in the street, I was pushed into Trace’s arms and heard the click of a gun. Shit.

  Turning, I guarded her with my body and looked into the eyes of our captor.

  “You should have stayed in Chicago,” Sergio said, his voice sad. “Why, Nixon, is it that you can’t just leave things alone?”

  “But you’re a ghost…” Trace’s voice wavered. “You help us!”

  Not to mention the fact that he was blood. Did he have a death wish?

  “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I spat.

  Sergio laughed and scratched his head with the tip of his gun. “You mean other than saving your pathetic life?”

  “What?”

  “Ten,” Sergio said in a cold voice. “Ten men. All with guns trained on you and your little mafia princess.” He licked his lips and closed his eyes, cursing into the night sky. “It’s bad, Nixon.”

  “Bad?” Trace repeated.

  “How bad?” came another male voice I recognized as Frank’s. Luca stood next to him, his expression grim.

  “Bad enough,” Luca muttered, “that one of our ghosts had to come out and play, I imagine.”

  “The footage. From the night Chase and Mil were attacked at the hotel.” Sergio shook his head. “There were marks on the insides of those men’s wrists.”

  My head snapped up as every nerve twitched with awareness. “What kind of marks?” I glared at his hand. “And put your damn gun away.”

  “Oh, sorry.” Sergio put the gun back into his jacket. “I needed to make it look like I was capturing you guys before you got your heads blown into what I can only assume is the worst techno music to ever be produced.”

  “Thanks,” I said through clenched teeth. “The marks?”

  Sergio clicked through his cell phone pictures and finally settled on one of the bodies; he expanded it until the fuzzy mark came into focus. It looked familiar, like a face I couldn’t quite place it.

  “Think hard,” Sergio said. “I’m sure it will come to you.”

  “Let me see.” Luca snatched the phone and then did something I’d never seen him do in my entire life. He showed fear. He handed the phone back to Sergio and looked at me straight in the eyes. “We’re all going to die.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  Chase

  “Hey,” I joked. “These clothes are new. Be careful.” I tried to appear like I didn’t have a clue in hell why we were getting escorted out of the club at gunpoint and into a waiting black Escalade.

  “Get in,” the man said gruffly, shoving me against the car before opening the door and pushing both me and Mil inside. I stumbled over her and let out a loud laugh. I figured the more I played the stupid role the easier it would be for me to snap his neck and get Mil the hell away.

  “You’ve grown,” came a gravelly feminine voice.

  “Tanya?” Mil said surprised. “Was this necessary?”

  “Keeping you alive?” Her laugh was evil. It sounded like something out of a horror story, as if someone had crushed her voice box and then played Frankenstein with it, putting it back together but completely tattered. “I believe so.”

  I swallowed. Her face was covered in moonlight. She shifted in her seat, and I got a brief glimpse of cold grey eyes and salt-and-pepper hair. The car didn’t move. So clearly we were doing this little meeting on the street as if that was safe.

  “This must be Chase?”

  “It is.” My teeth ground together.

  “Handsome.”

  “I’d like to think so.” I smiled tensely.

  “And he has a sense of humor.”

  I almost lunged for her right then and there.

  “My mom’s dead,” Mil said in a cold voice. “So unless you have some helpful information, we’re done.”

  Tanya sighed. “It was you who contacted me. Not the other way around. I can only answer what you ask.” She hesitated. “You’ve changed.” Tanya’s voice dripped with sadness. What? The bitch suddenly developed a heart? “I’d always wondered what happened to you after—”

  “After?” I asked quickly.

  “After she was beaten by her father.”

  “You knew?”

  Mil lunged across the seat, but I grabbed her, pulling her back into my arms.

  “In those days? We all knew the workings of your father, Emiliana. We simply turned the other way when things became too ugly. Not all of us, mind you, but most of us.”

  “And my mother?” Mil asked quietly.

  “Wrong place, wrong time,” Tanya said sadly. “I was supposed to be in that hotel room as well. Your mother and I were meeting an hour before to order room service and catch up. I walked as far as the elevator and happened to break part of my heel. I bent down to grab the damn thing, looked up, and came face-to-face with three men in suits, nice shoes — Italian, of course — all getting on the same elevator.”

  “Why didn’t you call her? Why didn’t you warn her?”

  “Because I’m selfish,” Tanya said quickly. “Because one phone call meant both our deaths.” She sniffled. “I walked away. Within fifty minutes, I heard the explosion and knew… I knew he’d gotten to her.”

  “He?”

  “Aw…” Tanya reached into her purse and pulled out a cigarette. “You mean to tell me you still don’t know?”

  “Know what?” Mil shouted.

  I gripped her hand. Hard.

  “I wonder…” Tanya took a long drag, “…if repressed m
emories can cause a person to go insane. Chase?” She eyed me coolly. “What do you think? Should I tell her?”

  I assessed her from head to toe. “If you don’t, I’ll cut out your tongue and feed it to your favorite bodyguard, so sure, I’d start talking.”

  “I like him.” She turned away from me and tilted her head, as if she had nothing but pity for Mil. “My dear, your father marked you.”

  “I know.” Mil rubbed her scar and leaned further into me.

  “You’ve been on borrowed time since you were fourteen, and he’s finally called up his marker. After all, he paid two million dollars for you, and we all know what happens when a debt hasn’t been paid.”

  Mil squirmed in her seat. “But why now?”

  “Because now you have what he wants.”

  “A husband?”

  Tanya’s eyes turned into tiny slits. “No. You have leadership of the De Langes. You’re the boss of the family he’s been wanting to keep quiet for over twenty years. After all, they know all his secrets, and it’s only a matter of time before you do too.” She shrugged. “Besides, you also have three mafia bosses at your fingertips. Tell me, will they come for you? Will little Chase fight your battles? Will Nixon fall all over himself to protect his own family?”

  “No.” Mil shook her head. “They couldn’t care less about me. It’s a business arrangement, that’s all.”

  “Really?”

  Mil nodded.

  Tanya lunged for her, but I was quicker. I kneed Tanya in the chest, caught her in the mouth with my elbow, pulled out my gun, and held it to her head.

  Blood spewed from her mouth. “Go ahead. He’s just going to kill me anyway.”

  I slammed her head back against the seat. Her hand came up and gripped my wrist, and that’s when I saw it.

  The exact same mark that was on Mil’s wrist.

  “So,” Tanya sputtered, blood caking her teeth from my hit. “Now you know.”

  “Chase?” Mil asked.

  “We need to go now.” I jerked away from Tanya and grabbed Mil’s hand, pulling her out of the car before we could do anything. I was taking her away. I was running. Because no place in the freaking United States would be safe for her. Not now, not for any of us.

  The dry desert air hit me in the face as I jerked Mil toward my body with one arm and shot the bodyguard in the chest. No loose ends.

  Mil gasped, probably horrified that I could be so cold, but it didn’t matter. I didn’t even hesitate, because it wasn’t my life hanging in the balance. It was hers, and suddenly, every single puzzle piece finally fused together. My time with Mil, our past, our history, our marriage — it had all led to this. Even things with Trace. Had I met Mil all over again and hadn’t had my heart stomped on, I wouldn’t have treasured her as much as I did now.

  That’s what she was to me. She was a treasure. One I wanted to keep for myself, one I would die saving. If it was the last thing I did.

  “Come on.” I tucked the gun back into my jeans and gripped her hand and squeezed.

  Luckily, the street was more of an alleyway so it wasn’t exactly flooded with people, and Vegas was full of crazies. We got as far as Freemont when I got a text from Nixon. They were waiting for us back at the hotel.

  At least they hadn’t been captured. Not yet.

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  Nixon

  The restaurant back at The Golden Nugget wasn’t crowded in the least. We took a booth in the very back and sat. Nobody spoke for a while. I’d never seen Luca so quiet in my entire life. I mean, this was Luca we were talking about. He fed on small children and laughed when people bled out. I wasn’t looking at the same man. I was looking at a man afraid — and to see a man as terrifying as Luca afraid? It didn’t sit well with me. It made me think that maybe this was bigger than I’d originally thought.

  I slid a small Glock .9 toward Trace; her eyes flickered shut before she gave a quick nod and put it in her purse. She knew what I was asking her — what I was communicating to her. I needed her to protect herself at all costs.

  We’d gone over her escape plan more times than I’d like to count. She had seven passports that would gain her access into the countries I’d previously chosen. Countries where I knew she’d be given asylum. I’d also assigned two men who would leave with her and protect her until the day I could either find her again or until the day we were reunited, that is, if God even let people like me into Heaven. If not, at least Trace would be there. I could live with that. A private account had been set up so that she would never want for anything. She’d hated me for it. But it was necessary. If she wasn’t safe… Hell, I couldn’t even think about it. My mind couldn’t wrap around the idea of a world where she was no longer breathing, a world where her heartbeat wasn’t slow and steady next to mine.

  “I think we need to talk.” Frank ordered a bottle of wine and placed his weathered hands on the table.

  Luca shook his head. “Talking like a bunch of women will accomplish nothing.”

  “Try,” I urged through clenched teeth.

  Tex plopped down on the other side of Trace and crooked his finger at Mo. Wordless, she took a seat and waited in silence like the rest of us.

  “We wait.” Luca nodded. “For Mil and Chase.” He nodded again as if he was convincing himself that it was the best plan imaginable. Then he pulled out a cigar and began puffing on it like it was his only lifeline.

  “Here they are,” Trace whispered.

  I turned around. Mil’s face was white as a sheet, and Chase looked like he needed something a hell of a lot stronger than wine. His gaze flickered to mine and then back to Mil as he put his arm around her and pulled out a chair.

  Now that was interesting. Usually he looked at me, then at Trace, and then back to me again. What had changed?

  “Loose ends?” Luca said without looking up.

  “None.” Chase swallowed. “One dead.”

  “Anyone important?” Sergio spoke up for the first time. We were huddled in a dark booth where we were all facing out so that we could see anyone or anything that dared approach us. They’d be dead before they could open their mouth in greeting.

  “No.” Mil’s voice shook. “Just Tanya’s bodyguard.”

  “And Mrs. Campisi? How does she fair?” Luca blotted out his cigar and poured himself a healthy glass of wine.

  “We left her.” Chase cleared his throat and popped his knuckles. “She’s dead anyway.” His knuckles were caked with blood, but other than that he seemed clean, so he must have been telling the truth. Then again, Chase’s style of killing was cleaner than mine. While I’d rather beat the shit out of someone and torture them until either my name or God’s was the last on their lips, Chase used guns.

  He liked guns.

  Guns liked him.

  They had a good relationship. Chase hated loose ends, and he hated getting his hands dirty when the gun could do the job for him. To each his own, I guess.

  Trace placed her hand on my thigh. I reached down and gripped it, each of us waiting for someone to say something that would be helpful.

  After taking another sip of wine, Luca spoke. “You were young when you were both chosen. Rare for a boss to fall into power at eighteen, Nixon, even rarer to earn the respect of your elders at fourteen when your own father nearly killed you.” Luca shook his head. “You and your friends were all sons of bosses, important men, too important for us not to initiate you into the family once we deemed you old enough to know what was going on. I thought of it as a brainwashing. What fourteen-year-old doesn’t want to bring pride to his family? Luca swallowed. “And you, Nixon? You did not scream.”

  “What?” Trace whispered.

  “He didn’t scream.” Luca gave a sad smile. “When his father crushed his skull. Not one single tear either.” He bit down on his bottom lip. “My own men were terrified. They asked, ‘Who is this boy? Where does he find his strength?’ I envied you.”

  I winced. “I set off airport security with my
metal plate, not much to envy.”

  Frank pinched the bridge of his nose as if the violent talk about the Abandonato family was too much for him to take.

  “We initiated the four of you that next week.” Luca nodded. “Phoenix followed, as well as Chase and Tex.”

  I remembered it all too clearly. The dark room, the metallic smell of blood, and the knives. Never in the family’s history had they initiated mere teenagers. We’d been forced to grow up before our time. Forced to become men, when we should have been playing baseball and going to the movies…

  A knife sat to my right, a gun to my left.

  “Prick your trigger finger with the knife,” Luca instructed. His voice sounded confident and smooth to my fourteen-year-old ears.

  I did as he said, hands shaking the entire time. When the blood pooled around my fingertip, he squeezed until a drop of it fell onto a card he held in his hand. He repeated the process for each of my friends.

  “You are now family,” he said in a low voice. “By this blood you are united, by this blood you will die. You live by this very knife.” Luca picked up the knife. “You die by this knife. Do you accept?”

  “Yes,” we said in unison, our voices cracking because they’d barely begun to change. I knew the seriousness of what was happening. My father watched from the corner of the room, his smile predatory. It took everything in me not to grab the knife and throw it at his head. I was going to be boss someday, and when I was, the first thing I was going to do was kill the very man who claimed to be my father. I would end his life, and I would smile when his warm blood ran cold through my fingers.

  Luca handed me the card with my patron saint, Blessed Saint Antonio Lucci. I held it in my hand, my blood dripped on the card.

  Luca lit a candle and then held it out to me. “Repeat after me.” He held the flame beneath the card and spoke in a low voice. “As burns this saint, so burns my soul. I enter alive, and I will have to get out dead.”