Scars and Sins (Brooklyn Brothers Book 2)

by Melanie Munton

  “No one said they were,” I said gently. “I’m going to make sure that doesn’t become necessary.”

  “How?” she screamed. “How will you do that? You can’t control everything. We didn’t even know I was being watched, let alone that they saw us together outside O’Malley’s.”

  The hand she held over her mouth taunted me. The tattoo was healed, but that night felt almost tainted now. And goddammit, that enraged me. That should have forever remained a good memory for her. A night where she allowed spontaneity to guide her and left all questions and doubts by the wayside.

  Now, she was only going to remember being stalked by her father’s enemies.

  “Who cares if our fathers find out about us,” she went on. “But there’s no telling what the Gabbianos will do if they hear about it. They’ll threaten everyone we love, Ace, and maybe worse!”

  She wriggled in my arms, trying relentlessly to break my hold. She was on the verge of hysteria. If I didn’t put an end to this and assuage her fears, I was going to lose her.

  “They’re going to come after my family one way or another, no matter what,” I said solemnly.

  She stopped struggling, her wide eyes darting to mine.

  “We took down two of the New York bosses,” I explained. “They’re not about to let that go. It would make them look weak to their enemies. They operate on the eye for an eye system. That’s their code. They have no choice but to take revenge on us.”

  Impossibly, her eyes got even bigger. “You don’t—” She licked her lips. “You don’t think Papà is involved in that, do you? He wouldn’t come after your family, right? He’s not…that bad, is he?”

  It felt like my heart cracked right down the center.

  I hated that she had to even ask herself those questions, that it had become necessary somewhere down the line. I hated that she couldn’t look at the man she’d once thought of as her hero the way she had when she was young.

  If Vinnie broke her heart again, I was going to kill him myself.

  “No,” I whispered. “I don’t think he’d ever do that. Your father’s not an evil man, Rox.”

  “But Santi Gabbiano is,” she pushed. “He already hates your family. I’ve heard Papà talk about it before. That’s why he told me five years ago I couldn’t be friends with Gia anymore. It’s why he and your father stopped being friends. Santi forbade any contact whatsoever between a member of the five families and a Rossetti.”

  Our father had told us something similar. But he’d never mentioned anything about Santi making that decree. Interesting.

  “I didn’t know how serious that rule still was when I came back to town. But now that Santi’s here…” She shook her head back and forth. “We can’t do this anymore, Ace.”

  “Roxy—”

  “No! It’s too dangerous. He’ll find out and something awful will happen. I just know it.”

  “I won’t let anything happen,” I repeated. “You have to trust me.”

  “Papà said the same thing to Mamà once,” she whispered brokenly. “But he wasn’t able to stop what happened to her.”

  “If I have to be with you every second of the day to ensure your safety, I will gladly do it. It’ll be a fucking pleasure to never leave your side.”

  Her voice turned frantic again as her attempts to escape my grip became more persistent. “But that’s the point. You’re taking all of this on yourself. You’re accepting all the responsibility, and I can’t let that happen. I don’t want you putting yourself at risk like that. You already are just by being in the same room as me.”

  “I don’t care!” I roared. “No one’s going to stop me from seeing you if that’s what we both want.”

  Her struggles ceased, her face falling in misery.

  Dread enveloped me.

  I had a feeling I knew what was coming.

  “Maybe I don’t want that anymore.” Her first tear spilled over onto her cheek.

  The words, even though I knew were lies, split me wide open. My every vulnerability, every insecurity, was being exposed to this girl. Did she even know how those words affected me? Could she see it on my face?

  “Even if I didn’t have to worry about our families’ safety,” she said woodenly, “I still have to worry about yours. You said it yourself, you would throw yourself on top of the fire for me. And I couldn’t handle it if anything happened to you because of me.”

  My eyes pleaded with her. “Don’t do this, Rox. We can figure something out. We’ll be more careful. Nobody else has to find out.”

  Her own eyes drooped with sorrow. “You know this world as well as I do. Probably even better. So, you know a secret like this can’t stay hidden for long. The truth always comes out, and usually not in the way we want.”

  That time, I heard the final nail being hammered into the coffin.

  Her voice was too sure, too unyielding.

  She’d made her decision.

  “Please let me go.”

  It was a request, not a command. One spoken in a voice so soft I wanted to cradle her in my arms and beg her over and over not to leave, until my own voice became hoarse.

  But my hands finally released their hold on her.

  And I let her go.

  “Please,” I tried one last time.

  More tears fell. “I’m sorry. I can’t be selfish anymore.”

  Then she brushed past me. I heard the front door open and close seconds later.

  I had no idea how long I stood there motionless, staring at nothing. I had no clue how everything had managed to fall apart so quickly. It had all just escalated before I’d even known I was headed for disaster.

  But I wasn’t about to give up.

  I wouldn’t let her walk out of my life without a fight. Surrender wasn’t in my DNA.

  And when I did get her back, I’d never let her slip through my fingers again.

  Roxy was already mine, and she was damn well going to stay mine.

  But first, I had to go kill that dickwad detective.

  I was trapped.

  Ending things with Ace a week ago had limited my routes of escape from my stifling life. I couldn’t see him, couldn’t hang out with Gia, and whenever I did go anywhere, I was paranoid that Gabbiano’s men were watching me from the shadows. All I had left to take me away from Papà’s cavernous home was my job at the hospital.

  Of course, our mutual surly attitudes only made the situation more suffocating.

  I’d barely spoken to Papà since the night of our dinner with Santi and Dominic—the last night I’d seen Ace. I’d given my father the coldest shoulder in all of Antarctica, refusing to speak to him about the events of dinner until I felt confident I could do so without screaming the entire house down.

  It hadn’t happened yet.

  Granted, I wasn’t sure I’d ever get there.

  I just couldn’t believe he would do something so deplorable. I feared the papà from my childhood was gone forever.

  To make matters worse, Ace hadn’t let anything go, despite what I’d said at his place. He’d called and texted every day since that night, and I’d ignored him each and every time. The temptation to answer was already painful enough, but hearing his voice would make it practically impossible to stay away from him.

  It was better this way.

  That had become rote, something I repeated to myself over and over from the moment I opened my eyes in the morning to the moment I closed them at night. Every day. If I didn’t remind myself of the reasons why we couldn’t be together, my resistance would weaken until it fractured. Especially since I felt more alone now than ever.

  “Roxanna, may I speak to you, please?”

  Papà’s voice came from the doorway to Mamà’s music room.

  I sat over on the window seat, reading one of my medical textbooks. This room was the least depressing of all the rooms in this house because it was where Mamà used to write and play the most beautiful pieces on the large Steinway in the center of the room. She’
d taught me to play on that piano. Other than the hospital, this room had become my only sanctuary over the past week.

  “You may, but I can’t guarantee I’ll respond.”

  He sighed as he wearily ambled into the room. He looked as if he’d aged twenty years since I’d returned for the summer. I wasn’t sure if it was the business with the Gabbianos that had him so stressed or if there was more going on.

  I wouldn’t waste my breath asking.

  I couldn’t trust that he’d tell me the truth, anyway.

  “About last week’s dinner,” he began, appearing uncomfortable, “I know you are not pleased with me.”

  “Pleased?” My eyes shot to his, my voice cracking like a whip. “You thought I would be pleased to hear that my father is attempting to force me into an arranged marriage? Do you even know me at all?”

  “It’s not an arranged marriage.” But he wouldn’t look me in the eye. “Santi and I just thought you and Dominic had some things in common and that you two might hit it off. We just wanted you to meet. That’s all.”

  I felt my face twisting into a scowl. “Well, that’s not how Dominic saw it.”

  “I cannot help whatever his uncle told him. I can only tell you what I discussed with Santi.”

  “I don’t need a matchmaker,” I snapped. “Especially if the best you can do is Dominic Gabbiano. You know how much I hate that family.”

  “Santi tells me that Dominic has shown a desire to distance himself from the organization,” Papà replied as he walked over to the piano. “Apparently, he wants to start his own business and has had a rough time of it with the stigma of being the nephew of a mafia boss.”

  “And you believe Santi?” I asked, aghast. “I can’t fathom him being okay with his own blood wanting to step away from the family. Surely, he would never accept that.”

  Papà lovingly dragged his hand across the fallboard, caressing it, gazing down at the instrument as if he were gazing at my mother.

  I softened a little.

  For all of his faults, Vincenzo D’Angelo had been head-over-heels in love with his wife. I’d never seen him more devastated than when the doctor had appeared in the hospital waiting room to inform us that Mamà had died from injuries she’d sustained in the crash.

  That was, until about two hours later when that same doctor had had to come back out and deliver the same news about Filip.

  “Santi has always had a special relationship with Dominic,” Papà explained. “He is the only son of Santi’s younger sister, who was killed in a drive-by shooting many years ago. Santi practically raised him. It is said he does not deny him much.”

  It took some effort, but I managed to keep my voice calm. “And as much as I can empathize with him regarding the loss of a parent, that does not mean I should marry him. Mamà wouldn’t have wanted that for me.”

  Papà’s brow furrowed in obvious pain. “She would have wanted you to be with whoever made you the happiest. I thought that could have been Dominic. Perhaps I was wrong.”

  He tapped a few of the high keys, sending a dinging chime echoing through the room.

  I actually smiled then.

  He’d never learned how to play because he’d never needed nor wanted to. He’d loved simply sitting in this room listening to Mamà while she practiced. Most nights after dinner, they would spend their time in here, her playing while he worked.

  I wanted that.

  And I didn’t need to get to know Dominic to be certain I’d never have that kind of relationship with him.

  You would with Ace.

  Maybe, but for how long?

  If Santi discovered our relationship, one or both of us might not make it to our next birthday.

  “I miss her,” I whispered, hating when my eyes stung with tears.

  I hadn’t cried for her or Filip in a long time. I forced myself to never dwell overly long on their memories. Those tears were too debilitating to let them happen on a regular basis.

  But I could have really used Mamà’s advice.

  Papà looked up at me, tears shining in his own eyes. “Me, too. Both of them.”

  I nodded, unable to respond around the lump in my throat.

  “You’re all I’ve got left,” he murmured, his voice filled with apology. “I didn’t know how to handle a girl when it was suddenly just me and you.” He laughed dryly. “Obviously, I still don’t. Your mother was the wise one. She always had an answer for everything, and when it came to raising you and Filip, it was usually the right one.”

  I remembered her being uniquely strong and stable. Very little had ever shaken her. But when she had lost her temper, boy, she’d lost it good. I’d only seen it happen less than a handful of times.

  “It’s terrifying to think of anything happening to you,” he went on. “I just want you to be safe and happy. That’s all a father ever wants for his children. I hope one day when you become a parent, you’ll understand that.”

  “I understand it now, Papà,” I said softly. “But you have to let me make my decisions on my own. I’ll never be happy if you’re the one always choosing for me.”

  His eyes crinkled, as if he were in pain again. “I’ll endeavor to do better.”

  But his face smoothed back out before I could explain that look.

  He glanced down at his watch. “Maybe I’m pushing my luck here, but will you come with me somewhere? I want to show you something.”

  My heart melted into a puddle of goo, just like it used to when I’d still been a daddy’s girl. Back then, if he asked anything of me, I did it without question or hesitation. I hated that things were no longer that way.

  But maybe they could be again.

  Maybe we could repair the damage in our relationship. If he could respect my independence and I could see past his overbearing behavior. If we didn’t want to lose each other—the only people either of us had left—we would both have to at least make the effort.

  I shut my textbook. “Sure. I’ll go with you.”

  Thirty minutes later, I was standing in a room surrounded by the five New York bosses, staring into the cold eyes of Dominic Gabbiano as his uncle announced our engagement.

  “How the hell did I wind up in the very back?” Nico grumbled from the far back seat of the SUV we were all crowded into. “Whatever happened to seniority?”

  “Don’t be the last one to show up next time,” Rome retorted.

  Grinning from the front seat, I adjusted the tablet I was using to access the surveillance camera and audio feeds. Dad sat next to me behind the steering wheel, Luka and Rome took up the middle seat, and Nico was stuffed in the very back. Jasmine had a fashion show tonight, so Cris had opted out of the stakeout to go support her.

  “Could they be any more cliché?” Luka asked snidely. “Holding a mafia summit in a fucking meat processing plant? Are they armed with Tommy guns and fedoras in there, too?”

  Rome snickered. “If you see any Teamsters around, we might want to bail.”

  I chuckled.

  Dad just grunted and waved to the tablet, bringing all of our attention to the task at hand. “I think they’re about to start.”

  I held the device up for the four of them to see. “I’ve got a single camera in the back room and a few hidden microphones for audio.”

  “How the hell did you manage that?” Nico sputtered.

  I smirked. “Don’t ask.”

  The image on the screen displayed a large open room with several oblong tables in the center, surrounded by a circle of various meats hanging from the ceiling. Whole pigs, beef tenderloins, and lamb carcasses. The processing floor where giant gleaming machines and equipment grinded and hummed in the background was on the other side of those meats.

  Christ.

  Luka was right. What a disgusting place to hold a summit.

  But I suspected Santi had a specific reason for his location choice. Most likely to make everyone else feel uncomfortable.

  From our parking spot down the street, we’d watc
hed as each New York boss had arrived and entered the plant. Yeah, nothing suspicious about that many expensive suits walking into a meat plant. They were now sat at the tables in the back room, their attention focused on Santi, who stood in the center, cordially welcoming them. His nephew Dominic stood beside him looking less cordial.

  I didn’t know much about the twenty-five-year-old, but if Santi was grooming him—shaping him in his own image—nothing good could be said about him. His mere presence was cause for concern.

  “Where the hell is Vinnie?” I asked, frowning. He was the only boss missing.

  “I was wondering the same thing,” Dad murmured, intently watching the screen.

  “Welcome, brothers,” Santi said, his booming voice coming through the tablet speakers loud and clear. “I’ve gathered you here on this day to discuss our future as a single unit, unified in loyalty and brotherhood. It has been a hard year, no?” There were several murmurs of agreement around the room. “My deepest condolences to the Esposito family who lost a very dear loved one.”

  I scowled.

  Stefano had been loved by no one. Even Raphael had surely despised him. After all, his only son had turned on him in the end.

  “But fear not,” Santi continued, putting his hands up. “For Stefano’s death will not go unpunished. His loss will not be in vain. I assure you, the guilty party will pay for daring to challenge Cosa Nostra.”

  I shot Dad a look.

  We were the guilty party.

  And we just got confirmation that retribution was coming.

  “With that being said,” Santi went on, “it has come to my attention that Stefano was violating certain principles of this organization. Let me make one thing very clear to all of you: there is to be no involvement of any family member with the narcotics scene. No buying, no using, no selling, and no manufacturing. The drug system is far too unstable in this country. The shakier the foundation, the more likely it is to crumble. Not to mention, it involves far too many people outside of the organization who cannot be trusted. Hence, the new enemies Stefano left behind that have now become my problem.”

  The Niners.

  Raphael’s half-brother, who moved into the head position of the Esposito family after Stefano’s death, started blustering his defense.