DanteAfter El falls asleep, I sneak out of bed. Henry might not scare me, but that doesn’t mean I don’t need to do anything about him. Just that she doesn’t need to worry about it.God, she’d kill me if I ever said that to her face.This is just a temporary measure, I promise myself as I change in a dark closet and leave the room. Just until she’s no longer pregnant.Yeah, that’d stop her from kicking my ass. I shut the bedroom door behind me with a sigh, then call Tony.He shows up twenty minutes later with Mikey in tow, both of them looking exhausted. I raise an eyebrow.“Teo needed an angel on his shoulder,” Tony says by way of explanation.“You call in a replacement team?” I ask.“You think I dropped out of school after kindergarten?” Tony replies.Mikey just nods and walks in with him. Without conferring, the three of us amble into my office and shut the door behind us. Only once I’ve poured everybody a drink and sat in the leather chair behind my desk do I begin explaining.“Wi
EleniThe next morning, my vibrating phone wakes me before my alarm. I shoot up in bed, immediately certain Dante snuck out, that he’s captured or bleeding out at Henry’s feet.He lays in bed next to me, his dark hair rumpled. As I watch, he rolls over to reveal a dent from the pillowcase in his cheek. I exhale slowly and pick up my phone.Mama’s calling. I glance at Dante one last time, then grab a robe and pad out into the hallway.“Hi, Mama,” I say.“I am very disappointed,” she says severely.I rub my eyes, check the time. It’s barely six-thirty. What could I have done already?“I told you I was going out to Staten Island,” I say.“Pah.” She huffs a breath. “You think I’m worried about that? No, zouzouni, I want to know why I just had to find out the date of your wedding from some woman”—she says the word like it’s poison—“showing up at the door to ask you about something called a save-the-date. Am I not your mama anymore?”“What?” I freeze at the top of the stairs. “We don’t have
DanteI walk up to a shuttered bodega. Pieces of the paper sign flap in the wind, declaring that I can get “sacks” and “dinks” inside. New York City flows around this abandoned piece of itself, not even glancing at it.Perfect.I slide into the alley beside it, unlock the chain on the back door, and step inside. Tony and Cal Duncan stand in the flickering light of the ex-backroom, now lined with knives, cattle prods, ropes, and any other torture instrument a Saint has come up with in the last decade.“I was wondering if you’d ever show your fine face.” Cal smiles. “I called you as soon as I heard.”“I had other business,” I answer crisply. “What did you catch?”“A tuna, if I do say so myself.”Tony rolls his eyes. “Brigadier. No sign of Fyodor, but the place was obviously important to them.”Someone grunts just past the thin door that separates us from the main room. I smile. Brigadier means decent information.“Who has him?” I ask.“One of my boys wanted first touch.” Cal grins. “Sim
EleniI walk out of Tandon, my hands sore from furiously typing for the last two hours, and blink in the sunlight. No sign of Dante. My stomach sinks.“Have you heard from him?” I ask Amando.He shakes his head. I reach for my phone.And a slick, black coupe pulls up in front of the school. The window buzzes down to reveal Dante inside. In unison, we sigh.“Wait, why were you worried?” I ask.He glances around. “I’ll explain later. You ready for our day?”I look at the tiny car, then at the guards.“They’ll follow behind.” Dante smiles. “Come on.”I’ve never been able to say no to that smile.***I don’t know what I expected when I asked to spend the day with Dante, but I didn’t expect this. It’s a little like the day I first visited the Tandon registrar. We wander the city, shopping aimlessly. Intentionally aimlessly, I realize, like Dante’s trying to create a path no one can follow. Though that sends cold fingers of worry up my spine, I try to just enjoy him. We eat a long, late lun
DanteDinner at Giancarlo’s is spectacular, as always, but I can’t think about anything other than the look on Eleni’s face when she asked me to tell her where to go. Who to be. I’ve seen that look a thousand times, on a thousand different women. Even on El, when I’ve pushed her to her limits in bed. Once upon a time, I thought it was all I wanted in a partner. To be submissive, pliant, able to fit into my world. Hell, I used to think that was what I wanted out of Eleni.But things have changed, she’s right. She’s just wrong about when. Everything changed the moment she told me why to get a gyro. Again when I took her to bed. A third time when I came back from being shot and discovered she’d whipped my crew into shape. Maybe I used to be a Dante who would’ve taken that open request for an answer and written my own will onto it. I can’t anymore. Not with her.We drive back to the house on Staten Island in silence. El’s still quiet as we walk inside, past the guards.“Go to the bedroom,
Eleni“BWAH! BWAH! BWAH!”The screaming alarm—alarms—rip me out of sleep far too early. I grope for the nearest one, which turns out to be my phone, and silence it before even opening my eyes. Another keeps whining somewhere else in the room, and I groan.Last night is a blur of strobe lights, penis-shaped candy, and mob wives dancing like drunk sorority girls. As much as I’m going to kill whoever set all these alarms, at least my no-drinking rule means it’s only regular awful, not hungover awful.Another groan answers mine, and I shoot upright.I’m—where the fuck am I? Big, soft bed. Early morning light in the window. It’s shaped like the Staten Island house, but the colors—pink walls, purple bedspread, rainbow throw pillows….The second groan issues from the floor again, and I glance over the edge. Gianna lies there, makeup smeared across her face and hair falling out of the updo she slaved over last night. She looks distinctly green.“Kill it,” she mumbles. “With fire.”I’m in her
DanteI stretch my sore knuckles on the little stage that holds the altar at St. Michael’s, a church I haven’t set foot inside since Mom died. As Dad used to say, church is for people who confess their sins, and Saints aren’t that goddamn stupid.But it seems like I am. Father Stefan’s gaze follows the movement of my hands and snags on my split, bruised knuckles. He frowns. I thank God they built this church with the organ so close to the front that he couldn’t nag me about them if he wanted to. He’d probably start with how many masses I’ve missed anyway.God hasn’t struck me with lighting yet, but Fyodor seems well on his way to trying, so I’ll take my chances.The doors open, and I jerk my head up, hoping for El. Fuck, I’ve missed her.No dice. Tony and Gianna enter, arm in arm. Tony wears the same deep purple suit I do, with the same sprig of greenish flowers pinned to his lapel, but he manages to look a little less uncomfortable. Gianna looks like death warmed over in a floor-leng
EleniI twist the ribbon around my deep purple bouquet and look out over the reception. The wives rented a massive ballroom in a hotel close enough to the church that we all walked over when the ceremony ended, and if you’d asked me to guess what Nicky thought a wedding reception should look like, I would’ve described exactly this. There’s nowhere in this place I can look without being confronted by something that sparkles or bears the exact “eggplant” and “pine forest” that are apparently our colors.Above every table, something that looks like a baby mobile made out of twinkle lights and strings of crystals hang. On the purple and green tablecloths sit the most ridiculous place settings I’ve ever seen. The gilt-edged china sports crossed flowers, a dusty green spring of something that looks more like leaves to me but which she said grow around the Acropolis and a sprig of Italian lilac, both also lined in gold. Apparently, they symbolize the joining of our houses. But what really ma
*Angelo*This goddamn woman is not only beautiful but also clever as fuck. She definitely knows how to use her appearance and charm to her advantage, blinking those beautiful eyes at me. Even in a T-shirt and jeans, she looks sexy as hell. She doesn’t need to wear anything seductive or whisper dirty words in my ear. Just being under her gaze is enough for my dick to start twitching inside my pants. Fuck!I don’t know why the hell I fell for that, believing she actually needed to go to the bathroom. Maybe, deep down, there’s still some good left in my corroded heart. Or maybe I just didn’t want to believe that she’d be able to trick me. But she almost broke free from me, which would’ve been fucking embarrassing when the guys outside had to bring her back to me, seeing me rolling around on the floor with my smashed up cock in one hand. Needless to say, the pain she caused me made my blood boil. But even so, I can’t force myself to strike her. Not yet. Instead, I pinned her to the floo
*Tatiana*Okay, fuck, that does sound like a genuine threat. He’s definitely not new to any of this, and he’s used to stubborn people like me. He’s probably faced worse in his years in the mafia, assuming he’s from another syndicate. Judging by the way his eyes are hungry for information, I doubt he’s just a normal person Oleg owes money to or had a bad business deal with.Lev taught me how to hold on during an interrogation as long as I could in several of our lessons in the past, but he never really tortured me while doing so. How am I supposed to act when the real deal is actually happening? I thought I was prepared for this, but maybe I’m not?Am I ready for this man to cut my skin, hold my head under water, pull my nails out of my fingers, and all the dreadful things these people are known for doing? How long until I break?Panic creeps through me again, and I realize I need a plan B before I lose the grip on my self-control and have to start pleading for my life. I don’t wanna
*Tatiana*I feel like I must’ve gotten run over by a truck. My head is pounding so hard, I feel like vomiting, but even so, I force my eyes to open. There’s no light here except for a dim stream coming through a tiny window near the top of the wall in front of me, so it’s difficult for my eyes to adapt.There are strands of hair in front of my eyes and face, and when I lift my hand to push them aside, I realize my wrists are tied behind my back in what feels like a very thick, tight rope. My legs are also strapped to the chair, both my ankles tied. I can barely move.Panic starts creeping through me as I realize what’s going on. Images of the recent events flash through my mind, making me remember how I ended up here, wherever I am.I look from one side to the other, taking in my surroundings. Even though it’s dark and humid here, I spot some tools and boxes that make me think this has to be a basement. The place is quiet, and there seems to be no one around, although I doubt they’d l
*Angelo*“I’ve got her,” I inform the rest of my men who are all wearing earpieces. “I’m taking her to the car.”“Roger that,” Dice replies right away. “We’ll meet you there.”I toss the woman’s limp body over my shoulder and step out of the alley, ignoring the curious and frightened stares I receive from pedestrians bustling by on the street.The SUV is parked in front of the deli, and when Sal spots me, he climbs from behind the wheel and rushes to open the back door for me. I place the woman in the back seat—carefully, even though I don’t need to be—and go around to the other side so I can sit beside her. I buckle us both in and wait for the others to load up.Even though I knocked her out, and she probably won’t wake up in the next few hours, I still need to keep a close eye on her, just in case she wakes up and tries some funny business. I’ll watch her the entire way until we’re out of this part of the city and safe in our territory where we’re less likely to be attacked.“That w
*Tatiana*Getting someone to help me proves to be an almost impossible task, even once I wander into a populated area of New York City.I know literally no one in this city, and it’s not like I can trust anyone. While I’m fairly certain my adoptive parents had allies here, I have no fucking idea who they are or how to find them. Oleg must have eyes and ears everywhere, so it makes me hesitant to approach anyone.But in this dress, I’m an easy target for anyone who might be helping him. New York is a crazy place, but I’m probably the only woman in a bloody, ripped-up wedding gown on the streets today. If the mob doesn’t get to me, the police certainly will.My stomach is beginning to ache from the knot that formed in there weeks ago, but I force myself to take deep breaths. At least I’m able to hold back my tears–for now. My whole life turned upside down in a blink of an eye, and having to suppress my feelings so I don’t show my weakness to Oleg and Yakov has taken its toll on me.Pic
TatianaHow the hell am I supposed to escape this place when I have no fucking idea where I am? Running toward the back of the chapel seemed to make the most sense to me since the fighting is all happening at the front–at least for now–so I sprint toward the door the priest likely used and pray it’s unlocked.Thankfully, it is. I slam through it, looking around to ascertain if there’s any danger here. I see the priest huddled in the corner and almost roll my eyes. Hiking my skirt up, I take off toward a door I believe has to be an exit.“You shouldn’t go that!” he shouts. “They’re out there, too!”But my momentum carries me through the door before I can think, and I nearly run into a couple of Oleg’s men who are defending the back entryway against what appears to be another syndicate, one of the many groups of enemies Oleg has accumulated over the years, no doubt.“How the fuck did they find us?” one of the men in front of me shouts to the other in a thick Russian accent. I just have
*Tatiana*A tacky, overly poofy white gown hangs on the back of the bathroom door next to the full-length mirror. I take a deep breath and drag a hand down my face. How the fuck am I getting out of this?I hoped I’d have more time to escape, but this day has come more quickly than anticipated, and now, here I am. The fuckers got me to the church on time.“What do you think?” one of the maids who will be helping me get dressed asks, a timid smile on her face.Arching an eyebrow, I say, “I think I’d be better suited to black.”She laughs nervously and pulls the fancy frock down off the hanger. I have to assume this contraption cost thousands of dollars and was designed by one of New York’s biggest names in fashion.It’s a death trap to me.It would look so much better with a spray of vomit across the front.Telling myself I need to focus, I listen to the maids prattle on about how they’re going to do my hair and makeup and other such bullshit I couldn’t care less about.“This dress is m
*Tatiana*I spend most of my time in “my” room. Images of my parents bleeding out fill my mind, whether I’m awake or asleep. Even sitting by the window, staring out at the serene garden behind the mansion, I can’t shake the overwhelming sadness and revulsion that fills my body with every shuddering breath I inhale.No one comes into my room except for the maids–and that’s a good thing. When I have to see Oleg again, it will be all I can do to keep from lunging at him and trying to take him out right now. I will kill him–but I can’t be impulsive, or I’ll spoil my chance. Something tells me he won’t hesitate to kill me if he feels it’s necessary, regardless of all of his plans for me.No, I need to bide my time. Lie in wait. Strike when the timing is right.When I’m not picturing my parents’ pale bodies sitting in those chairs, I imagine what it will be like to kill him. That’s the only time I allow myself a bit of happiness, a small smile, when I think about what it will be like to hav
*Tatiana*As soon as the plane touches down at JFK airport, a wave of anxiety washes over me. This is my first time leaving my home country of Russia. I’ve spent my entire life looking over my shoulder, waiting for my asshole uncle, Oleg Romina, to show up and finish the job he started twenty years ago when he murdered my parents in cold blood. Now, he’s summoned the only parents I’ve ever known, Lev and Ilya Ivanov, to return to America. I insisted they bring me along, but as we deboard the plane, a sense of unease settles into my chest.My biological father, Petr Romina, used to be the boss of the Romina Empire, a smaller Russian mob that has territory in several countries, including New York where Oleg resides. When I was old enough to understand the kind of life our family used to have, Lev and Illya told me the truth about my parents’ deaths. My mother was my dad’s mistress, and when Oleg learned that they were planning on getting married, his greed made him murder both of them,