The Devil I Don't Know

by LK Shaw

  “You wished to see me, sir?”

  He glances up and assesses me with a stony glare. I stand ramrod straight under his critical stare. He blinks and then merely looks through me, dismissing me as unimportant, just like everyone else. A familiar sting that never lessens follows in its wake.

  “Sit down.”

  I try not to flinch at the sharp command. Warily, I perch on the edge of the gold embroidered wing back chair on this side of his desk, my hands clenched tightly in my lap. Grand-da steeples his fingers under his chin.

  “Emilio Ricci is returning to Brooklyn,” he pauses as though this should mean something to me. “In two weeks, you will marry him.”

  I blink, my brain slow to process what he just said. “What?”

  “His father and I have come to an agreement. In an effort to strengthen our forces against the Russians, we feel it’s in our best interest to form a familial alliance.”

  There has to be a mistake. I’m already shaking my head. “No.”

  With a placid calmness, Grand-da rises from his chair and circles around to stand in front of me. My head snaps to the left, and a stinging pain shatters the side of my face. Tears burn my eyes, and I taste blood on my tongue. I cover my cheek and stare up at him in shock and fear. He actually hit me. His face is impassive as he looks down at me without a care.

  “You will do your duty to this family. The contract is already signed.” He returns to his seat and his eyes land on me, a brow raised as though questioning why I’m still here.

  Despite the pain, I clench my teeth, and with as much dignity as I possess, I stand and stare at him, but his attention is already back to the papers on his desk. An obvious dismissal. My cheek burns like fire. I know my grandfather is ruthless, but I’ve never experienced it first-hand before. My mother has always tried to shield Caitlín and me from the life our family leads.

  With a stiff spine, I walk out of his office in search of my mother, hoping Paddy isn’t in the hallway waiting for me. I breathe a sigh of relief to find it empty. Does Mother know what I’m being forced to do? Does Da? Are they going along with this lunacy?

  I’ve never met this Emilio Ricci, never heard his name spoken. I know nothing about him. Is he as brutal as my grandfather? Is he young? Old? Oh, god, what if he’s my father’s age, or older? A shudder runs through me, and my steps quicken. I race down the hallway and rapid-fire stab at the elevator button, willing the doors to open.

  I count in my head to match the tempo of my finger still tapping away. At forty, escape arrives. I smash the button and my eyes home in on the screen that flashes each floor I pass. Two. One.

  “Mother?” I holler, flying through our living quarters. “Mother?”

  She steps out of the kitchen wiping her hands on the yellow half-apron tied around her waist, her expression full of worry. “Brenna, what’s wrong?”

  I slam to a halt in front of her, my fists clenched tightly at my hips. “Did you know?”

  Her eyes scan my face, pausing at my cheek. “What happened?”

  “Did you know?” This time the question is loud and demanding.

  “Don’t speak to your mother in that tone.”

  I whip around to see my father standing behind me, arms crossed, wearing a fierce expression. He’s never directed that look at me before. I’m the quiet daughter. The dutiful one. But this?

  “I can’t do it,” I say aloud.

  “Do what?” My mother asks, her voice rising in exasperation on the last word.

  “Marry Emilio Ricci.”

  Behind me is a gasp, and my father lowers his arms with a heavy sigh. “I knew he’d been speaking to Salvatore Ricci. I should have realized something like this would happen.”

  “I won’t do it,” I repeat.

  My father’s expression twists into anger, and I take a hasty step backward, colliding with my mother, my heart galloping with fear in my chest. I’ve never been afraid of my father before, but he’s never acted like Grand-da before either.

  “Cormac, please,” my mother pleads behind me. “Let me speak with her.”

  He jabs his finger in my direction. “You will do your duty to this family.” Da glares one final time at me and then storms down the hallway, leaving me alone with Mother.

  My body sags as some of the tension flows out of it. My eyes burn. That single word beats like a drum in my head.

  Duty.

  Duty.

  Duty.

  “Come.” My mother guides me to the couch. She sits and pats the cushion next to her.

  Slowly, I lower myself, and she turns to face me. Her hands are warm around my ice-cold ones. She squeezes my fingers in a reassuring gesture that does nothing to alleviate the fear inside me.

  “You remind me so much of myself at your age. Struggling to find my place in this world. Especially being a member of a family such as ours.”

  “Mother—”

  “Shh. Let me finish. This life we live, it’s not easy. It’s brutal. Violent. And often unfair. Did you know your father and I had an arranged marriage?”

  I draw back in shock. “But—but you and Da seem so happy.”

  “Now, but we weren’t always.”

  “I hate this. Everything is always about duty,” I sneer the last.

  My mother nods matter-of-factly. “Yes, it is. Duty to the family—the organization—is the only thing that matters to your grandfather. It’s what matters, or should matter, to all of us. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

  “I don’t even know anything about this Emilio Ricci. Yet I’m expected to marry him because Grand-da signed a contract?”

  “Yes. What happens after that is what you make of it. Be a good wife. A good mother. Affection can grow between you and your husband. It will just take work and time.”

  “What if I can’t be either of those things?”

  My mother stares intently at me. “You must.”

  Chapter 3

  Jacob

  * * *

  Our driver, Giovanni, pulls to a stop in front of the house on 83rd. I step out of the town car and stare up at the three-story white concrete home my father had built nearly fifteen years ago. The place hasn’t changed while I’ve been gone. The same dull brown trim borders each of the windows that still shine and reflect the green of the leaves on the tree in a grass-covered lawn that’s often difficult to find in Brooklyn. The sun is setting behind the house, and its halo of light dances along the rooftop.

  Giovanni lifts each of our bags out of the trunk and passes them to Pierce while I take a moment to inhale the crisp, late afternoon air. Instead of the fresh, clean scent of Pinegrove, I almost choke on the acrid odor of vehicle emissions, the nearby food market, and the ever-present New York garbage. None have been missed. It’s time I get used to them again though.

  Uncle Paulie and Pierce flank me. The former’s restlessness is palpable. Neither of them answered my question in the town car. They both deferred and said it’s a discussion that needs my father’s presence. The man who currently waits inside. The man I haven’t seen in seven years.

  The man who’s dying.

  Pierce hands me my luggage. I take the steps two at a time and pause at the polycarbonate glass layered door. Do I knock? Walk in, even though I am almost a stranger now? The door opens as if by magic, taking the choice from me.

  “You must be Emilio,” an unfamiliar woman with short silver hair greets me with a pleasant smile. “I’m Marta. Please, come in.”

  She steps back and opens the door fully. The woman isn’t dressed like a maid. In fact, she’s wearing an extremely expensive, designer linen pantsuit. Who the hell is she? I move past her, and she closes the door behind Paulie and Pierce.

  “I know you’re probably tired after your trip, but your father would like to speak with you first. He’s in his office. I’ll have Franco take your bags to your rooms.”

  Of course he would. Everything with my father is duty. Soon, it will be for me as well.

&
nbsp; I set my bags near Pierce. The leather soles of my shoes slap across the marble floor of the entryway as I pad up the stairs to the second floor where my father’s office is located. My footsteps slow the closer I get. Responsibility weighs heavily on me. Stopping before the wooden door, I close my eyes for a brief second, and then knock.

  “Enter.”

  The time has come.

  Standing next to his desk is not the same man I last saw. The Salvatore Ricci I know is tall and broad-shouldered, with his thick hair combed back, and sharp, piercing black eyes. This man is gaunt. His tailored suit nearly hangs off his frame. And his eyes have dulled and appear almost lifeless. “Hello, Father.”

  “Emilio.” This is not the larger-than-life king from my childhood. The one who rules an entire syndicate.

  I stand, awkwardly, unsure how to greet this new man. We’ve never been close, but seeing him as he’s become, a handshake seems impersonal, a hug too intimate.

  As with my decision at the front door, the choice is taken from me. My father strides forward, closing the distance between us, and envelops me in his arms. The familiar scent of cigar and his expensive aftershave surrounds me. He seems so frail. Uncomfortable with the gesture, I step back and clear my throat, unable to meet his eye.

  “Please, have a seat. I won’t keep you long. I’m sure you’d like to rest.”

  Being back in this house, in this room, is surreal. It’s tangibly different. Perhaps because I’m different. I stare at my father. He is the most changed of all.

  “I believe Paulie and Pierce have caught you up on our current state of affairs?”

  “Yes.” I try to relax back into the leather chair, but my muscles are too rigid. Instead, I sit stiffly. “Although they left out a detail regarding your alliance with the Irish that I haven’t quite figured out yet. Said it was best to come from you.”

  “Our alliance,” he sharply corrects me. “Despite your extended absence, you will soon control this syndicate and all that it entails. Don’t forget that.”

  I nod in acknowledgment. “How are you going to assure Donnelly that a continued alliance between us will remain to his advantage?”

  My father doesn’t immediately answer. Instead he reaches into his desk drawer and pulls out a single sheet of paper. My gut clenches and my heart begins a heavy beat inside my chest.

  “I know the reasons you left seven years ago. Just as you know that she was never going to be a part of this life.”

  My already tense body tightens further. My jaw clenches and my fingernails turn white from the death grip I have on the armrests. The briny taste of blood fills my mouth from biting my tongue. Damn my father for bringing her up.

  “As my son, and the future leader of this syndicate, it’s imperative that you prove your loyalty. Not only to me, but to all the families within our organization.”

  “I’ve been nothing but loyal,” I bite out between my teeth.

  My father nods, but a question of uncertainty remains in his eyes. He slides the sheet of paper across the desktop and meets my stare, daring me to look away.

  “Colm Donnelly and I have come to an agreement. The contract is signed. In order to solidify an alliance between our families, you will marry his granddaughter in ten days.”

  If I clench my jaw any harder, I’ll break it. Bitter rage rises from my gut. So this is going to be the first test of my loyalty. “How does she feel about this marriage?”

  “Does it matter?” He raises his brows. “She knows her duty.”

  As though I don’t. I rise from my chair, needing to get out of here before I say or do something I’ll regret. “If there’s nothing else that needs my attention, I’ll go get settled.”

  I don’t wait for a reply as I make my escape.

  “Emilio.”

  My father’s voice stops me at the door, my back still to him.

  “It’s good to have you home.”

  All I can respond with is a tight nod before I close the door behind me and head out on my search for Pierce. He and I have much to discuss.

  As I stride through the house, I can’t help but look around. Everything is familiar, yet not. Already I’m about to jump out of my skin, and I’ve only been in this place for an hour. My collar is tight around my neck, and it takes all I have not to tug at it. Staying here is temporary. First thing tomorrow I’ll find a townhouse, since it appears I’m acquiring a wife.

  I reach the top of the stairs at the same time Pierce steps out of an open doorway. Without a word, he follows me through a set of double doors at the end of the hall.

  I can count on one hand the number of times I’ve stayed in these rooms. Before I left all those years ago, I lived in the penthouse suite of a high-rise along the water. My cousin negotiated its sale shortly after our arrival in North Carolina. I could never live there again. Not with all the little reminders of her.

  “Is there anything else you haven’t shared with me?” I lean my forearms against the window, staring out at the city, the lights glowing brighter with the disappearance of the sun.

  “It wasn’t my place to tell you.”

  My fists clench against the chilled glass, and I rein in the urge to punch through it. “You’re more than just my cousin, Pierce. You’re my best friend. My brother. The one person I trust not to withhold things from me. I’d kill for you. Bleed for you.”

  Slowly, I pivot to face him. “Don’t ever fucking keep secrets from me again.”

  He acknowledges me with a short nod. No more needs to be said.

  “What do you know of her?”

  He pulls out his phone and hands it to me. “Her name is Brenna. She’s Donnelly’s oldest granddaughter. Three brothers, including a twin, and a younger sister. Graduated from Columbia two years ago.”

  I study the picture on the screen before returning the device to him.

  “Any man in her life?”

  Pierce shakes his head. “None, unless he’s extremely well-hidden.”

  I turn back toward the window, my gaze unseeing.

  “She’s not what you’re used to, but she’s certainly pretty enough.”

  It doesn’t matter what she looks like. This is nothing more than a business arrangement.

  “Tomorrow, I plan on finding new living arrangements. Ask around. See if anyone knows of anything for sale in the area. Something suitable for a wife,” I instruct, signaling the end of our conversation.

  Pierce nods. “I’ll let you know.” With that, he disappears out the door, leaving me with only my thoughts.

  I pity this poor girl—Brenna. My only hope is that she has no dreams of romance and love. No illusions about what this marriage will be. It’s nothing more than an alliance between our families.

  I can’t—won’t—love her. Not ever. I don’t have it in me.

  Chapter 4

  Brenna

  * * *

  It’s no doubt childish, but I lock myself in my room for two days. Caitlín brings me dinner the first night, but I send her away with the untouched plate. I can’t even think about food; my stomach is queasy enough as it is. My mother knocks on my door several times throughout the day, but I ignore her. By the second night, I sneak down after everyone’s gone to bed and raid the fridge, because I’m starving. Then I return to my room and sulk.

  I try reading the book I started, but I can’t concentrate. All I can do is think about my future. I’m barely twenty-four years old. I’ve never really even had a boyfriend, and now I’m expected to marry this…stranger, because Grand-da has decreed it.

  Perhaps I’m naive about our world, but if so, I blame my parents. They never told me that I could be married off to someone against my wishes. They’re the ones who’ve sheltered us, Caitlín and me. Who’ve refused to answer my questions on nights my father and brothers would come home covered in blood.

  My mother’s words come back to me. How am I expected to be a good wife to a man I know nothing about? I’m not entirely ignorant about our family and the
crimes they’re involved in. What I don’t understand is how it all works. I’m not sure I want to. My thoughts shift to my future husband. It’s the fear of the unknown that bothers me the most.

  The knock on my door startles me. With a heavy sigh, I answer it. Caitlín comes bounding in. She whirls on me, her strawberry blonde hair swinging over her shoulder. She’s nothing like I was at fifteen. I almost envy the bold confidence she already displays. With hands on hips and eyes narrowed, she stares. “Here I thought I was the dramatic one in the family. It’s about time you opened the damn door.”

  “Don’t swear,” I admonish as I make my bed, straightening the corners and smoothing the fabric.

  “What are you, ten? Damn is not swearing.” She collapses with a groan onto the teal chaise and picks up the book I’d been reading to examine the cover before tossing it back down on the cushion. “Now, if I’d said, ‘It’s about time you opened the fucking door,’ then I’d be swearing.”

  I toss a pillow at her, and she catches it with a cheeky grin. “You’re incorrigible.”

  “Yes, I know.” She throws the pillow back at me, and I set it at the head of my bed.

  “Did Mother send you to drag me out of my room, then?”

  “She says we’re going dress shopping today.”

  I freeze for a second. Caitlín can’t mean what I think she means. “What kind of dress shopping?” I ask, slowly turning to face her.

  My sister’s excitement is palpable from here. “For your wedding dress. I can’t wait to see how beautiful you’re going to look. Although I still can’t figure out why you locked yourself in your room. If I were the one getting married, I’d be over the moon. Aren’t you happy about the wedding?”

  There’s a churning sensation in my belly, and I send her a weak smile, not wanting to put a damper on her mood. “Why wouldn’t I be?”

  She jumps up and pulls her leg underneath her, nearly bouncing with energy. Of course she’s giddy. She’s not the one being sold off to someone she doesn’t even know. I choke back the bitterness. It’s not Caitlín’s fault.