by Meghan March
My half sister’s husband is a giant of a guy with long hair he usually pulls back into a man bun, and he’s covered with ink—some of which he did himself as he learned to be a tattoo artist. Now he’s got one hell of a client list down in NOLA at a place called Voodoo Ink.
“She’ll be here,” Greer says. “We’ve kept in touch since Rose’s baptism that Holly and Creighton had in Nashville.”
A baptism I crashed, unwelcome, and begged for five minutes to speak with Creighton. It wasn’t my proudest moment, but I’d gotten word of a competitor who was going to fuck him over.
Could I have sent an email? Sure.
Could I have sent a text or called? Absolutely.
Instead, I found myself flying to Tennessee anyway, busting into a family celebration that I should have been invited to—not as his second in command who he’d fired, but as the brother he didn’t know he had.
Our conversation was short. He was pissed I dared interrupt a day for family, and rightly so. His next words filleted me like a fish.
“If you ever interrupt me at a family function again, even if it’s to tell me you’re dying, I’ll have you railroaded out of the fucking country. You’re already dead to me, Cannon. That’s what happens to traitors.”
I walked away without telling him I was sorry. It’s the only thing I’ve wanted to tell him since, but my pride has kept me silent.
A delicate touch curls around my clenched fist at my side, and I loosen it so Memphis can thread her fingers through mine. I look down into her faux brown eyes, and although they’re supportive, I wish I could see the aqua, but I smile. It starts out forced and then becomes genuine in a split second.
“Thank you,” I tell her, not needing to explain why I’m so grateful. She gets it. Gets me.
And then Dom’s voice drowns out everyone else’s.
“My baby girl is back!”
20
Memphis
I could skewer Dominic Casso where he stands. In front of all his friends and family. I wouldn’t care at all that I’d be hauled off to jail immediately or, more likely, shot dead on the spot. Because with every excited outburst from the old man about his children, Cannon stiffens beside me like he’s being stabbed.
What a motherfucking asshole of a father. Apparently, he missed the memo that you’re supposed to treat your kids equally.
All four of us in our little group go silent as Cannon and his half brother Cav watch the father who apparently never gave much of a shit about them wrap a petite woman in a hug and lift her off the floor with the strength of a man half his age.
“Fucking dick,” Greer whispers under her breath just loud enough for me to hear.
I make eye contact with her and nod in solidarity. I like her. I don’t need to know another thing about her to know that she and I will get along fine.
Her brother is the golden boy in Dom’s eyes, and her husband is an afterthought.
How fucking unfair?
But I doubt there’s much use in trying to change a mobster’s ways when he’s just joined the septuagenarian club. That doesn’t mean I wouldn’t still try, and I have a feeling she would do the same.
“Anyone else hoping the car delivery gets delayed, and he doesn’t get a shiny new toy tonight?” The words are out of my mouth before I remind myself to shut the hell up.
Thankfully, Cannon squeezes my hand before looping his arm around me. He and Cavanaugh Westman both laugh, and Greer giggles.
“That can definitely be arranged. I know all of Banner’s dirty secrets, and I’m not above blackmail.” Greer winks at me, and I reaffirm my opinion—I definitely like her.
Cannon says again, “It’s so damn good to see you, Greer. New York has missed you.”
She reaches out to shove Cannon’s shoulder in a very sibling-like gesture. “You mean you’ve missed me and you’re just too proud to say it.”
“Not too proud at all. I’ve missed you like hell. Nothing’s been the same since . . .” Cannon trails off because the elephant in the room stops right beside us.
“Greer. Cav. I was hoping you were already here. Come see Holly. She’s missed you and was worried you wouldn’t make it.”
Creighton Karas, notorious billionaire and Cannon’s ex-best friend yet still half brother, stands a few feet away, and a rush of emotion swirls through me like a twister. It’s like Cannon and I are totally invisible to him.
I’ve never been so torn on what to do in my entire life.
Greer asks her brother, “Crey, have you met Drew? She’s Cannon’s girlfriend.”
His dark eyes land on me, skipping over Cannon completely. His face is blank, showing no emotion at all.
“You should be careful with the company you keep.” And then he turns and walks away.
Oh. My. Fucking. God.
Beside me, Cannon jerks his hand from mine and takes two steps after Creighton before being waylaid by someone as Creighton cuts through the crowd.
“What a fucking dick,” Greer says.
“Babe—” Cav’s voice is full of concern and warning.
Greer shakes her head. “No. That was uncalled for. They have to talk and have it out. I’m tired of this shit. Cannon didn’t have a choice in what he did, and if Crey thinks that he would be where he is today without Cannon working his ass off beside him all those years, he’s insane.”
I search for Cannon again in the crowd, partly hoping he caught up with Creighton and they’re going to have it out right now, but I’m not so lucky.
He’s gone.
Greer and her husband politely invite me to stick with them as they circulate through the party, but since I assume they’re going to talk to Holly and Creighton, I respectfully decline. They leave me with a promise to find me later, and Greer insists we need to get together for dinner and drinks before they leave town. I tell her I’d love that, and we exchange phone numbers before I make my way back to the bar.
I don’t plan on drinking much tonight, but it’s either fill my time with another drink or hang out in the corner, pretending I don’t feel awkward at being abandoned.
And it’s not the desertion part that bothers me. Not at all. If Cannon hadn’t gone after Creighton, I would have shoved him in his direction anyway. Those two clearly need some time to talk and bury the hatchet. I just hope they don’t do it literally, like Greer said.
At the bar, Benny from Boca sidles up beside me in his loud Hawaiian shirt. “Hey, pretty girl. How about I buy you a drink?”
He laughs at his last statement because it’s an open bar, but I politely grin and nod anyway. I could use some company to kill a little time.
“I would appreciate that, sir.”
He shakes his head, and the bit of gray still hanging on around the edges flaps with the movement. “I’m no sir. Just Benny. Anything else makes me feel old, and I refuse to believe that horseshit.”
The man is seventy-five if he’s a day, and probably even a bit older, but I’m not about to ask him.
“I like your attitude, Benny. What’s it like being back in New York after being gone for a while?”
He tilts his head from side to side while signaling the besieged bartenders. Knowing it’s going to be a while, I settle in for the conversation to come by scooting my skirt-clad butt onto a stool, and Benny does the same.
“Things have changed a lot. Buildings I remember being here are gone, and there’s skeletons of something new in their place. I miss the old days, when people weren’t walking while staring at their phones. They stared at the sidewalk like proper New Yorkers, avoiding eye contact on purpose, but at least they didn’t run into you because they’re oblivious.”
I can’t help but laugh because it’s the truth. I almost saw a woman get nailed by a cab as she stepped into a crosswalk when the light turned, all because she was too busy looking at her phone to notice.
“Maybe it’s a new version of survival of the fittest, except this time, only the aware survive and the oblivious remove the
mselves from the gene pool.”
Benny’s laugh sounds like a crumpling paper grocery sack, which immediately morphs into him coughing up a lung. I nab a Dom turns 40 for the 30th time water bottle from the arrangement on the bar, unscrew the cap, and slide it in front of him.
“Thanks, gorgeous.” The old guy wipes his mouth with a handkerchief he pulled from his pocket, and I don’t miss the smear of blood on it before he folds it and tucks it away.
Fucking hell. That’s not good.
He sips from the bottle and makes a disgusted face.
“Something wrong with the water?” I ask, wondering if I handed him one that was tainted or something.
“No whiskey in it. That’s what’s wrong.”
This time I smile and push out a chuckle. “You sound like a man set in his ways.”
“We all are. But sometimes, if the right woman comes along, we make room for change.” He shoots me a thoughtful look, and at that moment, I realize he sought me out on purpose.
“You sound like you’ve got something on your mind, Benny. Lay it on me.”
His teeth may be false, but the grin is genuine. “You’re direct. I like that in a woman. I see how Cannon got wrapped up in you.”
“Are you going to warn me away from him too? Because it’s a little too late for that.”
In an instant, Benny’s entire face changes into a cold, hard mask, and it’s like I’m staring at a different person.
“Not if you’ve got ill intentions toward my boy, it’s never too late. He’s been through a special kind of hell. Never had an identity of his own. Always following orders. No freedom on the horizon until now, and I’m not about to let him get sucked in by some woman who isn’t going to treat him like the prince he is. I’ll put her in the ground first.”
Chills ripple over every single inch of my body. The hair on the back of my neck stands on end. Cold sweat breaks out across my chest.
Benny wasn’t a good-time guy.
Benny was a killer.
I don’t know how I know that, but I feel it straight to the marrow of my bones.
Even though he vaguely said, “I’ll put her in the ground first,” he’s talking about me. This old man, who is coughing up blood and probably knows about how many days he’s got left on this planet, is threatening to murder me, and he’s serious.
Hell, if he knew how Cannon and I got started, he’d probably kill me right here, in front of an entire restaurant full of witnesses who would no doubt testify that they’d seen nothing, had never met me, and give each other alibis. Isn’t the mob great?
I have two choices right now. I can either run, or I can face him and try to make him my ally. God knows I could use one.
Sitting up straighter on the stool, I meet his faded gaze. “I’d put her in the ground before you could, Benny.”
The mask of the killer disappears from his face like it was never there. Once again, a jovial old man sits on the stool beside me, and his lips curl up with a cocky smirk.
“That’s what I thought. I like you, Drew. And trust me, I’d hate to have to clip a pretty flower like yourself, so young and full of life, but I will if I have to.”
Those chills I felt before? They’re back with a vengeance. Something about him making that promise to me with a smile on his face is even more disturbing than the blank mask of a killer.
“I’d really hate that too. Especially since I’m in love with Cannon, and I only want the best for him.”
The bartender finally stops in front of us, and Benny orders a whiskey neat and gestures to me.
“I’ll have the same.”
One corner of Benny’s mouth quirks up as the bartender disappears again.
“What?” I ask him with a smile.
“There’s just something about you. Especially the way your eyes turn turquoise when you blink.”
Fucking hell. He knows I’m wearing colored contacts. Apparently taking refuge at the bar was a terrible decision. Actually, me coming to this party was terrible decision number one.
“Why are you hiding yourself, kid? Cannon know about this?”
I nod. “Yes. He knows everything.”
“Good, because—”
“Because you’d hate to have to kill me.”
“Got it in one.” He narrows his gaze at me and makes a strange request. “Can you move that contact for a second? I want to see the real color of your eyes.”
I don’t know why I humor him, but I put my middle finger on the contact and slide it sideways for a second and then let it go back into place, blinking a few times until it’s sitting comfortably again.
“Fucking hell. I ain’t seen eyes that color in over twenty-five years. And only on one woman ever.”
My heartbeat pounds in my ears, and my limbs feel heavy, like my body knows something is coming, even though I have no clue what he’s going to say. “On what woman?”
The bartender returns and slides our drinks across the bar to us.
Benny wraps his tanned and age-spotted paw around his whiskey glass before meeting my gaze once more. “A dead one.”
21
Cannon
“When are you going to throw your hat in the ring and give Enzo some real competition for when Dom steps down?”
It’s the fucking question of the night, apparently. First from Junior Gallo as he jumped in my way when I was going after Creighton, and then from Paulie Salerno, who found me in the bathroom while I was taking a piss.
All I want to do is get back to Memphis, make sure she’s doing okay, and then force Creighton to finally have the come-to-Jesus talk that we’ve been due to have for a long fucking time.
But of course, it doesn’t matter what I want.
I’m sick and tired of this shit. Maybe I should take over the family, for the sole purpose of getting everyone to finally give a damn about what I want.
Since I came back into the fold to manage the Upper Ten, I’ve been in this limbo stage where I’m not in but I’m also not out, because I’m in charge of the biggest legit Casso cash cow.
Still, no one knows how to treat me, and they revert to treating me like the bastard kid Dom won’t acknowledge publicly, which makes me fair game for prying questions. I’m done with it.
“I’m my own man, Paulie. I’ll do whatever the fuck I want when the time comes.”
Paulie jerks a paper towel out of the dispenser and leers at me. “You ain’t your own man. You never have been. You’ve always answered to the king and you always will—unless you take control.” There’s no way he’s saying any of this without a motive.
I march to the wooden stalls and slap open both doors to make sure there’s no one else in the bathroom to overhear our conversation, but even seeing that we’re in the clear, I won’t say much. There’s a chance Andre has the bathrooms bugged. A damn good chance, actually.
I cross my arms over my chest and face Paulie head-on. “What’s your angle? You and Junior talk about this shit before you got here? Both of you are hard up for an answer. Why aren’t either of you trying to take control if you want Enzo out so bad?”
As Paulie’s jaw shifts from side to side, I’m reminded that he’s been a capo for a couple of years, but for some reason, Dom favors Enzo over him. Paulie’s also not used to having someone talk to him like this, unless that someone is Dom.
“Dom wants his blood to take over.”
I stare at him, blinking rapidly as I try to put the pieces together.
No fucking way.
“You’re telling me Enzo is Dom’s bastard too?”
Paulie’s paranoia has his eyes darting to the door, as if he’s afraid what I just said will summon the devil himself.
“Not Dom’s. I think we all agree he spread his seed far enough as it is.”
My patience is running thin. “Then what the fuck are you saying about blood? Enzo isn’t fucking related.”
Paulie moves closer and fidgets with another wipe of his thumb across his nose. “Enzo says
he is. Says he’s got a DNA test proving he’s Dom’s nephew.”
What in the actual fuck? “When did he get the test, and how the hell did I not know this?”
“Why the fuck do you think Enzo got made?” Paulie says, his words underlined by his personal frustration. “And if I recall, you weren’t exactly in the loop with Dom’s decisions back then. Or now.”
“You’ve gotta be fucking kidding me. That’s why that fucking idiot is Dom’s number two? Because of a DNA test that Enzo’s probably smart enough to pay off someone to fake?” I shake my head and consider what he’s telling me. “Dom had one sister. She was a fucking nun until she died. How the hell did Enzo get Dom to buy that she had a kid?”
Paulie’s dark eyebrows, threaded with hints of silver, rise to his hairline. “Apparently, she joined the convent because she got in the family way, and no one knew about it because she gave up the baby for adoption. Enzo claims he’s that baby.”
“Fucking hell. This changes everything.”
Paulie nods slowly. “Sure as fuck does, which is why we need to know that you’re our man. Because there’s no chance in hell Cav and Creighton will walk away from their lives to run the organization. No one would follow a woman, so Eden’s out. That leaves you and Enzo. And I think we all know who we’d rather have at the top of the food chain.” Paulie sucks in a big breath and releases it just as slowly. “Enzo would get us all killed. Even you see that.”
It’s the truth. I have zero doubt in my mind that Enzo would be the death of us and possibly the entire Casso name, especially since Dom declared that we’re going to war with the Rossettis. Enzo is practically foaming at the mouth to snuff out GTR’s dad just to prove a point.
And that’s exactly when all hell would break loose.
“Fucking hell,” I say again, turning to lean on the sink. I stare at my reflection. It’s the same face I see every fucking day, but now there’s another question I have to answer.