by Meghan March
Am I looking at a mobster . . . or at a businessman who needs to cut ties with the family completely while I still can?
Paulie walks over and claps me on the shoulder. “Think about it, Cannon. We’ll support you. Respect you. Follow you. You could take us to a new level. Kick some of the petty shit. I don’t know that I could go legit, but if you wanted to take us in that direction, I’d give it a shot and wouldn’t argue.” His gaze meets mine in the mirror.
“Thanks for that, man.”
“You’ve got a lot to think about. Just know that it’s not only your life on the line here. I’d like to live long enough to retire in Boca like Benny. You’re my only hope of that happening.”
He backs away and returns to the party, leaving me leaning on the counter, collecting my fucked-up thoughts during a rare minute of blessed silence.
At least, the bathroom is largely silent. My mind is the site of a riot.
What the fuck am I going to do?
The door to the bathroom swings open and in walks the last person I want to see right now. Enzo.
I push off the black-and-white-specked countertop and stride to the paper towel dispenser as he turns to the urinal to take a piss.
Deciding I don’t have a fucking thing to say to him, I head for the door. As soon as my hand touches the knob, Enzo breaks the silence.
“I don’t give a fuck what Paulie and Junior want. This family is mine. I’ll kill you before I’ll let you take it from me.”
“Go fuck yourself, Enzo.” I yank the door open and let it slam shut behind me as I stride out—right into Dom.
“Something wrong?” my father asks, and I move out of his way.
“Not a damn thing.”
His dark eyes sharpen on me, and I know he doesn’t believe a word I’m saying.
“I’m hearing talk tonight. Lots of talk.”
I shrug and straighten my jacket. “About what?” Playing the fool is a role he expects from me.
“Conversations that shouldn’t be happening on my goddamned birthday. But Monday, you and I are gonna sit down. Talk about the future. I didn’t spend my whole life building something to let other people make my fucking decisions now. Understand me?”
I know he’s waiting for a yes, sir, I understand response, but I’m not giving him that. Not tonight. I don’t care that it’s his fucking birthday.
“Monday it is, then. Excuse me, I need to find my woman.”
Dom’s expression takes on a chilling glare. “Yeah, Drew with the laugh. You better know what the fuck you’re doing with her because she’s a fine piece, and I’d hate for something bad to happen to her.”
Everything drops away but the man in front of me. The room goes silent. Every party attendee disappears. It’s just me and Dom and his vague threat against Memphis hanging in the room. A threat I won’t stand for.
I meet his gaze with no deference in my expression whatsoever. Regardless of what Paulie said, I am my own man when it matters. And I won’t let anyone touch Memphis.
I pitch my voice low but make sure every fucking word comes out clear. “If anything happens to her on your orders, I’ll retire you myself.”
Something sparks in Dom’s gaze, and there’s a chance it’s murderous rage. Or it could be respect. Right now, I don’t fucking care about anything but letting him know that Memphis is off-limits.
“She’s hooked you good.” His hand lands on my shoulder, much the same way Paulie’s did, but Dom squeezes hard to get his point across. “Don’t ever fucking talk to me like that again or you’ll pay the price, son.”
22
Memphis
“A dead one.”
My eyes, the color of which I’ve never seen on another person, are a perfect match for those a retired mob hit man remembers on a woman who died twenty-five years ago.
The revelation sends me reeling.
For my entire life, I’ve wondered how my brown-eyed father could have had a daughter without brown eyes, but I always chalked it up to my mysterious biological mother. The one I’ve never searched for due to my father’s wishes, despite my intense curiosity. But what if . . .
No. That’s impossible. Still, the reporter in me needs more information.
“What . . . what was her name?”
Benny sips his whiskey while he studies my face, looking for answers of his own. “Why do you want to know?”
I shift casually on my seat, not wanting to give too much away, and lift my glass to my lips. “Wouldn’t you want to know if a tall, dark, and handsome man told you’d he’d only seen eyes like yours on one woman?” Flattery might not get me everywhere, but hopefully it will afford me more than I have now, which is only unanswered questions.
“Fair enough, but only because a beautiful woman is asking. Her name was Regina, and she was a knockout. Long black hair, piercing turquoise eyes. If you dyed your hair dark and ditched those contacts, you could be sisters. Granted, she didn’t live much longer than however old you are now. Real sad story.”
If I dyed my hair dark . . .
Blood roars in my ears at his statement. I should be happy that he hasn’t caught on to the fact that I’m wearing a wig, but my fingers itch to rip it off so he can see the real me. The me who has never known my biological mother.
But my father has always kept an apartment in New York.
This is too little to go on, but it’s more than I’ve ever had before. A million questions rush through my brain, but I only ask one.
“How did she die?”
Benny coughs and wipes his mouth again with his handkerchief. He doesn’t answer until he’s refolded it and tucked it away. “She was murdered.”
My heart hammers harder than ever before, each beat slamming into my chest like a bare-knuckle punch. I open my mouth to reply but Greer’s cheerful voice stops me, and I don’t know if I’m grateful or pissed.
“Drew! I wondered where you’d disappeared to. There’s someone I would love to introduce you to.”
I break Benny’s stare and glance at Greer, but her face doesn’t match her voice. Her expression is lined with concern, and I wonder if she’s trying to rescue me. Do I want to be rescued?
Her bright gaze bounces from me to Benny. “Oh, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
“It’s all right, sweetheart. We’re just talking about ancient history. I’m sure she’d rather meet your talented sister-in-law. I’m just gonna say, if Ms. Superstar doesn’t sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to Dom, we’re all gonna be mighty disappointed.” He sips at his liquor like it truly does go down easier than water.
I turn to see Holly Wix, one of country music’s hottest stars, standing beside Greer.
How the hell didn’t I notice her before? Oh, right, I was having a meltdown and wondering if Benny knows who my biological mother is, and oh, just maybe she might have been some woman who was murdered.
Using compartmentalization skills I’ve honed since childhood, I tuck my questions away in a box, pop off the bar stool, and hold out my hand to the gorgeous brunette who came into the restaurant with Creighton Karas.
“It’s a pleasure. I’m a huge fan of your music. I saw you perform once at a concert in LA. You were incredible.” I’m thankful my words come out sounding coherent rather than discombobulated, like I feel.
Instead of taking my hand, Holly reaches out with both arms and wraps them around me. “Oh my goodness, I’m so damn grateful that Cannon has finally found someone who can handle his cranky ass. Welcome to the family. We’ve been waiting for you a long, long time.”
Her citrus-and-sunshine scent wraps around me, chasing the chills away. Over her shoulder, Benny gives me a chin jerk, slides off his stool with his drink, and disappears into the crowd.
I’m not sure if I just received a stay of execution or lost a chance at learning something vital, but I don’t have time to think about it right now.
“Thank you,” I say, scrambling for words.
Greer smiles and laughs, c
learly happy to see Holly embracing me.
“Oh, girl, don’t thank me,” Holly says as her arms unwind from around me and she steps back. “I was just so glad to hear when Greer told me about you. I’ve been waiting years for this moment. You don’t even know.”
“Maybe now they can finally make up and have their bromance back,” Greer adds with hope in her voice. “I know Creighton has been missing Cannon like a lost limb, even though he denies it.”
“Of course he has. Do you know how many times Crey picks up his phone to call and tell Cannon something and then sets it down when he realizes he deleted his number? It’s worse than a teenage girl with a breakup.” Holly shakes her head, and her dark waves dance around her shoulders.
She’s even more beautiful in person than on TV, and that’s definitely a surprise. I’ve met so many famous people in my life, and they always look different without the heavy layers of makeup that get them camera ready.
“Speaking of Crey, where is he?” Greer asks, turning to scan the restaurant.
At the same time, silverware clinks on a glass somewhere. As the hum of conversation subsides, all heads swivel to find the source.
It’s Dom. He stands at one of four tables that have been set for dinner, each about ten feet long, with enough room to accommodate the fifty or so people who have been milling around and making small talk.
When the room goes silent and he has everyone’s attention, a smile stretches over his face like he’s a king surveying his subjects, which I suppose is how he feels. Here, he’s a god. No one outranks him. His decision is the final word on all things. One must wonder if having that kind of power for years would go to someone’s head, and from the way Dom takes no shit, I would have to think it absolutely has.
“Family and friends, thank you all for coming this evening. I think many of you doubted I’d ever live to see this birthday, but I’m happy to prove you wrong.”
As everyone chuckles at Dom’s statement, my gaze skips over the crowd, trying to find Cannon, and I spot him near the exit. He’s a dozen feet from Creighton, but the other man has his back to Cannon.
I wish I could fix things for them. After hearing Greer and Holly, I’m more convinced than ever that it’s crucial the breach in their friendship be mended.
“Now please sit, eat, and drink because we are on the edge of a new era. The next time we gather, I’ll share my plans for the future. But tonight—tonight we celebrate!” Dom lifts his glass in the air, and the crowd cheers and does the same.
Someone calls out “Salud,” and everyone shouts it before taking a sip and maneuvering around one another to take their seats.
Greer’s husband, Cav, arrives beside us and leans his head low, but he speaks loud enough for me to overhear. “Dom wants us to sit at his table. You, me, Eden, Bishop, Holly, and Creighton.”
“But what about—” Greer shoots a look at me, and I know what she’s thinking. Cannon, the outcast son once again.
My heart pinches at the thought of him not getting to sit with the others. It’s not like he’s the only illegitimate child. They’re all illegitimate.
Screw the pain in my chest. A fire borne of rage ignites in my belly, and I want to march right up to Dom and tell him that he’s being an asshole by treating Cannon the way he does. If he can’t respect Cannon and treat him as an equal with all his other children, then Dom doesn’t deserve to have Cannon managing something as important as the Upper Ten.
I have money. Cannon has money. We could open our own club. Screw Dom and his reign. I won’t spend the rest of my life watching Cannon being ignored like he doesn’t matter, when he should be the most important person in this goddamned room to everyone.
Whoa. I went there.
The rest of my life. That’s how long I want Cannon with me.
The realization should be scary. Frightening. Terrifying.
But it’s not. It just feels right.
Given my thoughts, it only makes sense that the man himself would be standing beside me before I have more than a moment to collect myself. I stare up at his face, noting every variance of his hazel eyes, which are greener tonight than normal.
“We can go if you want,” I tell him.
Cannon’s expression creases with confusion as he slides his arm around me and rests his palm on the small of my back. “Do you want to go?”
“If Dom isn’t going to put you at the same table with all your half siblings, then yeah, I do. Because that’s bullshit.” My indignation comes through loud and clear in my tone. “I won’t let him treat you like that. Not today. Not ever again.”
His expression softens with a smile, and it transforms his entire face. “You look like a fury, ready to go to battle for me over this.”
I swallow the lump in my throat. “I would go to battle for you over just about anything. You’re my person, Cannon. I’m not going to stand by and let him—”
“Cannon.”
Dom’s voice breaks into my tirade, and I go silent, hoping like hell his next words aren’t going to make me want to kill him.
“Come sit with the family.”
Relief sweeps over me. Thank God.
“You sure?” Cannon stiffens beside me. I can only imagine how much he wants this. How important this is to him.
Dom waves at the last two open seats near him. “It’s where you belong. Come on. The food will be out in a minute.”
That’s how I found myself being seated across the long table from Holly Wix with Cannon at my side.
The doors from the kitchen fling open and the waitstaff march out in a line, carrying heavy trays loaded with salads.
I scan down either side of the table, but there’s no sign of Creighton. Holly shifts in her seat, searching for her husband too. As soon as a salad is placed in front of me, the tall, dark-haired man appears next to his wife, his hand on the back of the chair across from Cannon.
My entire body goes still as the two men face each other.
“Crey, sit. Eat.” Holly’s voice carries just a hint of her Southern accent, making it lyrical and sweet, but her husband stands unmoving like a block of marble as he stares at his former best friend.
His knuckles turn white, and everyone in the room seems to hold their breath.
23
Cannon
When you’re ordered to befriend someone when you’re barely a teenager, it’s not a job. It’s your life.
I’ve known Creighton Karas for over twenty years, and never once did I tell him that we were brothers.
Never. Once.
But with him staring me down, dozens of emotions flying across his features, chief among them anger and betrayal, I’ve had enough of the rift between us. I don’t care that everyone is watching like we’re the main event on a fight card. I say what I need to say, because I’m tired of holding back the words.
“I’m not sorry, Crey. I’d do it all again. I wouldn’t trade that twenty-odd years for anything. You can hate me for the rest of your life, if you want, but I’d do it all again.”
In an instant, Creighton’s face morphs into a polite mask, devoid of emotion, as he pulls out his chair, unbuttons his suit jacket, and sits. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he says and then turns to say something to Holly, shutting me out.
Beside me, Memphis slides her hand onto my knee and squeezes in support, and I want to flip this table and force him to talk to me. But I know better than anyone how cold and hard Creighton Karas can be. He had no choice but to grow up with his emotions locked in a dungeon, just like I did.
We might not have been raised the same—me on Dom’s afterthoughts of generosity, and him in the lap of luxury with his wealthy relatives—but we both experienced emotional terrorism that forged us into the men we are today.
From the other end of the table, Eden waves at me with a smile. At least two-thirds of my siblings are happy I exist. I tell myself that’s enough for me, but I know I’m full of shit.
Because right now, I
need Creighton more than I’ve ever needed him before. Who the hell else can I talk to about this fucking mess with Enzo and Dom wanting one of us to take over the family? No one knows me better than Creighton. No one understands the position I’m in quite like he does.
And yet, the one person whose advice I want more than anything is completely closed off to me because I followed orders.
I’m done following fucking orders.
With all these comments tonight about me not being my own man unless I take over, I find my decision is getting harder, not easier.
Can I walk away and leave everything to Enzo? If the capos don’t support him, how can he possibly lead?
I would love to think that he couldn’t and one of them would rise up to replace him, but I know that’s not the case. Enzo wouldn’t risk losing power as quickly as he gained it. No, he’d make a show of dominance. A bloody one. Like executing all his opposition and daring anyone else to question his right to lead.
And in this world, that’s what men follow.
Dom’s gaze is on me as I eat my salad, and I know he wants in my head. What would he say if I told him I don’t fucking want this?
He would turn his back on me in an instant. Wouldn’t he? And why the fuck do I care? I’m a grown-ass man, and I don’t need my father’s approval.
But still, a voice inside me asks another question. But wouldn’t it feel fucking good to finally command their respect?
For years, I’ve been at the bottom of the food chain. No one knows what to make of me. For once, it would be really fucking nice to have everyone know exactly where I stand and where their loyalty belongs.
I find Memphis’s hand beneath the table and tangle our fingers together.
But could I do that to her? She’s not meant to be the wife of a mobster.
Wife.
The word echoes in my mind through the meal. No one notices that I stay quiet rather than fill the air with chatter like the rest of the table, except for the eyes I feel boring into the back of my head.