by Kelsie Rae
Dex
When my phone sounds with a text notification, I’m almost scared to look at it. Burlone is vibrating with anger, pacing the small office like a caged beast. Curses flying, he chucks a book against the wall then continues tossing every threat he can think of at the girl who just schooled him in a game of poker, taking over three hundred thousand dollars with a single hand. It’s not the money he’s pissed about, though. It’s his pride.
“That bitch has no idea what she’s done,” he spits. “She thinks she can embarrass me? That she can fucking take my money? I swear…. Who is she, anyway?”
Sei’s dry laugh reverberates through the silent room. “Funny enough, I overheard her having a little conversation with someone before the tournament. Seems she has an interesting connection with a certain Romano prince.”
With furrowed brows, Burlone voices the same question filtering through my mind. “Kingston?”
Sei nods, looking happy as ever.
“How the hell does she know Kingston?”
“Apparently,” he laughs, “they’re fucking each other.”
My gaze bounces back to Burlone, waiting to see his reaction.
Scratching his jaw, a contemplative Burlone remains silent, letting the information marinate before stating, “I want her dead.”
“You can’t do that,” I interject.
“Excuse me?” Burlone asks his voice brooking no argument.
“Yeah? Why the hell not?” Sei adds.
“Because it doesn’t take a genius to figure out she’s on your shit list for beating you tonight. The Feds are already up our asses, and you, yourself have been saying we need to lie low. Having the girl who embarrassed you on national television disappear isn’t exactly discreet.”
Burlone narrows his gaze but doesn’t argue.
“Well,” Sei offers, “At least you fucked over Kingston tonight, right? Which means the Feds will be backing off soon, and you should get the opportunity to teach her a lesson. Dex is right. I wouldn’t kill her. That pretty little ass looks like a ripe peach, ready for the picking.”
Their voices fade into the background as I pull out my phone and read a message sent from my contact. The guy who should be dead right now, or at the very least, in the FBI’s custody. The guy who was supposed to have purchased the girls from Marty. Thomas.
Private Number: The fruit never ripened.
Fuck.
Looking over at Sei, I find him staring at me with pinched brows as Burlone keeps ranting.
I lick my lips then clear my throat gaining their attention.
“Yeah?” Sei asks, having lost his earlier amusement from the tournament.
“The fruit wasn’t delivered.”
When a heavy silence encompasses the room, I wait for the fallout, and I’m not disappointed.
“What?” Burlone’s stare is like ice.
“Just got a text from the buyer. Marty never showed.”
“Fuck!” Burlone bellows, shoving everything off his desk. The veins near his temple are throbbing with unrestrained fury. He looks as if he’s ready to explode.
“First the tournament? Now, this?” A loud growl escapes him before he stalks toward me and shoves me up against the nearest wall.
When my back hits the blood-red surface of his office, I grit my teeth and try to calm the overwhelming need to shove him away from me.
I’m twice Burlone’s size and half his age. I could kill him with ease, but I don’t have a death wish. I know what happens to members who betray their family. Hell, I’m the one who executed Burlone’s orders in the past to show them their place.
With a clenched jaw, I try to ignore the spittle as it flies toward my face. “I gave you one fucking job, Dex. One job. And you failed. I should bury you for this.”
I don’t bother responding. It wouldn’t do me any good, anyway.
“Then where are the girls?” Sei interjects from his seated position in the corner. Lazily, he lights a cigarette and lets it hang from the corner of his mouth. Just like me, he’s used to Burlone’s outbursts.
“How the fuck should I know?” Burlone roars.
With my shirt tangled in his grip, Burlone leans forward with a wicked glare. “You gonna fix this, Dex?” His tone is hot with rage as I stare right back at him.
“If you let me go, I will.”
Reluctantly, he does as I ask then continues his pacing from earlier. Dialing Marty, I’m greeted with his voicemail which only confirms my suspicion.
“Marty isn’t answering.”
“Which means….” Sei’s voice trails off, letting me fill in the blank.
“It means he’s dead.”
“What do we know?” Burlone grits out.
“We know Marty’s missing, likely dead, the girls are absent, and that your plan to screw over Kingston fell through.”
Sei interjects, “We also know his girlfriend was at the tournament tonight and beat your ass in a game of cards.”
“And that we can’t touch her,” I add.
With a snarl, a pissed off Burlone collapses into his chair behind his oak desk, rattling the floor with his weight. Slowly, the seconds on the clock audibly tick throughout the room as we all search for a solution to get us out of this mess. Or namely, Burlone out of this mess because he doesn’t give two shits about Sei or me.
“I have an idea,” Sei’s gruff voice breaks the silence that was slowly driving me mad.
“And what’s that?” Burlone rumbles.
“I think we can all assume this has Kingston written all over it.”
Both of us nod.
“And I think we can also assume there are too many eyes on the girl for her to disappear.”
Again, we nod. We’ve already established this.
“But I know how badly you want to make Kingston hurt, right?”
This time, I turn to Burlone to see his lips pulling into a thin line as he tries to compose himself. “Get to the point, Sei.”
“His sister.”
Squeezing my eyes shut, I know that with those two simple words, an innocent girl’s fate has been sealed. And if I’m being completely honest, I’m surprised Sei was sharp enough to think of it himself.
With a snap of Burlone’s fingers, he smiles. “Get it done.”
“The only problem is, we don’t know who she is or where she likes to go. So, how exactly would you like me to proceed?” Sei has a point.
Burlone offers, “I’ll forward the image Dominic sent.”
The air in the room grows thick with possibilities; each of them swirling into a chaotic blur.
Rolling his shoulders, Sei comments, “Okay.”
“And Sei?”
“Yeah?”
“I don’t want anyone else to know who we have. We need to play our cards right.” Tapping his nubby fingers against his chin, Burlone adds, “While you’re at it, grab a few more apples.”
“Done.” Sei pushes himself up from his seat, and I follow him toward the door when Burlone stops me. “Dex.”
Turning on my heel, I raise my brows. “Yeah?”
“Kingston’s girl might not be able to go missing, but that doesn’t mean she can’t get mugged on her way home from Sin. The streets are dangerous for a pretty girl like that at night. Understand?”
My stomach turns, but I don’t argue. “Yeah, Boss.”
“Good. I’ll be on the floor doling out congratulatory ass-kissing for the rest of the night. Good luck, gentlemen.” His lips quirk up mischievously before waving me out the door. Without a backward glance, I exit with the intent to follow orders that I know will make me sick.
Isn’t the first time.
Won’t be the last.
Chapter Thirty-Six
Ace
Cloud. Nine.
That’s what I’m on. I’m practically skipping down the street with my backpack swinging from left to right in time with my steps when I round the corner and take the stairs two at a time before swinging the door open and stepping into Dotti
e’s.
“Hey, Dottie!”
As soon as she sees me, a wide grin spreads across her face. “If that’s your poker face, darlin’, then you should look into a different profession.”
Giggling, I let my smile nearly split my face in two but don’t deem her comment worthy of a response.
Thankfully, she doesn’t need one before rushing over to me and wrapping me in a giant bear hug. “You won! I can’t believe it, doll! Tell me everything! Right now! I wanna hear every detail!”
I pull away with throbbing cheeks from smiling so hard and begin to scan the diner. “Trust me, I’m about to explode from excitement. Where’s Gigi? You can take a break, and I’ll tell you guys everything.”
With a pitiful look, Dottie pats my shoulder. “I’m sorry, doll, but I ain’t seen Gigi tonight. She must’ve gotten held up. Why don’t ya grab a seat, and I’ll bring your order over. Then you can eat while ya wait for her to get here. Sound alright?”
A swell of disappointment threatens to take over, but I shake it off.
“Yeah. Sounds great. Thanks, Dottie.”
An hour later, I find myself still very much alone in my booth. Dottie has filled my coffee multiple times and has pulled as many details from me as she could about the tournament, but it just isn’t the same as whenever I tell Gigi stuff.
Looking up at the clock on the wall, I see the time and rub my eyes. I’m exhausted.
Dottie must sense my fatigue too as she comes over and asks, “Are ya alright? Need anythin’ else?”
I shake my head.
“I’m sure she just got caught up with somethin’. Come back tomorrow, and you can tell her all about it.”
A pathetic smile graces my lips as I throw a couple twenties onto the table then throw my backpack over my shoulder.
“Yeah. I’m going to call it a night. Thanks for listening to my rambling, Dottie. I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“You sure you should be walkin’ home tonight?” she asks with her brows pinched in concern.
Memories of my conversation with Kingston come to mind, but I’d still rather be safe than sorry. “No, I think I’m going to call a cab. Mind if I use your phone?”
“Anytime, doll.”
“Thanks.”
Walking over to the pay phone, I dial the number for a cab and am told he’ll be here in a few minutes. I wait inside the diner until a yellow car pulls up to the curb, and I head outside with a final wave to Dottie.
“See ya, Dottie!”
“See ya later, doll.”
The streets are still quiet as I hand the driver my money and get out of the cab. The road is blocked near my building, but I can see the entrance only a hundred yards away. I’ve walked this route a thousand times, but it doesn’t stop the hair on the back of my neck prickling with awareness. Releasing a slow breath, I remind myself that everything will be fine before heading toward the empty parking lot.
Other than the occasional squeal of tires in the distance, my feet scuffing against the damp pavement is the only sound accompanying me on my lonely walk.
Kingston wasn’t kidding about his men being discreet, I note to myself with a quick peek over my shoulder. I haven’t seen anyone all night. Breathing in deep, I look up at the dark sky that promises morning in a few short hours when I feel like someone’s watching me.
I look over my shoulder, but the parking lot is still empty. Rule #3 screams at me to make a run for it. But I don’t. Keeping my head down and my senses on high alert, I scan the dark shadows lining the street while tightening my grip on my backpack that holds a cashier’s check for more money than I could have ever dreamed of winning.
Why the hell do I live in such a crappy neighborhood?
After squeezing my eyes shut in self-deprecation, I pop them open and scan my surroundings again before picking up my speed to a fast walk. The light near the entrance has been broken for months, so I’m not surprised to see the main door blanketed in darkness, but it doesn’t stop my palms from sweating.
Usually, I sneak through a back alley and between a chain-link fence that’s close to where Eddie likes to hang out, but I was dropped off by the main road which means I’m on my own.
With another glance behind me, I listen for the sound of footsteps but only hear my own. Gripping the straps of my backpack like it’s my lifeline, I keep a clear gap between me and the bin that’s tucked away near the front of the building.
A soft scratching up ahead sounds like a siren, and my heart jumps in response. I lick my lips and search the area casually as a prickling sensation races down my spine.
A damn cat pops up out of nowhere, followed by a dry laugh from me at how ridiculous I’m acting.
“Come on, Ace. It’s a parking lot, not a horror movie,” I mutter to myself in an attempt to point out how outrageous I’m being.
Still, it doesn’t stop me from hastening my steps as I approach the front door and tug it open with as much strength as I can muster before darting up the stairs until I’m out of breath.
Digging through my backpack, I grab my key and place it in the lock before twisting the doorknob and slamming the door behind me.
Phew. You’re safe.
I flip the switch on the wall then round the corner into my tiny kitchen in search of a drink. Reaching onto my tiptoes, my shaky hands grab a glass from the cabinet when that same prickling sensation slides down my spine. My entire body freezes as I turn around to see a dark figure emerge from the shadows. The glass slips from my hand, shattering into a dozen pieces on the tile floor beneath my feet as I lurch backward and fall on my ass.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.”
As I scramble like a sand crab against the old flooring in hopes of escaping the nightmare stalking toward me, every damn rule flickers through my mind for a solution to the shitstorm I inadvertently just walked into. Unfortunately, I come up empty. When a shard of glass pierces the palm of my hand, I collapse onto my elbows in agony. The sharp sting from the laceration shoots up my forearm, spreading like wildfire as that same dark figure inches closer.
Rule #7: Never leave something of value out in the open. And this time, in my own apartment––alone––I’m reminded that I just failed epically. I might not have left something of value out in the open, but I’m still going to pay dearly.
“Please,” I beg, cradling my injured hand to my chest. “Please don’t hurt me.”
“Sorry, darlin’,” the shadowed behemoth mutters under his breath. The sentiment does nothing to calm the adrenaline racing through my veins. Bending down, he tangles his fingers in my loose curls. The bite of his hold as he hauls me to my feet is enough to elicit a panicked scream from my lips.
“Help! Please! Somebody help me!”
I know my plea is meaningless. In this building, you keep your head down and your nose out of other people’s business. But I have to try.
Hastily, he grapples for my mouth, covering it with his giant hand as I claw the exposed skin on his forearm. When the familiar X tattoo comes into focus through my blurred vision, I know I’m done for.
Like Kingston said, I screwed with the wrong guy, and I’m about to pay dearly for that mistake too.
With tears streaming down my cheeks, I beg for my life, mumbling against my attacker’s palm in an attempt to convince him to show mercy. I doubt he can understand a single syllable, but it doesn’t stop the words from tumbling past my lips. Seconds later, he releases his hold on my hair, but his other hand is still covering my mouth, preventing me from pleading for my life. His grasp is brutal as his fingers dig into my jaw and cheeks. If there’s any chance of me surviving this encounter, I know that his punishing grip will leave bitter purple bruises on my pale skin.
Wiggling back and forth, I try to find a way to break free, but it only seems to bring him closer. The harsh light from the lamp beside my couch reflects off his face, making him appear almost demonic as he raises his fist. My breath catches in my throat as I watch him. However, it’s his eyes that
haunt me. They show the potential for another life. An alternate reality where he could make his own choices instead of being forced to fulfill someone else’s desire with an iron fist. He’s in as much of a prison as I am. And it’s all because of Burlone. In this instant, I feel sorry for him because he’s not a big, strong man. He’s Burlone’s bitch as much as I am. Hell, he’s nothing but a coward who’s been given the task of hurting an innocent girl who happened to bruise Burlone’s ego.
My body goes limp in his hands as if I’m a ragdoll, giving up the fight he expects. With pinched brows, my attacker shows his confusion for a split second before remembering his purpose. I just hope it doesn’t end with me in a body bag.
But maybe that’s just wishful thinking on my part.
I don’t see it coming. The angry knuckles as they connect with the side of my face, tattooing themselves in my memory as pain blossoms from my cheekbone to the back of my skull. The hit is like a freaking wrecking-ball that makes the backhand from a week ago feel like child’s play. When black spots start dotting my vision, I’m given one more apologetic look from my attacker before he throws another punch and the darkness finally takes over.
Chapter Thirty-Seven
Kingston
In my family’s estate, there are three floors with an array of bedrooms spread throughout. When my dad died, I took over the master suite, but only because it was expected of me. In the bathroom that connects to his bedroom––my bedroom––I forcefully scrub my hands with a bar of soap. After my first kill, my father warned me it wouldn’t get any easier. And even though I didn’t pull the trigger this time, Marty’s blood is still on my hands. But without his death, there would be so many more. Besides, he chose to take on the Romano family. And that was a fatal mistake.
Rinsing the suds off, I grab a towel and dry my hands. After replacing it on the rack, I unbutton my white dress shirt, one loophole at a time before gliding it down my shoulders and tossing it in the hamper.
Reggie isn’t answering his fucking phone. I don’t know how else to reach Ace, but I saw the results from the tournament. She won. I’m so damn proud and shocked she pulled it off in the first place. Pulling out my phone, I reread the last text from Reggie.