by S. Massery
“Great.” I edge backward. “I need to go back to work.”
He raises his eyebrow but says nothing. I grab the door and yank it open, almost sprinting down the dark hallway and back into the kitchen.
It wasn’t even that creepy of an interaction. And yet: I almost just walked out of my job. That would be automatic dismissal, I’d bet.
I burst into the quiet room, leaning back on the door, and find Amy crouched on a bottom shelf with a clipboard. “Who was that?” I demand.
She glances over at me and winces. “You look like a wreck, Jones.”
“Amy! Who was that?” I realize there’s hysteria in my voice, but I can’t tame it.
Her eyes narrow. “It was one of the owners of the club, Grace. So I expect that you and he both acted appropriately.” She shakes her head. “I gave you a chance, even knowing your history—”
“I don’t have a history!”
“Your last name does,” she snaps. “You know what? Just go home.”
Shame seeps down my back. “I’m sorry.” I turn and grab the doorknob, then spin back to her. “He, uh, needs another bottle of whiskey.”
Amy scoffs.
“He dropped it,” I lie. “See you Monday.”
When I get outside, there’s no car waiting for me. No Marco, either, or Frank. I take a second to eye the street, and my heart pounds faster.
I could run. Right now. I could be dust in the wind in five minutes. There’s enough cash in my pocket to…
Well, I could get to the outer edge of downtown Miami with the money in my pocket.
I walks down the street, hunching my shoulders and ducking my head. And while I walk, I muse. What would my freedom cost?
What would I have to give Javier to let me go?
My feet scuff against the sidewalk.
He has way too much money. Politicians in his pocket. Police officers who turn a blind eye—or help—with his crimes. A whole arsenal of sons and nephews to be his soldiers. Marco is just the oldest of them. The meanest.
A car turns the corner ahead of me and glides to a stop. The window rolls down, and I glance in at Frank.
“Get in.”
I lift one shoulder. “I’m enjoying my walk.”
“I’m enjoying the view of you walking, but that’s not our job. Get in the fucking car, Grace.”
I stop. I didn’t make it very far at all. And if I ran, everyone would know. My world would just get smaller. I exhale between my teeth, let the feeling hope of escape, and climb into the passenger seat.
“I need to talk to Javier,” I say.
Frank chuckles. “Doesn’t everyone?”
I glare out the window until we get to my house, and it takes me a minute to register the second car in the driveway. “He’s here?”
“Best not interrupt him with Sal,” Frank says. “Just a suggestion.”
I jump out of the car and jog up the front walkway, slipping into the house. I’m on a mission for once: straight down the hall to my father’s office, where I very nearly shove the door open to make my case.
The loud voices stop me. I’ve never, ever heard my father raise his voice against Javier. He’s always idolized the man, followed him around like a lovesick puppy and done his bidding. I flinch when something hits the door—a fist? A body?
My dad snaps, “She won’t bend. And then what? He’ll break her. Your son is a loose cannon. Even you can’t control him.”
My body turns to ice. They can’t be talking about me, right? Does he think Marco would break me so easily?
“Never forget, Sal. I took you in. I made you what you are—and I can take it all away. Starting with your daughter.” There’s a long pause, then he continues, “Marco won’t be the one to break her. I think it’ll be you.”
Dad laughs. Laughs.
Tears prick my eyes, so sharp it hurts, and I back away from the door. I rush up the stairs, into my room, and lock the door. They talk about me like I’m a fragile thing. Like I’m breakable—made of glass or crystal.
I’m not.
I get down on my stomach, stretching my arm under my bed as far as I can reach. My fingers graze the locked box. It only takes me another second to locate the handle and yank it out.
The small 9mm gun my father bought me on my sixteenth birthday sits in its own bed of dark-purple silk. In the upper part of the case, there’s a box of ammunition, a magazine already fully loaded, and two holsters. I slip my jacket off and shrug on the shoulder holster, snapping the band around my firearm, and pull my jacket back on. It’s hot in Miami during the day—hot enough that my jean shorts stick to my legs, and my feet slide in my sandals—but at night, the cool breeze off the ocean is pleasant. Chilly, even.
I braid my hair and replace my work sneakers with boots, then slip down the back staircase.
The office door is still closed when I leave the house out the kitchen door, jogging through the back yard. One foot on an overturned bucket, I grab the thick branch of the lemon tree, and I’m up and over the fence.
I make it three steps before a car pulls up alongside me.
“Going somewhere, fiancée?”
I scowl, then turn to look at Marco. He leans toward me from the driver’s seat, the car inching along the quiet road. His sports coat is open, and so is half of his shirt. His olive skin gleams under the streetlights.
I hate you.
“You come to collect your father?”
He laughs. “No, I was coming to collect you and your things.”
I stop and face the car. “Why?”
“Because it’s been decided—you’re moving in early.”
I scoff and keep walking. “Yeah, right.”
I can take it all away—starting with your daughter.
I swallow. Now’s my chance to gamble for my freedom.
“Marco,” I say, shoving my fear down. “When are you taking over for your father?”
Words like that, speaking treason into the air, could be a death sentence. But I’m already on the razor’s edge, and it’s a risk I’m willing to take.
Marco’s head tilts to the side, and his eyes narrow. “Get in the car, Grace.”
I lean down into the window. “Just answer me straight for once. He’s been grooming you since we were kids. Is he going to relinquish control, or are you going to take it from him?” I tap my fingers along my arm, drawing his eyes to the ring.
I hate this ring with every fiber of my being—but I hate Marco and Javier more.
The funny part is that I didn’t hate them up until they tried to cage me in. Until I was taken out of a party two months ago and forced into a storage closet, awaiting… something. The idea that I could’ve been like one of those girls in the truck? Inconceivable.
Do I fear them? Yes. Fear has shaped my life. And then I started having nightmares about them. The girls, dazed and confused and… drugged.
No. I knew the family was bad. I’d been sampling my father’s violence since I was young. It was Javier’s orders that bloodied Dad’s fists. That blackened his soul. But what’s the point of family—of loyalty—if all my dad has to do is put one foot out of line, and I’m gone?
“I’m listening,” he says in a gruff voice.
For once, he’s not scary. He isn’t threatening me, or in my space. There’s glass and metal between us, a gun tucked to my rib cage, and I’m full of fire.
“Take your future, Marco.” I use my thumb to spin the ring around my finger.
“You’re talking crazy, Grace.”
I lift one shoulder. “What if you brought Morning Star to the family?”
He scoffs.
“He’s back in town.”
He’s out of the car faster than my mind can process. He circles it, coming to my side and boxing me in. My lungs constrict, and I put my hand on his chest. It’s all I can do to keep him from leaning into me and taking more than just my personal space.
“What are you saying?” he growls.
I shake my h
ead. I picture Morning Star and Marco wiping each other out, leaving me back to my freedom. “He’s back. Take Frank and go find him—show Javier that you’re ready to lead.”
“My dad will never go for that.”
My stomach does endless somersaults, and I shrug again. I feign indifference. “Then make him.”
He smirks at me, and my heart nearly stops when he grabs my hand. “There’s a reason I thought you would make a good wife,” he says.
I have to resist the urge to snatch my hand back. I watch in some sort of sick fascination as he raises my hand to his lips.
“There’s more to you than a pretty face. Who knew you could be so valuable?”
His lips touch the ring on my finger, and I shudder.
“It’ll be so much fun to watch you break.”
He takes a step back, and I sag against the car.
“I’m going to rule this city,” he tells me. “Now get in the fucking car. I’m going to catch the devil—and you’re going to help me.”
6
DALTON
Luca shoves the door open, boots crunching across the glass. Grace said she was coming back with a broom, but I think I got duped. The whiskey has long since dried, the floor sticky, and Luca keeps grunting until he kicks through the mess.
“How’d that happen?”
I shrug, eyes on the crowd. It’s easy to lie and tell my friends that I go down and mingle with them, dance and shake off the black edges around my soul. They never believe me, anyway. The military drilled into me a sense of solitude that I’ve never been able to shake.
“Amy sent Grace up,” I explain.
Luca nods. “Yeah, she bailed on you. Saw her in the alley.”
“Figured.” I hadn’t seen her in a few months. Hadn’t thought of her—no, that’s a lie. Her face has been etched in my damn mind since I opened that storage closet. Seeing her today was… eye-opening. She’s marrying one of them.
Fucking tying herself to the family forever.
I know what that’s like. Hell, that was almost me—to a different family, in a different state, a long time ago. They let me go easier than I expect the Argentos will let go of Grace.
“She did a one-eighty and went back inside.” Luca grins. “I think I freaked her out.”
I scowl. “Gee, how on earth did you manage that? With your charming personality.”
He laughs, tapping the glass. “You ever get sick of staying up here? I’m ready to go get my groove on.”
“You dance?”
“On occasion.”
Lovely. I want to throw up at the image of Luca shimmying to a pop song.
My gaze gets stuck on the staff as they move through the perimeter of the crowd.
The waitresses dodge drunk assholes and pick up glasses, smiling and passing off bottles. If the crowd gets too wild, our bouncers pull the girls out. They’re the first ones tucked under the bouncers’ arms, headed toward safety. We take care of our own. And Grace… I shouldn’t have let her work here. The floor manager, Amy, had interviewed her and come back with a short report: She’s one of them.
Almost a year ago, the Nest was a lot rowdier. We had less security, couldn’t keep staff if our lives depended on it, and fights broke out… a lot. Caden was the one who put his foot down about who could come in here.
“Make a list with me, D. People who the bouncers automatically turn away. We gotta keep the peace—for our sake and for our customers. This should be a fun place. Just you watch: business will boom.”
I can still remember the way Caden’s eyes lit up. He had dragged his chair over to mine at my kitchen table, pulling out a pad of paper. He started with the heavy hitters in Miami: the Argentos, the St. Ives, the McCoys. Then their associates. In-laws. Hired hands.
God only knows how he knew all of these names off the top of his head. I recognized them because I’d worked some jobs for almost every family on the list. At that point in my life, I was only a silent—well, half-silent, when Caden allowed it—partner at the Nest, and a security contractor full-time.
Our new bouncers—out of town folks who were paid well enough to not be intimidated or bought off—screened people. And slowly… Caden was proved right. Our club became safer, customers came to the Nest more, and with a little bit of spit-shine, this place was transformed.
And then Caden died.
“Oh, Dalton?”
I glance away from the DJ’s light show, back toward Luca. He looks startlingly like his brother in certain lights, enough that I have to remind myself that we buried Caden. Everything is muted in here—the noise, the lights. “Distance makes the heart grow fonder,” my mother used to say.
“What?”
“Watch your six.”
He walks out the door, a whistling tune floating back to me. It reminds me of his brother: the man was never able to shut up, even if we were knee deep in shit. We had lost touch while I was with Scorpion Industries, too busy wiping the asses of corporate douchebags and taking out their competitors through the scope of my rifle.
But I sure as hell met some good people while I was in the devil’s armpit.
Luca was never the honorable man Caden was, and it’s a shame that he inherited his brother’s success. As much as I can hate the price sometimes, I’ll admit: we’re alike. And he loves a subtle message.
I look back toward the dance floor, where someone is cutting through the dancers. Their shoulders hit my customers, and I almost lean forward for a better angle—and then training kicks in.
I step back from the window and leave the private room, keeping my head ducked as I trot down the stairs.
The man climbing the stairs squints at me.
I stop, lifting my chin and smirking. “Argento, huh? Thought we told you assholes not to bother.”
He gives me a leering grin. “Thought we told you to stay the fuck out of Miami.”
I shrug, taking hold of the handrail and kicking him in the chest. The impact of my boot into his skin is almost too satisfying. His hands slide off my leg, trying to stop his sudden backward momentum. He falls, and his face puckers in surprise. I follow him down the stairs. The Argento lands flat on his back, gasping for air.
Lenny, one of my bouncers, rushes over. “You okay, boss?”
I lean over the Argento, grabbing him by his collar. I haul him upright, and Lenny follows me down a dark hallway.
“What’s your name?” I ask, pushing him against a wall. This rush is what I’ve missed since I’ve been gone—saving Grace took away any chance of going back to my security consultant business. Instead, I’ve been stuck in the Nest.
The guy is my age, with dark-blond hair and angry eyes. Hell, we could be brothers by that description. He has a face that I should probably remember—he even looks a little familiar, although I can’t place him. He spits at our feet, and Lenny sucks in a breath.
“Hey!”
I turn and widen my eyes at the sight of Grace rushing toward us.
“No, no, he’s fine—he was just looking for me. It’s okay. Right, Frank?”
Frank meets her eyes, slowly nodding.
“He thought I was working.” She raises her left hand and frowns at me. “Let him go, would you?”
“You walked out on your shift,” I say. “Pretty sure that’s grounds for firing.”
Her eyes narrow. “Amy sent me home.”
“Run along now, puppet,” I say, enjoying the way her face turns red. I’m sure if I touched her cheek, it would be hot enough to singe my fingers. I glance back at Frank, but he’s just staring at Grace. And you know what?
I hate that more than I care to admit.
I shove Frank toward Lenny, motioning to the side door. He’ll throw him out and make sure he never comes back.
“Er—can I talk to you?” Grace lays her hand on my arm. “Privately?”
I shrug, sliding out of her grasp. “This is about as private as we get.”
“The Argentos still want you gone—or dead.” She bi
tes her lip.
I appreciate a girl packing heat—the way her arm hovers off her side is a tell, and the fact that no one wears a fucking jacket in Miami, nighttime or not—but I’d rather not have a weapon-wielding mob girl loose in my club.
I bring her to the front of the club.
“Marco is going to kill you,” she spits. “He knows you’re here.”
I pause, looking down at her. There’s a short list of people who would’ve run to the Argentos with my name on their lips. I consider her boots, the way my hand on her arm doesn’t really faze her. She seems itching for something else to happen.
“Why did you come here?”
She glances around us, then back at me. The lights strobe off her face, and it’s almost impossible to hear her. A new DJ takes over the platform, and the beat of the song vibrates in my chest.
“Because the Argentos don’t, and I need a—”
“A safe place? No such thing exists.”
Her lips purse.
“I can take care of myself,” I say in her ear. “Go home.”
She shakes out of my grip and turns for the door. Thanks to her warning, I half expect the Argentos to burst in here with their guns blazing. They don’t, and the night carries on. People dance around me.
I almost laugh at the irony of it: Luca was just saying how I should join the crowd. Yet even as the music moves through me, it doesn’t loosen my muscles. I stand and count my security making their rounds. I’m a statue in the middle of a sea of bodies. Satisfied that everything is back to normal, I return to the upper levels. I bypass my office and head right for the roof, pulling out a small scope from my pocket.
Luca was the one who gave the all clear to head back to the city. The families all lose interest eventually, I had rationalized. I feel like an idiot, letting him sucker me back home. My stomach is lead. Every beat of my heart screams something I don’t want to acknowledge: You fell into a trap.
No, not a trap. A spiderweb.
I spend a long time staring through the scope, watching the cars roll by, the people stumbling home. Enough time to know that there isn’t a threat—yet. Tonight was a scouting mission.