by Selena
“No more,” Vince says, snatching it from my hand and tossing it onto the floor without even taking the shot first. What a waste of good alcohol.
I try to get another shot, but he steps between me and the bar, blocking my way. Even sober, I wouldn’t be able to fight this buffoon. He’s a giant, all muscles and tattoos and flinty eyes.
Instead of backing down, I grab a barstool and climb on. Vince makes a grab at me, but I’m already stepping onto the bar in my Manolo’s. I reach down and grab a bottle of liquor from behind the bar.
“Eliza,” Vince barks. “Get down!”
My friends scream and cheer me on, their voices urging me to go harder, to be bigger, to live larger. To grab life by the balls and ride it hard. I stand and thrust the bottle into the air, raising my arms above my head in a symbol of victory. My head swims in the noisy bar, my voice dancing with the crystals in the chandeliers overhead, echoing off the mirrors on the ceiling. I shake the bottle and scream at the world, “You can take my drink, but you can never take my freedom!”
three
King
At the head of a long, mahogany table stands one of the most dangerous men in New York. Around it sits a group of stone-faced men ranging in age from eighteen to eighty. They’re all armed, all staring at me. But I am not afraid. I’m solid, my muscles made of steel, my blood of ice.
“This is King Dolce, my great nephew, and he’s going to make a fine soldier,” Al says, laying a hand on my shoulder. I can feel the strength in that hand even though he applies no pressure. I can feel the ability to take lives, to make calls that take lives. Al Valenti might as well be a god, and I carry his blood. I’ve always been proud to call myself a Dolce, but this time, I have a reason to feel pride. This man didn’t promise a son or daughter to be paid as a debt for a loan he took twenty years ago. This man didn’t take loans to get where he is. He spilled blood.
I stand tall, swelling a little just standing beside the legendary don. His blood runs through my veins. Al Fucking Valenti. I will make him proud. I will make him trust me, need me. I will become more than a made guy, more than a soldier. One day, I’ll be a fucking god like him.
I don’t waver. My voice is sure, my resolve strong. I take the oath of omerta. The code of silence. The vow to see no evil, hear no evil, speak no evil. To take care of our own business and ourselves, and not bring in outsiders. We don’t need them. We have each other.
I spill my blood for them. It’s an honor.
I walk out of the room with my head held high. This is my life now. Forever. There’s only one way out once you’ve taken the oath.
I’m confident in my path.
We entered through a back door at the bottom of a set of concrete steps. The door led into a below-ground conference room where the group gathered. Al dismisses them, and we step out of the room into a hallway. We pass a game room with tables for pool, foosball, and ping-pong. Another room with a theater set up. A few closed doors remain, but Al isn’t giving me a tour. He leads me upstairs, and I find myself in a house—his house, I assume.
We enter a study that smells of leather and scotch and cigars. Al takes a seat behind a heavy walnut desk. The walls are lined with shelves of leather-bound books that remind me more of a professor’s office than a mafia boss’s.
Al gestures for me to sit, so I do. I expected bodyguards and servants, but it’s just us. And even though I’m sure of myself, sure of my decision, being alone with him is more intimidating than being in a room full of armed men. Al watches me, his green eyes taking in everything, as if he can read my soul and see my unworthiness.
After a minute, he pours a finger of scotch into two glasses and hands one to me. “You’re a made guy,” he says, his gaze boring into me. “How’s it feel?”
“Feels great,” I say, taking the glass. It does. I’m still a little high off the adrenaline. I’m part of a new family. One where the rules are clear, where my role is clear, where there’s no waiting for inept authorities to find a sister they never find. One where I can be proud again.
Al waits, his watchful gaze making me want to squirm. I don’t, though.
“You ever shoot someone?” he asks after a minute.
“No, sir.”
“Taken a bullet?”
“Yes, sir.”
He nods, not looking surprised, though he must not have expected that. My mother assured me he knew my past. That I grew up with everything handed to me, that I went to private schools and played sports and had the world at my feet.
“Tell me about that.”
I nod, shifting in my chair and sipping the stinging liquid in my glass. “I was helping my father take down a family he didn’t like in his town,” I say. “We were torching some houses, and one of the guys came out and shot at my brothers.”
“Not you?”
“He was aiming at my brother,” I say. “I did what anyone would do.”
“You didn’t have a gun?”
“No.”
“You know how to handle one?”
“Of course.”
“If you’d had a gun, would you have used it?”
“I would have killed him,” I answer honestly. I thought I couldn’t kill a man, but when I remember that moment, I know I would have shot without thinking twice. When that asshole leveled a gun at my little brothers, there was nothing but murder in my heart.
Al pulls a set of keys from his pocket and unlocks a drawer on his desk. He opens it and hands me a gun, sleek and black and made for killing. I don’t ask where it came from or who owned it before me, don’t ask how many more are in that desk. I don’t want to know how many lives it’s taken.
“Did your father succeed in destroying the family?” Al asks.
“Yes.”
Not the way the mafia would have. He didn’t kill them all and walk away proud. He was sneakier, dirtier.
Al busies himself slicing off the tip of a cigar. I’d give a thousand bucks to know what’s on his mind, but he gives the cutter his full attention. At last, he leans back in his chair and lights the cigar, watching me again. His eyes narrow as he studies me through the smoke.
“I have a partner in mind for you,” he says.
Damn it. A babysitter, just like Ma predicted.
“Don’t worry, all the new guys get a partner,” he says. “Most of the old guys, too. Helps me know who to trust. Keeps people accountable.”
I nod. There’s no use in arguing, no reason to make him think I’m a little punk. This isn’t high school. I don’t call the shots here. I put my nose to the grindstone and obey orders and survive. After a few years, I’ll have proven myself, and I’ll start working my way up. Al doesn’t have sons. Maybe someday, I’ll be sitting in his seat. There are probably a dozen guys with more years, more experience than me already eyeing that seat, though. I’m not ready for it, and if I put myself in the race, I’ll just get myself killed. I’m not going to shoot myself into the position. I respect Al already. If I end up in line for his position, it’ll be when he puts me there.
“I’ve got an assignment in mind for you as well,” Al says, pushing the cigar cutter toward me and handing me a cigar. “It’s a big one.”
Adrenaline spikes inside me. I didn’t expect to be making a hit on my first job.
This guy doesn’t waste any time.
That’s fine, though. I like his direct approach. If he wants to test me right off the bat, I can respect that. Besides, the sooner he tests me, the sooner I can prove myself.
“Yes, sir,” I say, carefully slicing off the end of the cigar. “I’m ready.”
I light the cigar and take little puffs to get it started. It tastes like ass.
“The five families are always at war with each other,” Al says, settling back in his chair. “This is the closest to a peace we’ve had between the five in a decade. There’s just one holdout.”
I nod, waiting.
“The Valentis and the Pomponios have been killing each other for ten ye
ars,” he says. “We’re both sick of it. We’re ready for an alliance. We just need a symbolic union, a signature in blood, a gesture of goodwill between us.”
I nod again, waiting with a cigar in one hand and a scotch in the other. I can sense it coming. He’s going to ask me to kill someone from another family, a Pomponio’s enemy. The enemy of my friend is my enemy, after all.
“Mr. Pomponio has offered his daughter,” Al says,
I stare at him for a second, the implications of his words not quite sinking in. Instead, my mind races through the facts, laying them out as carefully as my analytical little brother would. I’ve always tried to keep up with the five families, but the Valentis are the ones I studied most closely. I wrack my brain for what I know about the Pomponios. I know more about the men, the mafia side.
Anthony Pomponio’s son was killed about ten years ago. His only daughter is a notorious tabloid-courting socialite my sister would have known more about than I do. She would have studied her fashion choices, her misdeeds recounted in the gossip rags. But whatever she knew about Eliza Pomponio, it can’t help me. I know next to nothing.
“To be frank, I think he expected me to take her for myself,” Al says when I don’t respond. “But I promised to love one woman forever, and I intend to take that promise to the grave.”
I nod again, muttering an apology for his loss. Everyone knows Al’s wife died a few years back.
Al continues without acknowledging my condolences. “Not to mention she’s a more suitable age for you. What do I need with a wild eighteen-year-old?”
My chest begins to tighten as I become aware of the guillotine of his words hanging over my head. What do I need with a wild eighteen-year-old? I’d rather kill a man. I was in charge of protecting one girl in my life, and she wound up at the bottom of the ocean somewhere, her body never found. I’m sure as shit not keen on repeating that mistake.
“Sir,” I begin. “I’m honored you’d consider me for such an important assignment as establishing peace between our families. But I’m not sure I’m the man for the job. I expected you to have me take down an enemy.”
“I know it’s a bigger job than most get in a lifetime,” Al says, his face entirely serious and even sympathetic. “A hit takes a little planning, a moment to execute. This… This assignment takes a lifetime.”
I swallow hard, the implications of his words sinking in. He expects me to be around for a lifetime. He’s not planning to use me as disposable muscle. But there’s one other option that seems more likely than him grooming me to take over.
“Is Mr. Pomponio hoping to do what you did when you married Ma off to my father?” I ask, just to clarify. “Get her out of danger, away from the Life?”
Al puffs on his cigar. “No. Eliza’s not like your mother. I like to keep the women in this family safe, get them out of danger when I can. Anthony has a different philosophy.”
He doesn’t frown, just states it matter-of-factly, but I can sense the disapproval there under the surface. He may be ready to make peace with the Pomponios, but that doesn’t mean he likes them.
“Anything I need to know about him before I marry his daughter?” I ask. “Or her?”
“Eliza’s a smart girl,” Al says. “She knows what she’s doing. And she knows more about the Life than half the men in my family.”
I know he’s not just talking blood family. This could work to my advantage, I realize. It might be nice to have a partner who knows about the Life, who can clue me in before I do something stupid without realizing mafia etiquette and get myself killed. If Al’s planning to keep me in the middle of things, I’ll need all the help I can get. Hell, just marrying her would make me indispensable for a minute, enough time to get my feet under me and prove myself. They’re not going to pick off the guy who’s supposed to make peace—at least until the peace is established.
And then there’s the matter of what this means to the Valenti family. Uncle Al could have chosen anyone, but he chose me. There’s got to be some higher ranking single guys in the family. Is he positioning me for better things than a soldier—maybe even an heir? I run through the family tree, ticking off potential heirs in my mind. He has only daughters, so no heirs there. But Ma has several male cousins, men ranging in age from late thirties to early fifties, who will all be vying for the position. There’s also one grandson a few years older than me, though you’d never know Al was a grandfather by looking at him.
He’s in his fifties, but he’s still tall and broad shouldered and intimidating as fuck. If anything, the silver streaks in his hair only make him look more formidable. Not a lot of men last that long in this profession, let alone his position. Do I want that position, that responsibility? One thing’s clear. He’s at least tossing my name in the hat with this move. A great nephew isn’t close to the throne, but by tying me so closely to the don of another family, he’s shoved me halfway to the front of the line. It’s up to me to decide what to do with that advantage.
After a pause, I nod. There was never really a choice about this. It was probably decided before I showed up at all. I know better than to argue with Al Valenti, even if his decision knocks my entire life off its axis. There’s no going back from this. There’s no out. Divorce is not an option for us, so for the rest of my life, I’m going to be tied to this rich party girl who has nothing in common with me.
Not only that, but from the moment I put a ring on the daughter of a don, my life will be a tightrope walk. I don’t just have to please Al Valenti now. I have to please Anthony Pomponio, too. Everyone in New York will be looking to me to make peace between these families.
It’s up to me to decide what to do with that advantage, too.
If I fail, I know what happens.
If I succeed… Well, it’s a pretty nice boast to be able to say you stopped a war. And hell, it’s an arranged marriage. It’s not like we have to love each other. We don’t even have to like each other. This is a business deal, nothing more. Having nothing in common will make it easy to keep things professional. Her family will recognize that, too. They don’t expect more. Her father probably just wants someone to stop her partying, which is why he thought Uncle Al would be a good choice. That should be easy enough for anyone, though. The hard part will be keeping both families happy, ending the war.
Al Valenti’s a smart man. He knew who to pick for that job. After all, I’ve always protected my family, and this is no different. Now, I have a new family. To protect them, to keep more blood from being shed, more lives from being lost, I have to end the war, bring the rival families together. If that means teaching a spoiled little mafia princess to be a wife, that’s what I’ll do. Love plays no part in the Life, and it will play no part in mine.
four
Eliza
“There’s something I’ve been meaning to talk to you about,” Dad says, tucking his napkin into his collar like the old man he is. Parents are so embarrassing.
“Okay, Daddy,” I say, smiling at him across the table. We’re at Jean-Jean, a fancy little bistro down the street from our place. Anyone walking in would think we’re alone, but I know better. At the next table, four of his men sit eating their own dinner with ears out to every conversation, eyes on every person who walks in or walks by the place. Outside, it’s a beautiful early summer day, the sun shining. Blink twice and you’d miss our driver keeping watch on the door, ready to whisk us away at the slightest sign of danger. When you’re the don of a family at war with the ruthless Valentis, you can’t be too careful.
“As you know, there comes a time when every Pomponio has a duty to fulfill,” Dad says.
“I know.”
“You’re eighteen now, but you’ll always be my little girl, Liza.”
I look up, startled by what, for him, is a downright sappy speech. Alarm bells go off in my mind, and my heart does a little stutter step.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is…
“I’m still your little girl,” I say. “I’m bar
ely eighteen.”
And sure, I’ve seen more than my fair share of blood and death, but that doesn’t mean I’m an adult, ready to take on the responsibilities of a mafia woman. All this talk of duty and growing up makes dread sink heavy into my gut. I grip the table, feeling lightheaded. I’m not ready for this.
“There’s been bad blood between us and the Valentis for too long,” Dad goes on. “It’s time we put an end to it.”
“Really?” I ask, drawing back. “You’re going to forgive them for everything they’ve done?”
“Forgive?” Dad asks, then laughs quietly and shakes his head. “We’re both ready for it to be over, that’s all. You know, it started as a turf war. But during the past ten years, the lines were clearly drawn. There’s no reason to keep fighting. They’ve got their territory and we’ve got ours. Happened naturally.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “I guess that makes sense. No reason to lose more men without cause.”
“I’m glad you understand,” he says. “We’ve all made sacrifices, sweetheart.”
I wonder if he’s thinking of Mom. I know I am. She sacrificed everything for her freedom—including us. Dad could have tracked her down and had her killed, but he didn’t. He let her go.
“I know, Daddy,” I say, reaching across the table to pat his hand. I stare down at it, surprised by how rough and wrinkled his skin feels. I can’t remember the last time I touched him. His fingers are thick and calloused, his knuckles cracked. When did he get so old?
“Now it’s time for us to make another one,” he says. “A marriage shows our good faith with the Valentis, that we’re all one family now.”
“A marriage pact?” I whisper, my blood turning to ice. Even though I knew it was coming in some part of me, I’m still horrified by the outcome of this conversation.
“Al and I agree it’s the right move.”
“Oh, now it’s Al and I?” I ask incredulously. “Like you’re good buddies who haven’t been trying to kill each other for the past decade?”