Savage Prince (DeSantis Mafia Book 2)

by S. Massery

  Shit, this is going to cost a lot to replace until our insurance kicks in.

  “And before you go blaming it on my family, we have no interest in your construction business,” she adds.

  I scoff.

  She just huffs and flips open the magazine again, staring at advertisements.

  I return my attention to Sam. “The medical examiner wants me to come down there?”

  He nods, and I glance at Gemma. I was going to take her with me wherever I went, but that… that might be too much. For all I know, her cousin’s body will be on a slab next to the customs officer.

  That’s a breakdown I don’t want to deal with.

  “Call Cat,” I order. “She’s on babysitting duty. Strict babysitting duty.” God, what a headache. She betrayed my trust when she took Gemma around my family—even if none of them seemed to piece together who she is.

  Sooner or later, they’ll find out. Especially after today’s trap.

  My family will be furious with the lives we lost. Kai West got too close—slipped under our radar because I was too busy watching the story Gemma was in, waiting to see if Colin would show up. My fault.

  But they won’t blame me—they’ll blame her.

  Fifteen minutes later, Cat and Gemma are seated at the table. I stand at the head of it. They both seem subdued, although it could just be an act on Cat’s part. Sam wouldn’t have told her what I did to her. She’s good at reading a room, though. Sam must’ve talked to her about the card game—how stupid it was for her to endanger Gemma like that.

  “You’re on thin ice,” I inform her. “Do not leave my apartment. Don’t let anyone except Sam or me in. Don’t talk to anyone—”

  “I get it,” Cat says. “Isolation. How long will you be gone?”

  I meet Sam’s eyes, then turn back at the girls. “I’ll be back tonight.”

  She nods.

  Gemma won’t look at me—and I can only imagine it’s for a variety of reasons. Annoyance climbs up my throat, and I pinch her chin. I force her head up, and her gaze follows a beat later.

  I lean down and kiss her. Not just for the display, but because I want Sam and Cat to know that I’m serious. Gemma clawed her way into my heart, and I’ll do whatever is necessary to keep her safe. Including killing her own cousin for his foolish actions.

  She’s frozen for a moment, and then she unlocks. What was meant to be a quick thing quickly derails. Her lips on mine is like a static shock, and I deepen the kiss. She tilts her head, accepting it—or so I think.

  My fingers are still on her chin, dictating her movements, and I slide my other hand around the back of her neck.

  Her teeth catch my lower lip, and she bites me hard. The metallic tang of blood fills my mouth, and I groan. Fuck, that hurts. But I press harder against her lips, unwilling to let her win. She makes a noise of frustration, but I have her caught. I nip her own lip in return, then pull away.

  I smirk and press my thumb to my lip. It comes away smeared in blood, and satisfaction explodes in my chest.

  She can’t look at me, but her face is tomato-red.

  I grin.

  “Well.” Cat fans herself. “Is it hot in here?”

  “Shut up,” Gemma mutters.

  I can’t keep the smirk off my face on the way out the door.

  12

  Gemma

  “We’re not staying cooped up all night,” Cat announces. “And you’re going to tell me what the hell happened today.”

  I sigh. “I’m not really in the mood. Not to talk, and definitely not to go out.”

  Not after Kai. God, I can still see his open eyes staring at nothing. It makes me wonder if he knew it was going to happen. He had pity for me, and it must’ve been because I didn’t see it coming.

  There was no way he was going to walk away from the DeSantises alive.

  My mind keeps going back to the handful of seconds before Aiden shot him. I had been so fucking naïve. Hopeful, even, that things would be okay. For a West to survive a DeSantis…

  I’m the only one who ever managed it.

  And it wasn’t like Aiden was trying to kill me. I was his hostage for an afternoon. A dumb girl who didn’t realize she was being used as a ransom.

  I keep running through that day—I’ve done this for three years, trying to figure it out. We went to the pier. We ate ice cream. He took a discreet picture at some point, which was used against my parents. Proof that I was a hostage.

  It was just the first in a long line of fucked-up things our parents did in the name of war.

  I go into the kitchen and climb up on the counter, pushing aside the spices on the top shelf of one of the cabinets to locate the tequila. I take a peek to make sure the burner phone is still there, and to my relief, it is.

  I don’t know why I assumed Aiden was aware I’d found it.

  But once he realizes we put a dent in the tequila, he’ll definitely know I located his hiding spot. I tuck it into my bra. With the bottle in my grasp, I hop down and show Cat.

  “Liquid courage?” She appraises me for a moment, then gives me a sly grin. “I’m sure he has shot glasses around here.”

  “No need.” I twist the cap off and take a swig. The room-temperature liquor burns its way down my throat.

  “Wasn’t expecting that. You okay?”

  “Not in the slightest.”

  She nods and takes the bottle, mimicking my movement. She grimaces. “I don’t know how you can drink this straight. Wonder if he has limes? Or margarita mix?”

  Miraculously, he does have a lone lime in a bowl of other citruses. She cuts it into wedges, and I slide up on the counter beside her. She passes the tequila back. Getting drunk isn’t really what I was intending, but it suddenly seems like it might make the day more manageable.

  Let’s not discuss the idea that we’re using alcohol as a coping mechanism.

  She waits until I’m three swigs in to ask me what happened. And this time, I don’t resist—but I do, for a moment, consider how this might affect her.

  “My cousin was killed,” I say. By Aiden. “At the mall.”

  Cat gasps. “Oh my god, Gemma.” She squeezes my hand. “I… I don’t even know what to say to that. I’m so sorry.”

  I swipe at my nose. “It’s not your fault.”

  She sighs. “Obviously, but it’s still traumatic. Were you close?”

  “He grew up with us.” I turn my attention to my nails. “Practically lived with us over the summers, and especially when Colin got older…”

  They’d do jobs together. Patrol or security gigs when we were moving sensitive material. I wasn’t privy to more than that, although I pieced it together. They both carried guns and practiced hand-to-hand fighting in our summer home’s basement. They pulled me into it a few times, taught me to grapple, but my parents put an end to that.

  There were better things I could be doing with my time. Learning the piano, to play blindfolded, or singing lessons. Horseback riding. Puzzles.

  In hindsight, I should’ve begged for at least the tools of self-defense. Better practice with a firearm, no matter how small. Something to not feel like this. Guilty. Helpless.

  “He was at the mall?” Cat asks. “Did you see him?”

  I jerk my head to the side. I don’t want to tell her that it happened two feet in front of me. “No, I didn’t. I didn’t know he was there until after. I just… Aunt Mary is going to be devastated. The whole family is.” I cover my mouth. “How can I go back to them?”

  She squeezes my knee. “It isn’t your fault.”

  It is.

  “This is war,” she continues. “Casualties happen—no matter how sad. I think both of our families are equipped to deal with it.”

  I inch out of her grasp, taking the tequila bottle with me. It doesn’t even burn as I take another mouthful. “I would’ve just appreciated the sympathy, you know.”

  She frowns. “It was meant to be a comfort.”

  “What, that because they were at
the mall, he deserved to die?” I narrow my eyes. “That’s fucked-up. I wasn’t raised around this sort of violence—were you? Is that how your childhood as a DeSantis went?”

  She winces. “All I know is that I was shopping, then there was gunfire. And then some sort of explosion. It felt like war. I was scared, and I count my blessings that my brother was already tracking me down when it started. Weren’t you terrified? You were alone.”

  “Aiden found me,” I say. “I wasn’t alone for long.”

  I wasn’t scared until I saw my cousin forced to his knees. I wasn’t terrified until Aiden dug his finger into Kai’s wound. And the hope in me—that I’d ever be able to coexist with these people—died the moment Kai did.

  “My brother, your cousin, they’re soldiers in a war—”

  I shake my head sharply. “I understand who he is. Was. That doesn’t mean I can forget. Or be okay with it. It’s death, Cat. It fucking sucks, and I just want one last chance to talk to him.”

  Her gaze follows me to the door, and I yank it open.

  “Please leave.”

  She blows out a breath. “Okay.”

  She doesn’t look at me on her way out, and I slam the door behind her. The noise jolts me, even though I expected it. For the first time since Kai’s death, I’m alone. And my body can’t seem to decide what to do first—cry or scream.

  I fall to my knees in front of the door. I set down the bottle and tip my head back, but the noise gets lodged in my throat. I can’t seem to make any noise now that I’m on my own.

  After a few moments, my chest burning, I stagger to my feet and grab the tequila. I pat my chest, reassuring myself the phone is still pressed against my skin, and lace my boots tighter. Cat was right: I can’t stay cooped up here. Hanging out with her is off the table, and I can’t breathe. It’s like the dose of fresh air I got this afternoon just reminded me how much I miss it.

  I can’t tell if I’m more pissed or upset that Cat doesn’t understand, and loneliness strikes me. I know why I’m here—I know my intentions. But it’s really fucking hard to hold on to that when Aiden killed Kai in front of me. I miss my family. I miss the normalcy, my friendships. There was a never-ending stream of family in and out of our home—first the Brooklyn one, then Manhattan when we relocated. They were headquarters as much as home. But now I’m here and I don’t know how to handle it.

  This isn’t how to calm down the war. My intentions have gone unnoticed by both sides.

  But unfortunately—or maybe it’s fortune on my side—the tequila has hit me, disintegrating my reservations.

  I hunt through the kitchen until I find duct tape, then open the apartment door and peer into the hallway. I prop it open with my foot and carefully tape over the door latch.

  I don’t have a key—why would Prince Aiden have deigned to give me one? And I want to be able to get back inside when I’m ready. He said he’d be back tonight, and I should probably be safely tucked away before he realizes I’m gone.

  Once I’m sure the door will open under pressure alone, I amble toward the stairwell. I go up instead of down, and maybe that’s just to convince myself that I don’t want to actually escape. There’s a little plaque with the floor level—twenty-four—and an arrow pointing up. Roof access, it says underneath the numbers. Cat mentioned the roof, but I had put it out of my head. Easy to do when we consider how my night ended.

  I climb what feels like fifteen more stories before the stairwell narrows, and I shove the door open. I slip my shoe off and block the door, just in case, and gasp.

  It isn’t just a roof. It’s a mini paradise.

  There’s a pool lit from within, lounge chairs spaced around it. A section of tables with umbrellas—now closed—in the corner. A bar against a far wall. The railing around the edge of the building is just glass, giving an unobstructed view of the surrounding buildings. A warm breeze sweeps over me, tugging at my blonde hair. I take a deep breath, and the fresh hint of rain fills my lungs.

  My voice is still stuck in my throat, so I take another sip of the tequila and kick off my other shoe. I’m glad I opted for a black bralette under the dress. Dark panties. I pull the dress off and set it on top of my shoe, along with the phone.

  The world tilts a bit, and I sit heavily on the ledge of the pool. I drop my feet in the water, and it’s surprisingly warm. I reach back and fumble for the cell, flipping it open and powering it on. My body tingles.

  There aren’t any contacts. Nothing on the phone at all, actually.

  I dial by memory and wait.

  “What?” a gruff voice snaps.

  “It’s me.” My voice is hoarse, and I don’t know why. It’s not like I was screaming.

  “Gemma?” There’s background noise, loud for a moment, then it silences. My brother sighs into the phone. “My god, are you okay?”

  Tears threaten to erupt, and I can’t breathe around the lump in my throat.

  I swallow a few times. “Yeah, I just… he didn’t hurt me, if that’s what you thought.”

  “You saw that bastard shoot Kai in the face,” he growls. “He fucking made you watch.”

  I sit up straight. “Did you see it?”

  “No, I just… heard.”

  The tequila is messing with my brain.

  “Do you want to come home?” he asks. “Because we will storm the castle and bring you back. I promise you that. Just say—”

  “Shut up, boy,” my father’s voice cuts him off. “Give me the phone.”

  My stomach flips.

  “Gemma,” Dad says. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m alive,” I say bitterly.

  “We recovered Kai’s body after they left,” he tells me. He’s never opened up about family business before. For years, I’ve gained my knowledge from eavesdropping. Opportunities. This is different. His whole tone is different. “Do you know if he said anything?”

  I grit my teeth. Even to him, Kai’s death is transactional.

  “He didn’t in front of me,” I say. “But Aiden didn’t question him, either.”

  My father grunts.

  “Are you having a funeral?” I blurt out. “I want to be there. Please.”

  I imagine them in the den, toasting Kai’s life. Or maybe at one of the bars to accommodate more people. Funerals and celebrations of life are part of the job—that’s what my brother used to say. We both had to attend as Lawrence West’s children. Most often, neither of us were familiar with the person who’d died. Distant cousins, men brought into the family. People who controlled the periphery, sometimes. It didn’t matter. They were mourned the same way.

  Colin or Kai would always stick close to me, keeping my hand in theirs. As I got older, I realized it was because they didn’t fully trust anyone. And it was never long before the room dissolved into drunk adults.

  Mom’s funeral was like that. Grand but hushed. It wasn’t until later, at the restaurant down the street from our Manhattan home, that people broke loose. The stories stuck with me, reiterating that she was a good person. No one made me leave early from that, and everyone stayed quiet about the eighteen-year-old getting drunk at the bar.

  Kai’s will be the same, and I’m desperate to be part of it. To share my stories, tell my family how much Colin and I loved him. To salute his life and reminisce after burying him.

  But Dad clears his throat, and my stomach twists.

  “You’re a soldier now, Gemma. You were the moment you volunteered.” To be the bait, is what he doesn’t tack on. “We’re having a funeral, yes. One I doubt you’ll attend. You’re behind enemy lines, kid. I know this was tough—it was a poorly executed plan by my son.” This is pointed at Colin. “Don’t show them anything. But if you do, let it be anger.”

  I brush at my cheeks. My fingers come away wet.

  He makes sense. I can’t afford to be a wreck in front of the enemy. I clear my throat to speak—to agree, disagree, I’m not sure what will come out of my mouth.

  “We’ve talked too long on
an open line,” he finally says. “Be strong.”

  The call drops.

  I stare down at it in shock. He just hung up on me. And the weight of being the sacrifice slams into me. I let out a small huff, as if the force of realization is a real punch to my gut, and curl over myself. I focus on my ragged breaths.

  Something shifts inside me. If I can’t go to Kai’s funeral, if I can’t pay my respects, then I’ll just… do it now. Here.

  There are planters around the edge of the space, overflowing with flowers. I didn’t notice them before, but I hoist myself up and go to one. I snatch flowers out, filling my grip with a makeshift bouquet. I circle the area, plucking random blooms. At one, I shove the now-off phone into the soil.

  I don’t know if it’ll survive the weather, or being watered, but I can’t be found with it.

  Once I’m satisfied with the amount of flowers, I go back to my seat at the pool and drop my legs in. I toss the flowers into the water, one at a time, and then slide in after them.

  I slip under the water, releasing most of the air in my lungs so I sink faster. My heels hit the smooth bottom first, then my ass. I open my eyes and look up.

  It’s the first time I’ve looked up since I walked outside.

  The floating flowers block out the moon. They’re shadows dancing on the gentle waves. I wrap my arms around my knees and open my mouth, shrieking out the rest of my air. It hits my ears in a muffled way, but it still hurts. Everything hurts.

  A little piece of me died along with my cousin. It was my first taste of violent death. Never mind Wilder DeSantis’s death. Or my mother in the hospital, either.

  I shoot to the surface, breaking through my little tribute to Kai, and tread in the center of the pool. I heave in big gulps of air, then finally roll onto my back and let the water hold me. My chest still feels tight. At one point, I swim to the edge and retrieve the tequila. I lift myself half out of the water, up on one elbow.