“Stop.” Damian’s voice bounced off the narrow hallway walls.
I liked where this was going.
He took a step forward, looking particularly menacing with the shiner Angelo had given him a couple days ago. “She’s a Vitali.” He shook his head when Laura’s hand tightened on my hair—she had a thing for him, and his defense of me had to be eating away at her ego. “Stop, Willis.”
My scalp burned, but it was worth it to see Damian defend me. I knew how he behaved at school by heart. He didn’t defend anyone. He kept to his corner and let the kids come to him, like a king, indulging his loyal subjects. This… this was everything.
Laura turned up her chin, but it wobbled, and her hands shook on my scalp before she lowered her head in submission. “Because you’re protecting her?”
“No.” Damian’s eyes flicked to me, and they speared me for all of point one seconds before he dismissed me with his gaze. “Because she’s nothing.”
And that was my cue to leave.
I swallowed my emotions, pushed my heel down onto Laura’s foot, swung an elbow backward into her stomach, and twisted away when she released my hair with a surprised yelp. Violence didn’t satisfy me, but I needed to get out of the hallway, and it was the quickest way. Plus, the De Lucas had invaded Devils Ridge. The staff would do nothing, and either way, in the eyes of the international syndicate court, my Vitali name justified any action I chose to take. I could kill Laura, and there would be no repercussions.
I didn’t bother addressing either of them as I closed my locker door, swung my book bag over my shoulder, and made my way to the library for the rest of the lunch period. About ten minutes before the bell was set to ring, Damian pulled out the chair across from the table I sat at, a worn copy of Nightmare Abbey open before me. I’d just gotten to the part where Marionetta torments Scythrop. Fitting if you asked me.
“I never took you as an anti-romance type of girl.”
I turned the page. “Was it my lack of faith in humanity that persuaded you otherwise?”
Our banter marked familiar territory, which he didn’t deserve. He’d hurt my feelings, which meant I cared, and I couldn’t care. His opinions shouldn’t have mattered to me. They were only words, and he was a pitstop, not the finish line. He hated me; I hated him. That was the familiar territory that should have superseded this weird friendship that had burgeoned between us.
“You’re mad at me.”
Did it matter? This arrangement would be over when I turned eighteen in a few weeks and could flee without legal repercussions.
“Anger would require emotions, and I don’t have any of those where you are concerned.” I cocked a brow and met his eyes.
They were so talented at guarding things. At school, he played off his dad’s onslaught of abuse well. But I saw the real him. The rage simmered on a loop, and I knew I would never figure out how to extinguish the flame. A part of me wanted to watch him self-destruct, just so I could be the one to pick up the pieces.
Some knight I was.
“Okay, I deserved that, but in my defense—”
“Those words are usually the predecessor to some lackluster excuse—almost always offensive, and one hundred percent likely to piss me off. You’re better off stopping now.”
He closed his eyes and ran a hand over his face. “I was an asshole out there, but it’s better that way.”
“Excuse me?”
“It’ll get worse if they know we’re friends. Plus, you can handle a few schoolyard bullies. I have no doubt about that, though I do doubt they can handle you.”
My lips twitched, and I knew we were both thinking about the elbow I had swung at Laura. Violence was never funny, but I couldn’t help myself. Damian’s excuse could have been as simple as a De Luca protecting one of his own. I could understand that and part ways without spending more than a few sleepless nights dwelling over it.
But here he was, in front of me, and that I didn’t understand.
“Why are you here, Damsel?”
“You have until the bell rings.” He slid something across the table to me.
I glanced down at it.
A phone.
The library had been empty when I entered, but I still checked before clutching onto the contraband device. My mouth opened and hung there, unsure of what to say in this situation. Did I thank him for the phone or toss it back at him, offended at the idea that he could buy my forgiveness?
I didn’t want to do either, so instead, I unlocked the phone, pulled up my email account, and sent the email I had drafted earlier before logging out and deleting the history. We had five minutes left until the bell rung, and I didn’t know where this left us.
It wasn’t like I thought we’d figure things out in five minutes, but not trying didn’t feel like an option. I’d meant it when I likened us to kindred souls, chasing away loneliness in each other. I didn’t want to lose that.
I only had a few weeks to go before I was old enough to leave Devils Ridge on my own. Damian shouldn’t have mattered, but he did.
“Princess?”
Oh. I’d been staring. I slid the phone to him.
He stood and pocketed the phone. “See you tonight.”
“Tonight?”
“Yeah. Tonight.” He slid the chair back under the table. “This doesn’t count as our library date.”
Date, he’d called it.
Shut up, stupid pitter-pattering heart.
It is not a shame to be deceived; but it is to stay in the deception.
Olivia
The beige leather of Damian’s Range Rover caressed my skin. Probably the only smooth thing about this car ride. My chipped nails fiddled with a stray white hair on my hoodie. Short. Coarse. Dog fur, maybe, except I obviously didn’t have a dog.
My eyes veered to the driver’s side. Damian’s hand rested on the steering wheel, his body posture casual. If it weren’t for his black eye and my frumpy attire, we’d look like a million-dollar car commercial.
I’d gotten used to his black eye. It even faded a bit. The girls in school gossiped about it. They talked in the halls about how much hotter it made him. The guys fist-bumped Damian’s shoulder whenever he passed, giving him props for the black eye as if the memory of how he’d gotten it didn’t still haunt me.
I didn’t know how people outside of school reacted, but judging by the horrified stares Damian received from the staff and faculty at Devils Ridge High, the De Luca members didn’t like the idea of Angelo beating their golden boy. It didn’t help that Damian did nothing to dispel the rumor that his father had hit him.
Once again, I examined the black eye, tried to stop the pure hatred for Angelo from consuming me, and had to confront the idea that I cared for Damian more than I’d like to admit.
“You’re staring at me again.”
I redirected my gaze, flicked the strand of dog fur from my hoodie, and stared out of the windshield. “Are you sure your dad’s driver can’t drive me to and from school?”
“The man’s appendix burst, Princess. What do you expect from him?”
“What’s the recovery time for an appendectomy again?” I could last a few days. It wasn’t the end of the world.
“A week at the very least.” His eyes cut to me.
“Keep your eyes on the road. This is precisely why Orlando should be driving me.” Definitely not because I couldn’t handle being this close to Damian.
He reached forward and turned up the air conditioner, his fingers so close to my body. “Orlando has one to three weeks of recovery left, and no amount of complaining from you will change that.” The flat voice he spoke in did little to appease me.
I shook my head, my denial weak at best. “I’m not complaining. I don’t complain.”
He braked at a stop light and returned his attention to me. “Do you have a problem with me being your ride to school?”
I paused. “Did you say three weeks?”
“Yes.” His fingers tapped the steering whe
el, and he repeated, “Do you have a problem with me being your ride to school?” His probing gaze scorched my skin.
The stop light refused to turn green.
Come on, come one, come on.
Devils Ridge had to be the worst place for me to realize I had a heart. Small town. No way out. Unhinged mafia boss. The hottest guy I’d ever met everywhere I turned. And now we’d be stuck in a car together every morning and afternoon? No way.
My teeth dug into my lower lip before I opened my mouth again. “What happened to us not being seen together?”
“Everyone in town knows Orlando is in the hospital. They’ll understand when they see you with me.”
“Did your dad put you up to this?”
He slammed on the brakes and stuck his arm in front of me to stop my body from shooting forward. His head swung to me, and his eyes scraped their way up and down my face. “Are you serious?”
I looked down at where his arm touched my chest. “Yes.”
No.
I didn’t know.
Damian shook his head. “Angelo wanted you home, and you’ve seen how he’s been hiding out all week.”
I caught the implication. Damian had made the decision to drive me to school, rather than leave me with Angelo. Considering his motives meant considering the possibility that he worried about me, which would imply he cared.
Maybe one day, I’d be able to accept that without a fight, but until then, I’d keep my guard up and trust no one with my heart.
But it was getting harder and harder to temper my feelings.
Love cannot live where there is no trust.
Edith Hamilton
The edges of my black eye faded by prom night, but the damage had been done. The regulars at The Landing Strip saw the ugly bruise, and they talked. Meanwhile, the girls helped plant seeds of doubt about Angelo’s sanity.
Coupled with the fact that he was increasingly prone to violent outbursts, even in public, word spread. Angelo had gone insane. Gone was the quiet, reserved man who ruled back when my mom lived. The De Luca curse had seized him, people whispered. Yes, my black eye had confirmed.
See, syndicates always embodied loyalty, honor, and family. Angelo had already been chipping away at these values, and rumors of him beating me pushed them over the edge. They reached a new high.
I knew Angelo knew this, because he’d been lurking around the household, eyeing me up every time he could. He stopped visiting me at night a few days ago. He stopped leaving the house a few days before that.
Which was how I knew my next task would bring him over the edge. The last push before all the dominoes fell. It was less of a task and more of a list filled with bank account info and routing numbers. The De Luca coffers.
You know what to do.
And I did.
Whether it’s the United States government, the Girl Scouts of America, Pee Wee football, or the De Luca syndicate, organizations only exist when money funds them. So, the day of prom, I drained the accounts.
Cris transferred the funds to new accounts we had set up last week when I brought him into the fold of my coup. The offshore accounts with the rerouted money belonged to holding companies I’d registered under Angelo’s name.
Thanks to offshore privacy laws, I was able to transfer the money from the offshore accounts to new accounts with no one knowing. For all they knew, Angelo still had the money in his dummy accounts.
Cris tucked the computer we bought for this away in his backpack. “I’ll have the laptop destroyed just in case they decide to track the IP address. I logged on through Angelo’s private WiFi network, so it’ll trace back to him if someone decides to go looking.”
I slid a tie around my neck. “Tomorrow, payroll will come, and our accountants will realize everything’s wiped clean. If someone looks, it will be traced to Angelo. If no one looks, either way, people won’t get paid. Those who aren’t already questioning will have his head.”
“What will you do?” He watched as I finished adjusting the tie. “Dude, are you going to prom? We just wiped nearly a billion dollars. I kinda want to go to Vegas and hit a high roller’s table.”
“First, Vegas is Rossi territory. They don’t like us.”
“No one likes us.”
“I’ll change that.” I slid my feet into my Testonis and turned to face Cris. “Second, that money is not for us.”
“I know. It’s to rebuild the syndicate once Angelo is gone. Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
People would lose money, turn against Angelo, and rally with me when I tell them I can use my home access to get the money back from Angelo.
Bye, bye, Angelo.
“Third, yes, I’m going to prom, and you should, too. We’ll both need to act like nothing is out of the ordinary. I had an extra suit dry-cleaned for you.”
Cris was adjusting his tie when he finally asked the question I’d been waiting for him to ask. “How’d you get the banking info? That shit’s locked tighter than the Pentagon.”
“If we get through this, I’ll tell you.”
Trust thyself; every heart vibrates to that iron string.
Ralph Waldo Emerson
Normal.
Two syllables. Adjective. Conforming to a standard.
Synonyms: usual, typical, or expected.
Antonym: my life.
Turning eighteen felt like it should have been a rite of passage. I didn’t feel any more or less like an adult than I had at seventeen. I didn’t celebrate my newfound adulthood with parties or friends. Heck, I’d forgotten it was my birthday until I woke up the next morning and Angelo De Luca told me eighteen was a little too old for his taste.
Maybe that was why I showed up to prom.
I wanted to feel normal, but in a town of mafiosos and their children, normalcy evaded me. Prom represented my last chance at normal high school memories. The crowded gym and paper decor screamed, “Normal!” The taffeta dresses and matching ties? Normal. Sitting at an empty table, watching other kids enjoy their senior prom? All too normal.
So, why wasn’t I happy?
Maybe I didn’t know what I wanted.
I certainly no longer wanted to be here.
I stood and headed for the hallway, grabbing a water bottle from the refreshment table on the way out. The library entrance nestled at the end of the hall welcomed me. I left the door open, so the hallway light could stream into the library, and took a seat on the floor.
I downed the water and spun the empty bottle, bored out of my mind but too stubborn to leave the only high school event I’d ever been to.
“You’re the life of the party.”
“No self-respecting woman should wish or work for the success of a party who ignores her sex. Susan B. Anthony.”
“Not the kind of party I was referring to.” He stepped closer until his feet were in my line of sight, next to the bottle.
I trailed my eyes up his body, taking in the three-piece suit he wore like he posed in a GQ feature. “No shit.”
“So, you’re in a grumpy mood, I see.” He took a seat next to me and leaned against the bookshelf behind us. “What is it about libraries?”
“Nothing is less lonely than a room full of books.” I breathed in. “And the smell. Definitely the smell.”
He reached beside him and grabbed a random book, flipping through it quicker than he could possibly read. “Why are you here?”
“Why are you here?”
“Really?”
“Do you ever feel like the only real people in this world are the ones in these books?”
“Or maybe the world we’re living in is a book, and we’re just characters.”
I rested my head against the bookcase and closed my eyes. “If that’s the case, someone is reading me, becoming me, understanding me, and maybe I’m not so lonely after all.”
He paused a beat, and the silence burrowed between us. “I’m sorry you feel lonely.”
This was getting too real.
“Why are you here, Dams
el?” I nodded in the direction of the gym. “You should be out there with your loyal subjects.”
The lopsided grin he gave me shocked my system, and the calmness I’d always prided myself on fled. “Don’t you mean your loyal subjects, Princess? You’re the Vitali.”
“I’m the Knight, and don’t change the subject. Why are you here?” I leaned forward, and I didn’t even consider why I held my breath as I waited for his answer.
“Let’s dance.”
“What?” I shook my head. “If we go out there together, we’ll break their little minds.” As far as I knew, no one knew about our friendship.
“So, we’ll dance in here.” I opened my mouth, but he cut me off. “Don’t think too hard. If you want to dance with me, dance with me. As simple as that.” He stood and turned to face me.
The second my palm pressed against his, I knew I’d made the right decision. A slow song drifted into the library, faint but enough for us to find a rhythm. My fingers gripped his shoulders as his hands slid around my waist.
I forced myself to keep breathing when he stepped forward, and my chest brushed against him. The first step we took was effortless. In sync without trying.
I rested my chin on his shoulder, and my nose brushed against his neck. I felt his Adam’s apple bob against my cheek. “Thank you.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment, and the territory we drifted into felt dangerous. Risky. Like it could either be the best decision or the worst decision I’d ever made. I was almost thankful when he said, “Don’t think too much of it,” instead of something that would tip us past the breaking point.
Maybe he saw the million questions running through my head, because he dipped me and spoke into my ear. “Tell that brain of yours to shut up and let us dance.”
“Why?”
He pulled me back up, and his grip on my waist tightened. “Because you’ll find out.”
That he cared about me.
“I already have.”
His eyes darkened as they scanned my face. We’d stopped dancing after the dip, but he still held me, and I still clutched onto his shoulders.
Renata Vitali Page 8