Crooked Heart (A Death So Sweet Book 2)

by Candace Wondrak

  Time seemed to crawl, until it didn’t. That’s how it always was. When you were waiting for something, it felt like you waited forever, but the few moments before everything would change, time sped up, catching up with itself. Newton took me into the backstage area, right behind a curtain. I could see nothing of the club from where I stood in the dark, the band behind me. They were ready, and once I heard Newton address the people in the audience, I’d step out of the curtain and join him in the front and center of the stage. I assumed then the curtain would open and the band would be revealed to all… and then I’d start to sing.

  I stood there, the beginnings of a smile on my face, a smile that would grow once I stepped out. The band was almost silent behind me, and soon enough we heard Newton take the microphone and start addressing the people who’d been invited tonight to get a taste of what the Gilded Rose was about.

  “Hello, ladies and gentlemen. Welcome to the Gilded Rose. I know it’s been a long time coming, but we’re finally in business, and now that we are, we aren’t going away anytime soon.” He earned some claps at that, and I couldn’t help but wonder if that was a subtle reference to the DeLuca family flexing their money and power. Newton chuckled at the applause, quickly adding, “Thank you, thank you. But we all know this wouldn’t be possible without you. Each and every one of you.”

  Newton sounded like he’d rehearsed the whole thing over and over, almost like he was reading from a script. I zoned out, needing time to speed up a bit more so we could get on with it. Enough with the ass-kissing. Let me get on that stage and sing so the night could be over with.

  I wasn’t nervous. I just wanted to get on with things. All this waiting… I’d just rather not. I’d rather not be here to begin with, but alas, I didn’t have much of a choice in that. The Lucianos wanted me here, and here I was. It sucked.

  It all fucking blew chunks was what it did.

  “I have a special surprise for you all tonight. I have had countless of acts, all auditioning to become a regular act here—so much talent, and I’m sure you’ll get to know them all eventually—but the first I want you to meet is my favorite. She’s beautiful, and she sounds like an angel. Let me introduce to you, Dolly Queen!”

  Yeah, Dolly Queen. Not my idea for a name, but it wasn’t like I could use my own, so I could thank the Lucianos for that horrible choice of a name.

  Holding my head high and my shoulders squared, I pushed out of the curtain, almost blinded by the stage lights shining down on me from above. Newton stood ten feet away, near the microphone stand that was stationed at the front curve of the stage. I moved to his side, smiling out at the patrons of this place. Men and women, but mostly men. All of them were older; I would say no one in here besides Carter and I was younger than forty.

  As I stood beside Newton, gazing out at the people lounging around in the leather chairs, smoking and drinking, I saw many of them nodding or whispering amongst themselves, immediately judging me based on my appearance.

  God. I wanted to kill them all. Each and every one of them. I wanted to cut their throats and stain the new floor in this place with their blood. I wanted to hear them gasp and gurgle for air as they choked on their own blood. Was that too much to ask?

  Yes, it apparently was, because the next thing I knew, the curtains were opening behind me and Newton was off the stage. It was just me. Me and my looks. Me and my voice. Me and the band behind me.

  This… there was no telling how this was going to go. With sudden bloodlust in my veins, it was more difficult than it should’ve been to inch closer to that microphone. I tossed one look behind me at the band, giving them a nod, and they started playing the set.

  I sang.

  I sang for these strangers who judged me, belted out song after song for this group of people I wanted so badly to slaughter. I channeled my inner Frankie as I imagined dancing from table to table, smashing glasses into skulls and taking their cigars and burning holes into their flesh with them.

  When it came to murder, my imagination was wonderfully vivid, let’s just say. I could practically smell the metal twang of blood in the air as I sang, making love to that microphone as if it could save me from all of this. It couldn’t. Nothing and no one could.

  Carter stood near the bar, watching with a serious glower on his face. He did not look thrilled to see me on that stage. He was not as good at playing the part as I was. As my manager, you’d think he would be happy I’d finally landed a long-term gig. I mean, that was the lie we were perpetuating, wasn’t it? He made no moves to try to hide the expression he wore, and his face read murderous.

  But no one was looking at Carter. No one paid any attention to the sullen, brooding man near the bar. Every single pair of eyes was on me, even as they whispered amongst themselves. How I wished I could know what they said to each other.

  My eyes scanned the club, and I didn’t see anyone who screamed I’m Carl DeLuca, head of the DeLuca crime family, poison me. I mean, sure, he might not outright ask me to poison him, but it was my imagination, so I could imagine whatever the hell I pleased.

  I’d never seen a picture of Carl, nor had I been told what to look for, how to separate him from the crowd. I didn’t know how old he was. I didn’t think Daddy Luciano was that old, since his sons were only in their twenties, and the only reason I knew that was because I lived in their fucking house. I knew nothing of the DeLucas. I’d come in here blind tonight, and I didn’t particularly like it.

  I found a man sitting by himself off to the side, sipping a clear glass of some tawny liquid. I could be staring at Carl DeLuca himself right now and not even know it. The small glass vial held between my tits might have to wait to get used; I wouldn’t go around pouring it in random people’s drinks. I had to be sure. Like, beyond one hundred percent sure.

  My setlist lasted forever, it felt like. I spent an eternity up on that stage, performing for a group of people I honestly wanted to see dead. They might be strangers to me, but that didn’t change the fact that I hated them. Hated their haughty attitudes and the way they carried themselves. Oh, I fucking loathed the way they whispered into each other’s ears, like they were talking about me. Judging me.

  People like these, they thought they were gods among men. They thought their money proved they were better than everyone else. People who wore clothes once, people who bought a new car instead of getting their old one fixed anytime there was a problem with it… they were the type of people I would’ve grown up around, the type of people I had to deal with growing up.

  None of them cared. None of them looked at me twice, even though I was fairly sure my misery was obvious when I was younger. Not a single person had lifted a finger to help me, and because of that, I hated them all. I hated these people based on the rich bastards and bitches from my past.

  My setlist was over what felt like hours later. I didn’t really sing that long, but it sure as fuck felt like it. I gave a short bow of my top half after it was said and done, while the audience gave me some applause, and then I returned backstage as the curtain closed. The band was done for the night; they started packing up as music began playing on the speakers overhead: a slow, smooth jazz.

  Of course the Gilded Rose would be open longer than my set; I’d bet anything it’d be open well into the night and early morning. People like these… they had no care at all for time, because they could make their own rules, write their own rulebook and follow it whenever they wanted.

  I stood in the darkness of the backstage area, glancing down at my gloved hands. I blinked, and suddenly my hands were free of gloves, my skin bare.

  Only it wasn’t, because both my hands were covered in blood.

  It was just a quick, fleeting sensation, my mind playing tricks on me, as it often did, but it still felt so real. It looked real. It was like I could feel the warm, wet, sticky blood between my fingers instead of the soft fabric of the elbow-length gloves.

  I must’ve looked silly standing there, staring at my hands. It was a da
mned good thing I was away from the crowd, and the only people who saw me were the band—and they didn’t give a shit about me. They carried on with their packing up, disappearing one by one until I was left utterly alone.

  Alone. But I was never truly alone, was I? How the fuck could I be alone when the memories that haunted me made me feel so suffocated and stifled?

  Always there. Always there to remind me of my past, the one thing I wanted so desperately to forget. I was not the person I should’ve become. I was not the Lola I should be, and it was all their fault. All his fault.

  All my fault.

  I let it go on for so long. I should’ve done something sooner. I should’ve tried harder, done more—

  My spiraling thoughts were interrupted by Newton, who’d come backstage wearing a smile. “Ah, there you are,” he said, flashing me his perfect teeth. When he smiled, he looked younger. A handsome enough man, I supposed. “Come. I’m sure there are plenty of people out there who are dying to meet you, dear.”

  Again with the dear. I wanted to correct him, to tell him to stop calling me that, but I swallowed it down and followed him out of the backstage area like a good little girl, like someone who was just trying to get through the night.

  When we walked out, I saw that Carter was talking to a pair of older gentlemen. His I’m going to kill you face had lessened, probably because he had to play it cool. Newton and I didn’t go toward him, though, so it left me to wonder what Carter was talking about with those two guys.

  I didn’t have much time to wonder, because soon enough, we were jumped by a woman who wore a fur scarf around her neck, shiny earrings dangling from her head. Her hair was a pretty blonde, cut short and curled at the ends. Her eyes were a dark brown, and they twinkled when she pounced on us. If I had to guess, she was in her early forties. Pretty, hardly any wrinkles on her face, though I bet that was because she wore perfectly contoured makeup.

  “Dolly Queen,” the woman spoke, offering me her hand—also gloved, though her gloves were black and short. “What an interesting name.”

  I gave her a smile, shaking her hand. “Thank you.” Not sure if I should’ve thanked her or not for that, but I was still out of it after dissociating behind the stage.

  “Newton,” she spoke, “would you mind leaving us? I’d love to chat with your newest talent for a few.” She gave Newton a smile, and Newton bowed his head before walking away, not saying a single thing.

  Hell, the least he could’ve done was introduce us, but of course not. It left me wondering just who the hell this lady was. There were no men hovering nearby, which led me to think she was alone here. I couldn’t remember if she’d been sitting with anyone during my performance or not. Now I wished I would’ve paid better attention.

  “Come sit with me, darling,” she said, turning on her heels and walking off. She wore a black dress, its lengths hugging her body tightly, a cut on the back of it just above her knees.

  I followed her to a table off to the side, away from most everyone else. It had a rounded leather seat, and she sat down, patting the space beside her. The fur around her neck fell off a shoulder, which she was quick to fix.

  “You have one of the most beautiful voices I’ve ever heard,” she went on, studying me, as if I held dozens of secrets she could decipher. “Where did Newton find you?”

  I forced out a smile, not sure how to respond to that question. If I told her we found him, it might make me seem a little desperate, and for whatever reason, I did not want this woman to think of me as desperate. There was something about her, something so refined and regal. She wasn’t hoity-toity, the kind of rich that was gaudy and ugly. No, this woman, whoever she was, reminded me of the kings and queens of centuries past, a kind of person who was not quite like the rest.

  “That’s all right, we all have our secrets,” she spoke, leaning back in the seat as she watched me. “You’re not from this city.”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Yes, but only to people like me.”

  “And who are you?”

  My question must’ve been amusing to her, for she chuckled. “All you need to know about me, Dolly Queen, is that I know everything that goes on in this city.” Her eyes squinted a bit, and she leaned closer to me, whispering, “Everything.”

  I did not know what to say to that. Maybe it was the nagging feeling in my body, but the way she spoke it, the way she currently stared at me, I wondered if this woman, somehow, someway, did know everything. If she knew that I was a spy for the Lucianos. But if that was the case, why wasn’t she running and telling? I was certain nearly every person here had a gun on them. I could very well not walk out of this club alive.

  My death was always in the cards, and even now, the threat of it hung over my head, but I didn’t want it to come. Not yet. Not now, not tonight. I wanted to go back home… to the Lucianos.

  Home. It was kind of funny, wasn’t it? They were my home now.

  “I have the feeling your addition to this club will change things,” the woman spoke.

  I could not sit quietly any longer, so I asked, “What do you mean? I’m only a singer—”

  “With a face like that, I doubt your only talent is singing. Beautiful women tend to have many talents. I was known for my own years ago,” she said, taking on a wistful tone that made me realize there was so much more to this stranger than I could possibly know. “I was forced to stop when I lost my dear sister, but talents like mine—and like yours—are eternal. They never disappear.”

  “What kind of talent did you have?” It was clear this woman was playing by her own rules, that she didn’t want to tell me who she was. A quick glance in Carter’s direction told me he was still in deep conversation with those two men, so he wasn’t looking over here. It was up to me to try to figure out just who the hell this woman was and why she felt so….

  So powerful.

  Her lips curled into a smile, and she wrinkled her nose, saying, “That is a secret, but let’s just say I used to be a royal who liked to get her hands dirty.” She gave me a wink, and then she started to slide out of the booth, standing. “Unfortunately, I have to go. Thank you for your time, Dolly Queen. I look forward to seeing you again.” With a smile and wink, she was gone, and I watched her go, wondering what that was all about.

  I did have the peculiar feeling that I would see her again, whoever she was. When she said she was a royal who liked to get her hands dirty… well, it reminded me of me, really. I was Lola Harding, not royal but an angel, and now I was an angel of death.

  I couldn’t say how long I sat there, mulling over what happened, replaying the short conversation in my head, but it was a few minutes at least, a few minutes until I was no longer alone. Newton stood near the table, extending a hand toward me.

  “Someone else wishes to meet you,” he said. “As I imagined, you are the star of the night.”

  Slowly taking his hand, I let him help me get to my feet. He did not continue holding my hand, but he did corral me away from the bar, away from the other lounges where the other patrons sat, smoking and talking. Instead, he led me to a side door, the one he’d taken Carter into when they’d discussed my hiring. I’d thought the door led right to an office, but it actually led to a stairwell.

  There was an upstairs to this place. Who knew?

  Stairs were a tricky thing in heels and a dress, but I managed. Upstairs was an office, big enough to have two walls of windows. One wall overlooked the club; I guess I never did glance up to see the dark windows there. Through the other wall’s windows, you could see outside, the street before the club and the surrounding buildings. The world had been encased in darkness, not even the moon peeking out from behind the clouds.

  The office was dark, the only light on a lamp on the desk. Newton and I, I discovered, were not alone in the room.

  A man stood near the windows that overlooked the club, his hands behind his back. He wore a suit, but from his back I could not tell who he was. Still, my heart start
ed to pound a bit harder at the possibility I was meeting the head of the DeLuca family. Why on earth he would want to meet me, a lowly singer, I had no idea.

  Still, beggars couldn’t be choosers. I did say if I met Carl DeLuca tonight, he would die.

  “Mr. DeLuca,” Newton spoke, “I’ve brought Dolly Queen for you.” Well, at least he didn’t call him dear, I supposed.

  When the man near the floor to ceiling windows turned around and I saw his aged, wizened face, I knew for a fact I stood staring at Carl DeLuca. I didn’t need an introduction. Some things you just knew. Instinct. And this man, this man who must’ve been at least sixty years old, was the target of the night.

  “Thank you,” the man spoke, his eyes glazing over me as he stared at Newton. “Bring us something to drink, will you?”

  Newton bowed his head, and then he was gone, the office door swinging shut, temporarily leaving me alone with the head of the rival family. I wondered if he’d get as pissed off as Sylvester if I called the DeLucas a gang. I mean, what the hell was the difference between a gang and a crime family? Weren’t they kind the same thing, when you got down to it?

  We stood, at least fifteen feet in between us. Neither one of us moved an inch, but we did each study one another, as if we could find out each other’s secrets. Suddenly the small glass vial between my tits seemed to weigh a ton. Could he see it? Was it noticeable? No one had said a word about what I’d tucked between my breasts all night, but maybe everyone was just trying to be polite.

  What if he came closer and glanced at my tits and saw the top of the vial? I bet he’d try to kill me. I’d fight back, but if I killed him, I doubted I’d be walking out of this club alive.

  Fuck. And Tony wanted me to poison him? How the hell was I supposed to do that and live to tell the tale? Unless… unless Tony didn’t care if I came back tonight, which hurt more than I wanted it to. If he was okay with me dying here tonight—and, by extension, Carter too—he was more callous and uncaring than I thought he was.