I yes'd him to death, then asked for my papers as Emilio ducked downstairs, coming back with a suit in a dry-cleaning bag.
I moved on frustratingly unsteady feet into the bathroom, took a two-minute shower in the minuscule enclosure, brushed my teeth, and shrugged into the suit.
Most of the other injuries from my beating had healed over in the week since I had received them. But the freshly shaved line down the side of my head and the bright red wound there were going to take a while to get used to seeing in the mirror.
It was a small problem, though.
And from the sound of things, I had big issues to deal with.
"Alright. Talk," I demanded as soon as we were half a block down from the hospital.
We should have gotten somewhere more private, but the walking wasn't feeling so great, so I was taking the opportunity to lean back against the wall, take it easy on myself.
"Your father is dead."
"What?" I hissed, feeling like someone kicked me in the chest, all my air was gone. "How?"
"Anaphylactic shock," he told me, shrugging. "His men found him when he was late for a meeting. He'd started his shower, but was on the floor dead beside it."
My father's death meant fucking chaos for the families.
Especially since I wasn't around.
"Who is trying to rise up?" I asked, following him as he led me over toward his car on the side street.
"Espositios and Lombardis are making noise. The D'Onofrios and the Morellis are being patient, waiting to hear about your condition. Like I said, though, it wasn't looking good. So the Morellis, last I heard, were ready to step in. If for no other reason, than to keep the others in place."
"Get me to the brownstone," I demanded as he pulled off into traffic. "Did you already inform everyone I woke up?"
"I got the word around to the D'Onofrios and Morellis, but I was holding off on the others."
Good.
They might have heard that, and come to pick me off on my way out of the hospital.
"My father's men?"
"Anxious, at best. I figure there are more skeletons in the closet than we realized, and everyone is shitting themselves that you will do to them what you did to Paulie."
"How the fuck did that get out?" I snapped, glaring at him.
"Don't look at me. Your father managed to spread that around before he died."
My head was spinning with all this information, with all the possible repercussions to this shift in power, to all the things I needed to do to ensure my position, to keep peace among the Five Families.
But still, it circled back to one thing.
One person.
"I need to know what happened to Giana," I told Emilio as he turned down the street toward my father's—now my—brownstone.
"I don't know," he admitted, shaking his head. "The guards panicked, called the cops. I don't know if she was let go, or if she escaped in the chaos. I talked to your father's guards. I talked to Chris. No one knows what happened. She was just gone."
"Was there blood?"
"No. No," he insisted, voice firmer. "I looked. No crime scene was cleaned up. She just wasn't there. I think she just slipped away in the chaos."
"I need to find her."
"I will get someone on it. If we can spare them."
"We will spare them," I told him, not caring if it meant I would be less protected as I made my move to take the position of power, as I plotted to become the Capo dei Capi.
"Okay. I will get someone on that. I think Chris will volunteer. Sounds like they bonded over the days when he was on guard. Your old man kicked him out. That was when all this shit went down. He has been beating himself up about it since."
"Alright. Yeah, in that case, put him on it. And Anthony. We need to open the books, get him in. I need more men I know I can count on around here. Old alliances need to be evened out. And I want Terry taken care of," I told him, thinking of my father's consigliere, a man I wouldn't trust as far as I could throw him.
"Taken down a notch, or taken care of?" Emilio asked, parking, glancing over at me.
"Fucking taken care of," I told him, opening my door, climbing out.
"Boss," Christopher greeted me, rushing forward, blocking my body at the right as Emilio moved in at my left.
I didn't love the idea of having the men I trusted most in the world literally shielding me from possible bullets, but I also had to accept that this was my life now.
I was no longer an underboss.
And being the boss meant you had bodyguards at all times, like it or not.
We rushed up the steps and into the house, most of the family gathered around.
I saw several looks around the room.
Some showed relief.
Others fear.
And still others, uncertainty.
The ones with relief were on my short list for positions closest to me.
The fearful ones needed to be interrogated.
The uncertain ones would just need to have their loyalty inspired. It shouldn't be hard considering they'd put up with my father's shitty leadership for so long.
"You," I said, pointing to several of the fearful and uncertain ones. "On the streets. Listen around. We're not worried about the Morellis or the D'Onofrios. Work any leads you have on the other families. Get it out that I am back and I am fine and I am taking my father's place. You," I went on, pointing to some of the relieved ones, thankful for their acceptance. "We need to gut this place, get all the useless shit boxed up, and get rid of it. And anything even slightly incriminating, questionable, all the weapons, everything else, we need to sort and deal with. I need to know what my father didn't make public knowledge. No surprises."
"Me?" Christopher asked, chin jerking up. "You know what your job is. Find her," I told him, giving him a hard glance, getting a nod before rushing off.
"I need ten guards here at the house. Everyone else, I need you making the rounds at our local businesses, drop in, tell them we are giving them this month off from their debts until I can meet with each of them personally to make sure the rates have all been fair. Yes, fair," I affirmed when brows pinched. "My father leaned too hard on some, and not hard enough on others. We are fixing that. But they don't need to know that. Just tell them what I said. And otherwise, business as usual. Except you now come to me with your problems. Coffee," I told Emilio as the others decided who would stay and who would hit the streets. "What did the cops and coroner say about my father?"
"Accidental consumption of peanuts. Though no one has any idea how. You know how your father was about nuts."
I did.
I never even tasted peanut butter until I was an adult. He made some rule about how the people who owed us debts couldn't touch or eat nuts the day debts were collected each month. He was anal about it. Which made sense since he had a severe allergy, and almost died twice.
Why he hadn't gotten to an epinephrine pen was beyond me.
That said, I wasn't exactly sad about it.
I saw it in his eyes as he pulled that trigger.
He meant to kill me.
He might have sent someone to finish the job had Chris not called Emilio, getting him to stand at my side night and day in that hospital.
So good riddance to bad rubbish and all of that.
"How are you feeling really?" Emilio asked as I leaned back against the counter, taking a breath.
"I have a headache. And I'm hungry. I just need to get my strength up. Another day or two, and I will feel normal again."
"Glad to hear it. I know you have been waiting for this day for a long time. Kinda sucks that you were in limbo for a good part of it instead of being able to jump right in."
"It's alright. I'll catch up.
"I know you will. You were born for this."
"How many of those guys do you think have secrets like Paulie had?" I asked, cracking my neck.
"That particular secret? I hope to fuck none. But I don't know. I guess you neve
r do. But that's why we have Brio," he declared, handing me my coffee.
"Speaking of. Where the fuck was he? I didn't see him out there?"
"I'm not sure. I know your father's guys said they saw him the night of his death, but not since. Then again, I wasn't keeping tabs on him either."
"Okay. Well, call him in. We need his particular skill set."
"On it. We have to order food in. There's nothing here to eat."
"Alright," I agreed as the house started to burst to life, everyone going into rooms, taking everything that wasn't bolted to the walls down, looking behind pictures, checking inside clocks, drawers, under loose floorboards.
Anything questionable got brought to me.
Dozens of guns of unknown origins were put up on the table to be gotten rid of. I didn't know what might have been done with them, and I didn't want my father's sins on my back. Or rap sheet.
Money was, of course, left with me to squirrel back away when no one was looking. Though everyone who was busting their ass was going to get a stack or two before they went home for the night.
I wasn't above bribing loyalty if I needed to at first. Money always has been and always will be a powerful motivator.
I had trouble sleeping those first two nights.
I wanted to say it was because there was so much to do, so many people to see, so many fires to be put out.
But in the quiet moments when no one was around to command something from me, I could admit the truth to myself.
I was having trouble sleeping because I had no idea where she was, if she was okay, if she even knew I was alive.
Christopher had made no progress.
If she had gotten away on her own accord, she had done so completely. She hadn't shown up at the bakery, at her apartment, at her father's place.
She was a ghost.
And I felt her haunting me in those quiet moments when sleep was supposed to claim me. I needed rest. Food and coffee had managed to keep me going, built my strength up, but I knew I would be for shit if I didn't get some sleep.
I had a sneaking suspicion, though, that I wouldn't get a full, restful night of sleep until I knew what became of her.
Even if that meant she had started a new life out in California and wanted absolutely nothing to do with me.
Or, at least, that was what I was telling myself.
Even though a part of me knew I needed her there at my side.
My brain flashed back to the basement, to the terror on her face. But not for herself. For me.
She gave a shit.
She cared.
She wanted me to live.
I knew that, had I not gotten shot, if I had gotten her out of that basement, even if she went back to bakery, we would be pulled back together.
Something had started there.
Something neither of us was ready to give up.
"It's done," Emilio told me first thing the next morning.
He'd taken up residence in my old childhood bedroom, staying close, and I was surprised how little I resented the intrusion.
After all the shit that had happened in the past few weeks, I was glad to have someone I could trust right there when I needed him.
We'd sworn in his little brother Anthony a day before, and he had shown his loyalty by agreeing to go out and kill my father's old consigliere, Terry.
Eighteen was young by most standards, but I had blood on my hand for the first time at seventeen. So did Emilio. This was our world. We all had to age up faster than most men.
Besides, Terry was a reasonably easy mark. Older. Slower. Arrogant enough to think he wouldn't be a target.
"Did he have anything to report?" I asked. "We should probably have him over for a drink."
"He's actually on his way over. He said he figured something out, but didn't want to talk about it on the phone."
"Wouldn't be surprised. Terry was always up to something."
"How's the head?" Milo asked, rummaging through the fridge.
"Getting better."
"Are you going to be a pain in the ass about going back to the doctor?"
"No. I was in a rush to get out of there. I have questions. Need to know when I can hit the workout equipment again. I will go stir crazy locked up in here."
We'd agreed that I needed to stay inside at least until some of the intel was in about the other families. Especially since I wasn't at one-hundred-percent yet.
"Well, at least you can finally rip all this hideous shit out," Emilio said, waving an arm out at the house in general. "We will find a crew we can trust. Have Brio breathe down their necks while they work. They will be too afraid to do anything like eavesdrop."
"Yo, Milo," one of the guards out front called in from the door. "Your brother is here."
"Yep, let him in," I called. "He doesn't need an invitation here."
With that, there were muffled voices, a door closing, and a sound I wasn't able to place right at first.
But then it hit me.
High heels on hardwood floors.
High heels?
My gaze slipped to Emilio, finding his brows drawn together too, coming to the same conclusion.
We both turned to the doorway just as Anthony and—unexpectedly—Chris moved inside, faces both mirror images of surprise and uncertainty and a small bit of eagerness.
"What?" I asked, looking between them. "Did I hear heels?" I added.
The two men shared a look then both moved to the sides of the doorway, opening it up for our other guests to walk through.
Giana.
And my mother.
My mother?
"Your lady here has been a busy woman," my mother declared into the shocked silence of the room.
I barely remembered her voice, so lost in time, having been so young when she had disappeared. It wasn't soft and warm like Giana's, but rather cool and smooth and confident. Which matched her appearance—tall, slim, dark-haired, sharp-featured, green-eyed, wearing a simple black dress and heels.
I should have felt a rush of joy, of relief, maybe even of sadness over the lost years when I thought she was dead. All I could feel right then, though, was surprise, confusion, a complete lack of understanding of what I was seeing. It overtook anything else that had been moving through my system with this new piece of shocking information.
"Someone needs to talk," I declared, barely recognizing my own voice as my gaze shifted to Giana.
The relief was like a wave through my system, knocking away the tension that had been bunched up in every muscle thanks to the uncertainty of her whereabouts, my fears about her safety.
She looked amazing.
Better than I remembered.
She didn't dress like my mother, rather wearing a pair of black jeans and a charcoal tee, her long, dark hair free.
No cuts, no bruises.
She seemed fine.
Great, even.
But there was something different, something in her eyes that hadn't been there before.
I couldn't place it at first. Until her chin raised up and her gaze leveled with me.
That was a confidence that hadn't been there before.
But what had brought about the change?
"I went to follow through with my order," Anthony supplied. "To make my bones," he added.
To kill Terry.
"But there was a problem. I was too late. Christopher was already there."
"Why were you there?" I asked, gaze moving toward him.
"Well, my job was to find Giana. And I did."
"Alright, for fuck's sake, let's stop with the dramatics," I said. "Someone give me some straight answers."
"I guess that is my place, darling," my mother said, giving me a careful smile. "Yes, Anthony was supposed to take out Terry. And, my love, I very much approve of that decision on your part. But he was too late. Someone else had already stuck a letter opener in that sneaky bastard's carotid. No," she said when my gaze went to Chris. "Your lady friend here was the one who di
d it."
"What?" my voice hissed out of me, not able to accept this reality. "How... why?"
"Yes, great questions," my mother agreed, but turned to Emilio. "Milo, sweetie," she said, giving him another of those unsure smiles. "You are all grown. Nice belt buckle, by the way," she said, shaking her head at the rooster with the word "Cocky" written under it. "Can you get me a cup of coffee? This is a long story," she said, moving forward to sit down across from me. "Don't you want to say hello to your girl, Enz?" she asked, the old nickname like a punch to the gut, realizing how many years I had missed hearing it, believing she was dead, while all along, she had been very much alive.
My gaze lifted, finding Giana's gray eyes on me, that confidence just a little shakier. My arm lifted, ushering her closer. There was a moment of hesitation, of uncertainty, before she moved across the floor, let me wrap my arm around her waist and pull her down onto my lap.
"I thought you were dead," she told me as soon as she settled.
"I almost was," I agreed, squeezing her. "What happened?"
"Well, I thought you died. And I was alone. And I would have to get myself out of that basement on my own."
"So, that's what happened. You escaped that night."
"Well, yes. And no," she told me, giving me a wobbly smile as Emilio handed my mother a coffee, and me what looked like a glass of whiskey. I had a feeling I was going to need it.
"How yes? And how no?" I asked.
"Well, I had the handcuff key you passed to me. And when Christopher was sent away by your father, I made a plan to get out through the basement window."
"You're probably the only person over ten years old who could fit through that fucking thing."
"I did. Just barely."
"But then how did you not escape?" I asked, reaching up, brushing her hair behind her ear so that I could see her face better.
"Well, I got out," she told me, nodding. "But I didn't run. There was no way to run, with the guards out front. That was the only way out. I'm not that great of a runner, for obvious reasons. So I had another idea."
"And that was?"
The Woman in the Trunk Page 19