by Kelly Wood
“Is there anything else you’d like to discuss?” I asked. It was moments like this where I wished I was able to raise one eyebrow. It was very cocky and I liked it. Humor flickered across Michael’s face. Just as quickly disappearing.
“I can see what Gray loves about you. Do you believe in nature versus nurture? You see, Gray was raised in this lifestyle and it’s in his blood. I want you to ponder that. This is who he is. You either need to be all in and commit, or all out and walk away.” Michael’s smile dropped. His eyes lost their sparkle. All feeling left his face. Standing before me was a genuine sociopath. I shivered.
“That’s enough.” Michael and I both startled at the sound of my father’s voice, the battle between us having commanded full attention from both of us.
My dad stood in the doorway, tall and proud. His salt-and-pepper beard was neatly trimmed, but his hair still stood on end. The rented tuxedo gave him a dashing, but deadly look. A little James Bond-like. I wanted to run into his arms, but I held myself back knowing it would look weak in Michael’s eyes. My dad walked toward me and put his arm across my shoulders. I snaked my arm around his waist, feeling the bulge of a gun in the small of his back. Dad’s move was strategic. Michael would never suspect the threat to come from me if the need arose. And thanks to Dad, I was a great shot. Almost as good as him.
I knew Michael was smart enough not to have any violence erupt here, though. Tonight especially. Gray would never forgive him for hurting me. I patted the gun. Feeling comfort just knowing it was there.
“I’ve heard what you had to say and I have a family of my own who’s skirted the law. Gray and I will make our lives together somewhere, but I can guarantee it won’t be here. I’m all in, with Gray. Got it? Now, excuse me, I’d like a moment with my dad.”
I gave Michael my best stony stare until he left the room.
Chapter Twenty
Franky August 1988
“You’ve lost your touch, Costa.” Milano’s gravelly voice spoke from the shadows. His gun pointed at Garrett’s chest. Franky stood silently a few feet from Bianchi. He slowly moved toward Bianchi, using his body as a shield for his boss.
“Check ‘em,” Milano spoke to his henchman.
“Running low on help these days?” Costa asked. He seemed just as relaxed as he had been in the house without a gun pointed at him.
“You thought you’d get me? Me? I’ve been running this town since before you were born.” Milano’s chin jutted out at Costa and then Bianchi. “Since you were a punk street fighter.”
“Times they are a changin’, old man,” Costa said. Bianchi’s body was tensed, poised to strike if and when the opportunity presented itself.
Milano’s man patted down Franky while keeping his eyes and his gun on Bianchi. He knew Franky wouldn’t make a move with his boss’s life in danger. Franky was relieved of his three pieces. Two were tucked away into the man’s coat. The third he held on Franky as he stepped away.
“What’s your name?” Franky asked him.
“Shut it,” the man said. He must be one of Milano’s street crew. Franky’d never seen him before. Milano was scraping the bottom of the barrel. His other men were either dead or jumped ship.
“Not much muscle left these days. Where did you find this one?” Milano didn’t acknowledge Franky’s comment. Franky hoped Milano would keep talking, giving him time to think of a way out of the situation. Franky, Costa and Bianchi outnumbered Milano and his helper but they’d been caught with their pants down. Milano held all the chips right now.
“What’d you think? You think you’d take me down?” Milano jabbed his gun at the men as he spoke. “Now who’s done? You cocky pissants, standing out here with no backup.”
“Are you positive?” Costa asked. His hands rested in his pants pockets like he was out for an evening stroll. Personally, Franky thought it was a bad practice. Hands tucked in pockets prevented swift reactions when needed. Although Franky would bet Costa was playing Milano psychologically at this point, trying to look relaxed without a care in the world.
“Yes, I’m pos’tive. We checked. I’ll take joy in killing you both myself.” Franky hoped Costa could keep him talking. Franky still had access to his knife. He couldn’t trigger the release without a swift movement of his arm, but he may be able to if he could get the right angle away from Milano’s thug.
“This is over, Charles,” Costa said. Antonio had yet to speak. Frank locked eyes with Bianchi before taking a small step forward. Franky’s movement kept his body between the thug and Bianchi, but Franky hoped Antonio understood what Franky needed him to do. Antonio may have been off the streets for years, but he kept himself in shape by boxing three days a week. Franky would choose him in a street fight any day of the week. Franky needed Bianchi’s speed and strength now.
Milano’s gaze locked on Costa’s giving Franky a chance to take another small step. One more and he’d be in position.
“Are you aware of your biggest flaw? Arrogance. You should’ve shot us from the tree line like a coward,” Costa said.
“I wanted you to know who was ending you. I wanted you to know who’ll still be on top.”
Another step.
“My point exactly. Arrogance,” Costa said while Franky pushed his wrist into his hip bone. The release made a small popping noise, but Costa’s words covered it. Franky watched Antonio and his man, but neither seemed to have noticed. “It has always been your weakness.”
“Who’s weak now?” Milano used the gun again for emphasis. Franky could see the cracks in Milano’s demeanor. Being hunted down by Bianchi and Costa had taken its toll on the old man. Milano knew he couldn’t win. Even if he killed then all, right here and now, others would fight for the chance to control the families. The first order would be to find Milano and kill him. No matter what, Milano knew his days were numbered without a network of his own. His only hope was to kill these men and hope the chaos it caused gave Milano enough time to sneak out of town and disappear. With sweat popping across his brow, Milano used his sleeve to wipe it away. He’s wasn’t in as much control as he’d wanted to project. He was scared and hoping to make one last stand. This night would make or break him. He knew he was coming to an end.
The knife slid down into Franky’s palm. He used tiny movements to wiggle it down until the hilt was in his hand. Franky kept the knife against his leg, hoping the shadows would conceal it.
Milano turned his focus to Bianchi, giving Franky a clear shot of his chest. With only six feet separating them Franky knew he could make the throw. He’d done it a thousand times in practice. Franky brought his arm up, snapping it at the elbow. The knife released from his hand and plunged into Milano’s chest. Milano fell back with a look of shock on his face. Costa was right. His arrogance never allowed him to think he’d lose the fight.
At the same time that Franky threw the knife, Bianchi stepped toward the other man. He used both hands to grab the guns, pushing the man’s arms apart. Antonio locked his hands around the man’s wrists, keeping the guns pointed over his shoulders and out of harm’s way. Any wild shots fired would miss. Antonio headbutted the guy. Blood spurted from his nose. Antonio released his hold on the guns to give a one-two punch. The man fell to the ground out cold.
Franky and Bianchi stood over the men watching. Costa leaned down over Milano. Gone was his congenial face. The wolf had shed his sheep’s clothing. His face showed his anger, his rage. No, thought Franky, not rage. His face showed his lack of any feelings at all. It showed his cunning and ruthlessness. Costa placed his finger on the end of the knife, moving it incrementally. Milano cried out with each new pain. Costa took pleasure in knowing he was causing Milano so much discomfort with nothing more than the power in his one finger.
“A lesser man would pull this knife from you and let you bleed out quickly. But, now it’s your turn. The tables have turned, Milano. I’m going to watch you die a slow, painful death. I’m going to stay right here, looking you in the eyes while you take y
our last breath. Now who’s on top?” Costa’s grin sent chills down Franky’s back.
Milano coughed, dribbling blood down his chin and reached for the knife. His arms fell back, too weak to move the few inches to his chest.
Bianchi bent over the unconscious man, picking up the man’s own gun. He pulled the trigger twice, point blank, firing into the man’s chest. He took his last breath in the next moment.
Franky watched the scene playing out before him like he would a movie. Bianchi, the bulldog, went for the straight attack. Franky realized he would always be able to see a man like Bianchi coming for him. Like his old man, Bianchi didn’t pull punches or play behind the scenes. If you were in his crosshairs, you knew it. You’d feel the tingle down your back until the deed was done.
Costa became even scarier to him at that moment. Twenty minutes ago, Franky was pushing for the families to unite. Now, he was questioning his decision. Costa would always be a snake in the grass waiting for his moment to strike. Franky would forever be on guard. Always trying to stay one step ahead. His life would be exhausting. And Franky knew, with a doubt, one day Costa would come for him, too.
It took Milano another twenty minutes to take his last breath. The twenty minutes were an eternity to Milano. And to Franky. Franky prayed the whole time that it would end. Franky had killed before. Always in self-defense. And always quickly. If a man looked like he might hang on Franky showed compassion and put another bullet in him. This was his first time watching a man die slowly. This was his first time watching another man take so much pleasure in watching one die. Costa continued to taunt Milano throughout the twenty minutes, slowly moving the knife back and forth. Sometimes, pulling it out partially only to plunge it back in.
When it was finally over, Costa rose, brushed his hands on his slacks and turned toward the house. Franky could see him pick up a phone in the kitchen. The call lasted less than a minute. When he finished, Costa returned outside.
“This will be cleaned up shortly. Due to these unforeseen circumstances, I believe our time to ponder our alliance has come to an end.” The wolf had donned his sheep’s veneer again. The cruelty had been put away to be covered in niceties. A chill ran up Franky’s spine. A cruel man Franky understood. Even a nice one, to some extent. But one who could switch between the two facades so easily? Not at all. That took a special kind of madness. Franky realized he would spend his life dancing like the women on stage that Bianchi hated watching so much.
Bianchi remained quiet throughout. After shooting the man, he leaned against his car and watched Costa torture Milano. Never speaking. Never taking his eyes off the event playing out in front of him. Franky didn’t know what Antonio was thinking, didn’t know how his boss was going to vote. Franky held his breath waiting for Antonio to decide their future. Either way, alliance or not, they would need eyes in the back of their heads for the rest of their lives.
“And then there were two.” Antonio said as he reached out his hand to shake Costa’s, sealing their fate.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Dad, do you think he’s right?”
James Harris—Dad, to me—walked over and laid his palm on my cheek. I tilted my head, pressing my face into his hand.
“I’ve always been honest with you about my past.” I looked into his eyes and nodded. “I’ve made some very poor choices. The drugs and alcohol. The women. Did I ever tell you that I even rode with a motorcycle gang for a while?”
“No,” I said.
“Come, sit with me.” Dad took down two of the stacked chairs. He placed them facing each other. Dad took my hands in his after I was seated.
“I did. We called it a club, but it was nothing more than a group of thugs. When you choose a lifestyle like that you learn quickly to read people. The eyes. It’s always in the eyes. Some are as cold as snakes. Some still have flashes of life left. Humanity. It was a tough life. Very stressful. Always watching your back for the next attack.”
“Dad, as much as I like hearing your stories, do we have time for this?”
He chuckled at my question. “Don’t worry, kid. They won’t start without you.” Dad wrapped his hand around the back of my neck and pulled me in for a kiss on the cheek. “Just listen, okay?”
“Okay.”
“The men turned on each other. Sometimes over perceived grievances only they saw. Sometimes over a woman. It was a mine field. That’s when I learned to watch the eyes. I learned to get out before the fighting would start.
“Every once in a while, a member like Michael would come along. Someone who could blend. Someone who was so deadly and volatile, you never knew when they would strike. Those are the ones to really watch out for.
“My point? Gray’s eyes have none of that. He’s kind. He may come from Michael, been raised in a club of his own, but he’s not really a member. He’s a fringe player. He’s a sheep dog to Michael’s wolf. Do you get what I’m saying?”
“I think I do. So, it’s okay to marry him?”
Dad raised a finger in warning. “If you want to. If not, well... I’ve got some cash, a credit card with your name on it, and a rental car waiting out front. You can just walk away.”
My jaw dropped open. “What about everyone else?” I asked.
“Who cares? Your stepfather and I would take care of it.” I thought long and hard about what he said. He was only wrong on one account. I had seen Gray’s eyes go cold and deadly back in Chicago. But, it wasn’t directed at me. Dad compared Gray to a sheep dog. Being on his farm, I’d seen a dog’s eyes go cold and wary before, too. Right before they had to protect the sheep. I’d seen Gray’s eyes go cold. Right before he needed to protect me.
“I want to marry him.”
“I thought you’d say that. Though, I’d prefer if you had picked someone not so connected.” Dad chuckled. “Let’s go.” Dad held his arm out for me. I laced mine through his. Love for my family flowed through me.
“Thanks, Dad.”
“By the way, you look beautiful. Hair and all.” I looked up and he winked at me.
The walk to the other room was short, but butterflies still battled in my stomach. Passion held up her cell phone so I could see the screen. Peyton’s face filled the window along with her two girls. My brother-in-law peeked in from over Peyton’s head. My nieces blew me kisses.
Passion opened the door and my heart exploded. Small, round tables held photographs of Gray and I over the years, telling our story. The tables created a walkway with the guests standing on the other side of them. Gray’s parents and siblings stood to the right along with Frank and a woman I didn’t know. My side had my parents, Grams, and Liam, Jax’s boyfriend. Feeling overwhelmed in the moment, it didn’t register that Jax wasn’t standing next to Liam.
The first photo was of Gray and I on the plane for our first trip. We’d known each for two weeks at the time and left on an adventure. Our heads were bent together, both of us smiling with excitement and newness.
Other photos showed our years of travel and the places we’d been. Rome, London, Aruba, Nicaragua, and many more. In some, we were dressed up for special occasions. In others we were sweaty with exertion while on hikes. I loved every moment shown. My favorite one was last. A shot taken a few days before at the Stratosphere. Gray had snapped a selfie of us after I jumped off the building. Our smiling faces said it all.
I pried my eyes from the pictures to look at Gray. He stood at the front with my best friend Jax. I craned my neck to see Passion. “Jax is here.” I laughed at the obviousness of the statement I made.
“Shh.” Passion waved one hand for me to turn back around while she held the phone up in the other. I followed her order and turned back to the guests.
Mary Francis looked pained as I neared her. Michael gave me a nod. He smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. Gray’s brother and sister looked bored and put out that they had to attend. His sister looked at her nails while his brother tried to discreetly check his phone. I moved on and put them out of my
mind. I was here for Gray and only Gray.
I refused to look at my side, knowing the tears would overflow if I saw my family and friends with happy tears streaking down their faces.
Gray’s eyes never left mine. Every time I looked back at him, his were locked on my face. His smile reached his eyes. The gray color was warm and inviting without a hint of deception. I let go of my dad’s arm to reach for Gray. My future. My dad let me go after whispering in my ear, “I love you, kid.”
My stepdad, a part-time minister, stood up front ready to marry us. Passion really had thought of everything. I got to have both of my Dads involved in giving me away. The tears started to leak out. Gray wiped them away with his thumbs.
I smiled up at him. Every cell in my body was ready for this moment. Gray pulled me to him and kissed me. My stepdad cleared his throat while everyone else laughed.
The ceremony passed in a blur. It was over almost as quickly as it had begun. I couldn’t describe what was said or if I cried more later. I only remembered Gray, and my feelings. Happiness. Love. Joy. Contentment. They all rolled into one. I forgot about Gray’s family and what they did. I forgot about my hair. I forgot that not all of my siblings could be there. I wished they were, but it wasn’t what mattered. I held onto Gray’s hands with my own. He was my lifeline. My love. My husband.
After it was said and done, Gray picked me up and swung me around. While everyone else clapped and cheered, my heart exploded.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Passion and Gray planned a lovely dinner after the service. I thought the meal was wonderful. I assumed it was since my mother was now in the kitchen pounding the chef with questions. I didn’t remember any of it. Not a bite. The whole meal passed in a blur of activity. Waiters running back and forth, toasts being made, forks tinkling against champagne glasses. I remembered the feeling of the evening, but not the details.