13. Camilla
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CAMILLA
I stare up at the ten-story walk-up that looks like it probably should have been demolished a decade ago before looking back to Crew.
“We still own this place?” Bishop asks, his voice as uncertain as I feel. I can’t say I’ve ever ventured into this part of the city, but from the maps spread on my father’s home office wall, I’m almost certain this is no man’s land.
There are a few corners of the city that none of the five families claimed when the Syndicate was formed for whatever reason, and while some have become neutral territory, others have been left to waste away, like the block we’ve found ourselves on.
We’re in Brooklyn, or at least I’m pretty sure we are. I napped on the drive over as the painkillers Elias gave me made me drowsier than I cared to admit at the time, so I can’t be totally sure where we are.
“Where is here exactly?” I ask, shucking the sling Elias demanded I wear, but it’s already annoying the hell out of me, and it’s only been an hour.
“Welcome to where we grew up, love.” Bishop takes my good hand and drags me up the steps and to the steel door. There’s a glass panel that someone has tried to break, the shattered glass barely holding on. To my right is a panel of apartment numbers, but Crew steps past us and unlocks the door with a key I didn’t notice him pull out.
None of us say a word as we trudge up flight after flight of stairs, once again reminding me how out of shape I’ve gotten. The second we’re back at the compound, I’m getting back into the gym.
By the time we reach the top floor, I can’t even pretend I’m not out of breath, and Crew is a little sluggish. He shouldn’t even be out of bed, but try telling him that.
He steps ahead of the rest of us and unlocks the door at the end of the hallway, stepping aside so we can each enter the small apartment.
I dart my eyes over the space, intrigued to see where the men of the Legion lived before they took their place at the top of the food chain.
The apartment is clean, almost too clean, considering no one has lived here in years. There’s a small table to the left, with a tiny but functional kitchen beyond that, and on the right is a sectional couch with two doors on the other side of it. One I assume is a bedroom, and the other a bathroom.
“You all lived here?” I ask before I can catch the question.
Thick arms wrap around my middle, and I settle back against Kovu’s body. “Sure did, Little Lamb. It’s a far cry from the compound, huh?”
I nod against his chest. It must have been quite the adjustment for them going from a one-bedroom apartment to that huge building that I still haven’t seen all of even after two months with them.
Crew locks the door and steps past us, settling into one of the wooden chairs around the table. “I kept this place off our books, just in case. No one knows about it, but it didn’t feel right to get rid of the place.”
I watch as Bishop and Kaos each look around the familiar space, and I try to imagine them here as kids. A mini version of Bishop with intense green eyes playing with a pile of old blocks, while Kaos’s dark eyes watch. He’s a couple of years older than his cousin, and I can imagine he took that role very seriously when it came to keeping him safe.
A small smile tugs at my lips when I think about Kovu walking in for the first time. I don’t know much about his childhood, only that Crew adopted him when he was twelve, and his life before that was traumatic.
“Are you sure it’s safe here?” Bishop asks.
“It’s as good as we’re going to get right now.”
I yawn and nestle further into Kovu’s chest. I’m wedged between him and Bishop, their bodies surrounding me in the only bed in the apartment, while Crew is on the couch and Kaos took an air mattress that seemed to materialize out of nowhere.
The bed isn’t nearly as comfortable as the one at the compound, but I’ve come to realize that it doesn’t matter where I am, as long as I’m with them, I’m at ease.
I carefully slip from between them, breathing a sigh of relief when neither of them wakes up as my bare feet hit the cold linoleum floor.
As quietly as I can manage, I sneak into the bathroom and do my business before leaning on the small sink to attempt to process everything that has happened over the last few weeks. It’s been a lot, and I have a feeling it’s all going to hit me at once when I’m least expecting it.
I hug Kaos’s shirt tighter. It’s fucking huge on me, dropping around my knees and making me feel tiny, but it’s comfortable and it still smells faintly of his cologne, so I’m going to squirrel it away and hope he doesn’t notice it’s missing. Or at least pretend like Kovu does.
When I emerge from the bathroom, I find Kaos on a mostly deflated air mattress, his huge body pressed against the wall, while Crew is curled up with his face pressed into the couch.
I spot my phone charging in the kitchen, so I quickly move across the tiny apartment in the hopes I can snap a few quick photos to hold over them.
But when I pick up my phone, there are so many notifications I all but forget about photographing the amusing scene I’ve woken up to.
I have a few texts from Luca updating me about things within the business he’s been overseeing while I’ve been off. He’s going to be a great second-in-command given his extensive knowledge of the business as well as his complete lack of interest in being the boss. If push came to shove and something happened to me, I have little doubt that he would step up and continue my family’s legacy, but he’s not going to overthrow me for it, which is more than a lot of the leaders in this city can say.
I shoot back a few responses and promise to call him later, before moving on to the rest of the texts. There aren’t many people that have this number, but apparently they all need me at once.
I click into a thread with a number I don’t recognize, and my brows furrow at the attached video. It’s pretty much drummed into us as teenagers not to click on links or attachments we don’t recognize, but in my line of work, it could be something important, so I don’t have a choice.
Before I can second-guess myself, I click into the video. I drag my bottom lip between my teeth as I focus on the small screen, trying to get a gauge of what’s happening in the scene that’s been sent to me.
Is that the De Marco mansion? I ask myself as I bring my phone closer to my face to get a better look.
It’s only a few more seconds before I realize it is in fact my family’s home. Why would someone be sending me security footage from my own house?
Well, it used to be my house. Now it’s an empty mansion with more ghosts than happy memories. I’ve been thinking about what I want to do with the place the last few days, but every time I think about selling, all I can think about is my mother. All my memories, however few there may be, are in that house, and I can’t think of someone else’s family living there.
My dad moves past the camera, his eyes darting around his office as he searches for something, and the sight of him has my breath catching in my throat.
Dad.
I assumed the footage was new, but when I check the date and time in the corner, my breath stutters in my chest.
This is from the day he died.
The day I fled.
Dread washes over me in a debilitating wave, but I can’t tear my eyes off the screen. I’m about to see my father killed.
I swallow past the lump in my throat and blink away the tears gathering in my eyes. Perhaps I should look away. This isn’t something I should have to watch, but there’s a niggling feeling in my gut that tells me to keep watching, that someone wouldn’t have sent it to me if there wasn’t something important in this footage.
My dad looks around his office again, but it doesn’t seem as if he’s looking for anything in particular. No, it’s more like when a deer is being hunted. They know there’s a predator, but they can’t see it yet. The thought of my stoic father, the man who wasn’t afraid to teach his only daughter how to be a ruthless killer, being afraid of anything, of being someone’s prey, doesn’t sit well with me.
And yet, I keep watching.
The seconds tick by with my father sitting in his chair, a glass of his favorite whiskey in his hand, as he waits for his fate. Why didn’t he run? Why didn’t he come with me?
Because he never would have abandoned the business, even if it was his own demise.
A large figure steps in front of the camera, but his black hood conceals his identity as he prowls further into the room.
This is the man who killed my father.
Is it Knox? It wouldn’t surprise me if Charles sent his right-hand man to do his dirty work.
“Time to pay up, De Marco.” The voice rumbles through my phone speakers.
A familiar voice.
My eyes dart around the room, making sure everyone is still asleep before my attention falls back onto my phone screen.
Another figure appears in the scene, and my breath hitches.
The first person rounds my dad’s desk, dragging what appears to be a knife over the dark mahogany I spent so many hours at while he taught me everything there was to know about running a Mafia family.
It’s not until they reach his chair that they finally look toward the camera, and my entire world goes quiet. The sounds of the city outside the windows drifts away, and my breath stutters in my chest.
“Say hi to the devil for me.” Kovu grins manically as he slides what I’ve learned to be his favorite knife across my father’s throat.
I can’t breathe.
Panic beats down on me as the video ends, and I’m left staring at a blank screen.
Kovu killed my dad.
I force my eyes closed and take a deep breath into my lungs. I can fall apart later, but right now, I need to get out of here.
They played me for a fool, and I have no one to blame but myself.