5. Five Gia
Five: Gia
A week. A whole fucking week and none of these idiots had figured out who was killing my clients. Another one was dead, a bullet hole where his smug smile used to be. Whispers went through the ranks of my Cinder Crew, and they all spelled out the same damn name—Kai. My office became an interrogation chamber, each member spilling the same story with quivering lips and eyes wide with fear. Kai, Kai, fucking Kai. I needed to get this under control. Shit was starting to spiral. No Calliope meant no money from Gustav. No Fairydust meant no promise of taking over the market. Even fucking Fenrir had decided he wanted nothing to do with me because I was, and I quote “a rat bastard not worthy of licking his shoe.” As if his gambling was any better than what I wanted to build.
Scumbags. The lot of them. Leaving my chapter to wither and die, when we could build it and make Cinder Crew even stronger. But no. They wanted to see me fail. I was losing whatever loyalty I’d garnered for the simple fact that John had trusted me and it wasn’t looking like I’d be gaining it back unless I nipped this in the bud. So, I needed to make a few phone calls. Deal with a few things. Get some shit in order before I lost it all.
I leaned over my desk, palms flat against the cold surface, glaring at the latest sniveling rat before me. "Spit it out," I hissed, watching him squirm. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed, sweat beading on his forehead as it pinched together.
"K-Kai, Miss Gerald. He's been seen at the places, right before..." He trailed off, his voice barely audible. His gaze dropped to the hunting knife that I was playing with in my hands. It was my favorite one. Serrated edges that widened before coming to a nice, sharp, tapered tip. Savage and brutal, it would rip and gut him like the spineless fuck he is.
"Before they drop like flies?" I finished for him, my voice ice-cold. The rat nodded, eager to escape my gaze. I dismissed him with a flick of my hand, already plotting my hunt for the traitor. “Interesting that he’s been seen in my clubs. I’ve been there almost every day and haven’t seen him. How is he slipping past my guards? Are you in with him?”
The man’s face became pale as his eyes shifted from mine. “N-no! Gia, please! No! We would never betray you! You have to believe me. I don’t know-”
The phone rang, jarring my office into silence. I snatched it up, Peter's whiny voice scratching at my eardrum. "Gia, we've got a problem," he wheezed. "The man guarding Calliope... he offed one of mine. It's gonna cost you more now."
My grip tightened around the phone, knuckles blanching. As if I needed any more problems. One fucking headache after another. "You greedy little shit. You will not bleed me dry because your men can't handle a simple fucking job. Kidnap the girl, get paid. It’s simple shit, Peter."
"Look, Gia, if you want her, you gotta pay—" I cut him off, hurling the phone against the wall where it shattered like my patience. A feral scream tore from my throat, a raw sound that echoed through the large space. Fuck all these motherfuckers. All they wanted was to bleed me dry. To see me fall, and to bleed me dry. They didn’t give a fuck to see Arizona flourish under my rule. They’d rather Cinder Crew didn’t exist at all. Fuck them all to hell. Whirling around, I pinned the sorry excuse for a security guard under my stare before flicking my wrist, watching as he scrambled to leave before I changed my mind. I’d kill him later. It was just a matter of time. It just didn’t matter anymore. None of this did.
I needed to find Kai, to wrap my fingers around his fat fucking neck and squeeze until the light in those beady little eyes flickered out. But first, I'd make him suffer, play him like he played me, until he begged for the release of death.
Seething, I stormed out of my office, my mind a cyclone of violent fantasies. The hunt was on. Kai would learn the hard way that nobody fucked with me. Nobody. I was so goddamn tired of being underestimated. My father underestimated me. The Crew underestimated me. I had no one left in my corner. No one except for one person. And maybe John. Maybe.
I punched Damien's number into the new phone he’d so kindly bought and left here for me. Somehow it wasn’t as satisfying as if I was using my old phone. These stupid smart phones made angry calls just… flat. He picked up on the first ring, no bullshit small talk.
"Track Kai," I commanded, voice cutting through the static. He must be at the warehouse. "Everywhere he goes, I want eyes on him. Lockdown on the club – he steps one foot inside, consider it his last."
"Got it, Gia," was all he said before the line went dead. Efficient, that cousin of mine. I didn't need to see him to know he'd already set the gears in motion. Out of anyone, Damien was the one person I knew had my back. Ever since we were kids, he had always been my silent protector. When my dad beat me, Damien would step in and take it for me. He’d been more of a big brother than anything else.
Next call, John Christian. The man who thought he could wash his hands off his son's messes and leave me to clean up the blood. I dialed, my thumb pressing hard enough to break the screen.
"John," I snarled the moment he answered. "Your fucking progeny is playing games with my business. What the fuck don't I know?"
"Jesus, Gia, I—"
"Cut the crap. Were you aware? Are you in on this shit?"
"God's honest truth, I've got nothing to do with Kai's antics," he insisted.
"Listen closely, because I'll say this once and once only. If it turns out Kai has been offing my clients, I'll carve him up myself. No hesitation." My teeth clenched so tight I could taste the enamel.
There was a beat of silence, then resignation weighted his reply. "I understand. If he's crossed that line... do what you must, Gia. This is exactly why I left everything to you. My son… he’s small minded."
“And yet you raised him.”
John chuckled. “He’s more of his mother’s son, that child. Mine died alongside your father, years ago. Kai is nothing I’d be proud of. If you need him dead, you have my blessing.”
The line went dead, the last of John's words replaying in my mind. I knew he hated his son, I just didn’t realize how much. My hand dropped, phone clattering against the desk.
John and my father went way back. My father had been his right hand man. Kai had always been a momma’s boy and kept under her shield of protection, away from me, away from us. It wasn’t until my mom died and my father not long after her that John took me under his wing and then Kai’s mom lost her shit. She divorced him and moved Kai away from the mafia. I’d hardly remembered the day he began to show his face at meetings again. Kai had always been inconsequential to me. A heavy sigh pushed past my lips, and I slumped back into the chair. What a goddamn nightmare this whole shitshow was. Fuck.
I rose, bones heavy, feet dragging across the plush carpet toward where clear liquid temptation and solitude awaited. A bottle of vodka sounded like the perfect fix. Ice clinked against glass, one, two, three. Tonic fizzed, bubbles rising to the top. The first sip burned all the way down, a blaze I welcomed. I threw another back. And another. Memories surfaced. My father dying in a territory dispute, alongside John’s son. John holding me at the funeral. A vague vision of Kai in the background, his angry stare boring into me.
"Cheers, motherfucker," I muttered. "May you soon rot in hell."
The room spun, a carousel of shadows, as I stumbled toward my room, the sanctuary that promised oblivion. Fabric bunched in my fists as I dropped onto my bed, sheets twisting with each erratic step until gravity won and I fell, a heap of drunken fury.
Darkness took me under its wing, but not to peace—no, it had other plans. Heat flared behind closed eyelids, a different kind of darkness beckoning. Dante, or whoever the fuck he really was. That masked enigma who'd unraveled me, thread by thread, in a tangle of limbs and lust.
His hands were on me, rough, claiming. I could feel the press of his body, relentless, a force nature herself couldn't deny. Phantom sensations danced across my skin, lips trailing fire down my neck, teeth grazing just enough to promise pain with pleasure.
"Mine," he growled, and fuck if I didn't arch into that word, a willing captive to the promise it held.
The club's pulse had faded into nothing but us, the rhythm of bodies in motion, slick with sweat and sin. Dante's grip tightened, fingers bruising, violent in their grip. He palmed my skin, his rough calloses scraping against the smooth of my thighs.
"Harder," I hissed, nails digging into flesh, demanding more, always more. He obliged, grunts and gasps our only music as we moved, two dark souls entwined in the most primal dance.
In the dream, he took me to the edge and beyond, every thrust forceful, pained. And when I shattered, it was with his name—a secret only the shadows would keep—tumbling from my lips like a prayer to the gods of savage sinners.
But dreams are too easily snatched as the haze of overwhelming amounts of booze dragged me into a slumber no coherent thought could penetrate.