Chapter 23 #2
Colletti’s soldier sees me and takes one step in retreat. I raise my pistol, training the barrel at the back of Joey Bones Panzeri’s head.
“Holy fuck,” Joey Bones says. “This isn’t real coke. It’s—”
I pull the trigger, and he never gets to finish his sentence, his lifeless body crumpling forward.
“It’s a fucking rat,” I say into the silence. “And that’s what happens to rats.”
I turn to Colletti, calmly wiping at the fine mist of blood spatter that rained on me when I clipped Joey Bones. “See that this mess gets cleaned up.”
Colletti nods. “You got it, boss.”
I tuck my gun away. It’s been a while since I had to take on the role of enforcer. But this was important. I had to make an example of Joey Bones. The Feds are working overtime to try to nail us with any charge that sticks. But they can never get us if our men are loyal.
“Not a fucking trace left,” I add. “Take it to Angelo. He’s expecting the delivery, and he knows what to do.”
My cousin and his crematorium are going to come in handy tonight. Because Joey Bones definitely needs disappearing. Angelo will mix the cremains with a few senior citizens, and no one will ever be the wiser.
After Colletti and his soldiers move out, Priest and I will set the warehouse on fire, and any lingering evidence will go up in flames. There’s an art to making sure a building burns down, one we learned as teenagers while Antonella Rossi was playing house with her princesses by the ocean.
I leave the stock room still covered in a fine mist of blood, the monster this world made me.
And I have zero fucking regrets. I belong in this life. It runs in my veins. It’s all I’ve ever known.
It’s also the reason I’m going to have to let Isla go.
Isla
“What time is it?” Luna asks, wineglass dangling from her left hand, which is dripping in glittering diamonds. “Does anyone know?”
We’ve been up talking half the night away with Camilla and Bianca.
Antonella, too, at first, until she announced that it was well past her bedtime and she was getting some much-needed rest. Lucky has been bouncing back and forth, on and off his various burner phones, clearly agitated and orchestrating something from afar. Or trying to.
“No clue,” Bianca says. “My phone has been confiscated.”
“Mine too,” Camilla adds.
“Same,” I say. “But I do think there’s a clock in the kitchen. Want me to check?”
“If you don’t mind?” Luna makes a face. “I’d get up, but I’m so exhausted from everything that’s happened today, I don’t think I can move.”
I get up to do the honors and realize the wine we’ve all been drinking is hitting me. Turns out, when Bianca said this place is stocked, she meant it has a whole-ass wine cellar. We’re all a bit tipsy, but what else is there to do when you’re locked in a safe house, trying to keep the panic at bay?
Luna is worried about Priest. And I’m worried about Alessio, even though I have no claim on him. The twins are still adjusting. The best way to take the edge off is with some killer pinot grigio. It’s not like we have many other options.
I make my way into the kitchen area, the tiles cold on my bare feet. Next time I’m going to be locked into a mobster safe house, I’ll remember to bring a pair of slippers. Not that I’m going to ever find myself in this situation again. Soon, I’ll be flying back home.
Where I don’t have a home.
I’ve been so caught up in the maelstrom that’s been happening around me, I’ve given little thought to where I’ll go and what I’ll do when it’s time for me to leave.
There’s nothing for me in Iowa any longer except for a storage unit.
Leaving here feels wrong in a soul-deep way that I don’t want to examine.
The clock on the microwave says it’s almost four a.m. I had no idea it was that late. And Alessio and Priest still aren’t back. The knot in my stomach grows as I head back to the living room.
“Three fifty-seven,” I announce to everyone.
“Late.” Luna sighs, her expression giving away her feelings. “I was hoping they’d have returned by now.”
Me too, but I don’t say that out loud.
“Sorry I made you get up, Is,” Luna says. “I forgot that I could have asked Basil.”
I plop back into the comfy, oversized couch, confused. “Who’s Basil?”
“You mean no one told you? Listen and learn.” She looks up at the ceiling. “Hey, Basil.”
“Yes, madam?” asks a disembodied male voice with a British accent.
“This place is bullshit,” Luna pronounces.
“Regretfully, I cannot understand your request,” responds the voice. “Please try again later.”
“What the hell was that?” I ask.
“Basil is the safe house’s virtual assistant. He adjusts the TV volume and lights, and in an emergency, he can call any of the boys for you.”
Referring to the muscled, six-foot-plus Andriani men as boys is quite the misnomer, but I don’t bother to correct her. I’m still vaguely miffed that there’s been a virtual British butler lurking in the ceiling and no one told me about him.
“This place is getting weirder by the minute,” Bianca says.
Which pretty much sums up my thoughts too.
I polish off my wine, thinking I’ll go take a hot shower to try to calm myself down. My panic is ramping up now that I officially know what time it is. The whole Basil thing was a temporary distraction, but it didn’t last long.
Where is Alessio? What if something happened to him? My mind is spinning.
Lucky comes into the living room then, his expression tense as his eyes fall on Luna. “Update—Priest and Saint are meeting with the Russians tomorrow to work out a deal. They’re staying in the city for the night.”
Relief washes over me. Alessio is safe.
For now. As long as he’s in the Mafia, he’ll never truly be safe. I hate that. How does Luna live like this, knowing the man she loves could be in grave danger at any given minute?
“You do know it’s bullshit that I had to lock my phone up in a Faraday bag before coming here, right?” Luna asks Lucky, sounding annoyed.
“It’s for your protection.”
“You have a phone,” she points out.
“I have burners. Your personal phone could have been compromised on your honeymoon at any point without us being aware of it, and if that happened, you’d lead the Bratva to our door.”
“So give me a burner, then,” she says, holding out her hand, palm up. “I need to speak with my husband.”
Lucky sighs and pulls out a phone, offering it to her. “Go for it. But if he doesn’t like it, this was your idea, not mine.”
Luna seizes the phone with a triumphant air. “Oh, he’ll like it. Or else.”
Lucky shakes his head, grinning. Everyone knows that Luna has Priest wrapped around her pinkie.
“I know it’s silly, but I really need to say good night to him,” she adds, her sassy demeanor softening.
I adore how much they love each other. It also makes me acutely aware of what I’m lacking in my own life.
“Go on.” I make a shoo gesture. “Have your phone sex. I’m going to try to get some rest.”
“We’re not going to have phone sex,” Luna protests.
“Likely story,” Bianca says with a snicker.
“Sure you’re not,” Camilla adds.
Lucky grimaces. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that.”
I pop up from the couch. “Night, everyone.”
“Goodnight,” the twins say in unison.
“There’s only one more episode of Chopped to watch,” Bianca tells her sister. “We may as well finish it up.”
Camilla lifts a half-empty bottle of wine in mock toast. “And the pinot grigio too.”
Cid looks cozy, curled up with them. Luna has already disappeared down the hall with her phone, on a mission to call Priest. I guess I’m truly on my own tonight, not even Cid to keep me company. I may as well get used to it.
“Good night, mia sorella,” Lucky tells me as he settles on the couch, turning to his half sisters. “Count me in. I love when the basket of ingredients is extra fucked up.”
I wander back to Alessio’s room, wondering what mia sorella means in Italian. If I had my phone, I’d have Googled it by now. But I don’t, so I guess I’ll have to live to wonder another day.
The bedroom has the faintest hint of Alessio’s cologne. I miss him. I want him. This is impossible. With a heavy heart, I head into the shower and try to ease my ever-mounting panic.