Chapter 28 Zarina
ZARINA
Iyank my hand off the door and clutch it to my chest. My heart batters against my ribs. Breath rips up my throat, burns in my lungs.
The groom has arrived.
Marcus Accardi is here. On the other side of this heavy, solid wood door. Moments after Father’s returned from Saint Christopher’s Cathedral and our demotion.
We’re absolutely fucked.
I scurry back to the other side of the room, pulling my robe tight around me and double-knotting the tie.
The straps of my sheathed knife scrape against my skin, hidden by the bulk of the fleece hanging past my knees.
I wish I had finished my makeup. I wish I was dressed in something devastating.
I wish Marcus Accardi wasn’t fucking here.
Father straightens in his chair, smoothing his hair as best he can. Mother doesn’t need a moment, as put together as always. She watches us, waits until I’m leaning against the desk again, champagne glass in hand, before she strides to the door and unlocks it. “Let him in.”
Pat, a silent observer as required by their station, posts up a few paces ahead of me, ready to throw themself in the way of any incoming threats. We catch each other’s eyes for a second, their blue gaze hardened into thick, impenetrable ice. They nod, and I raise my chin.
Marcus enters the room.
He’s half-dressed in his tux for the ceremony, starched white button-down tucked into black slacks. His face, already permanently hitched into cruel distaste, is clouded with rage. All those pictures I laid before him last month flicker through my brain one-by-one.
All women. All beaten. All dead.
I clench the stem of my glass tighter. Behind Marcus, Danny the Snake walks in, smiling with too many teeth. The contrast between them raises my hackles and thickens the air in the room. The fire should be dwindling with the lack of oxygen. Or exploding with the added gasoline. I don’t know which.
The door clicks shut.
“Explain,” Marcus commands.
“You already know, dear.” Mother tries to pacify with a gentle tone. I want to tell her nothing we say or do will save us from the violence gathering in Marcus’s limbs, held back for now only to burst forth at the exact right moment. “We don’t know much more than you.”
Marcus turns his glare on her, standing perfectly still. “Here’s what I know: Ricci here sold so much of his territory that he demoted himself. Which means you’re either a fucking moron, or you have a death wish.”
Father doesn’t answer, watching Marcus like a rabbit before a wolf.
“Pathetic,” Marcus spits.
Mother slinks forward, her expression plastered with supplication.
It’s so disconcerting I have to look away.
She’s never begged, never lowered herself to even think of it.
And here she is, ready to do so to keep us safe.
She rests a hand on Father’s shoulder, standing at his side. “Please, Marcus, this was a mistake—”
Marcus snorts, and behind him, Danny’s grin somehow widens further. “Which part?”
“We never meant to sell to Andrea Tamayo.” She chokes on her name like it’s being forced out of her throat by a closed fist. “This is her fault, not ours—”
Marcus backhands Mother so hard, her head whips around and her neck cracks. Father flinches. I gasp. Pat steps forward before they stop themself. And Mother stands there, turning slowly back to Marcus as her fingers find a cut in her lip from her own teeth.
“Shut the fuck up, woman,” Marcus growls. “You run your mouth just like your daughter.”
Mother’s hand shakes over the blood trickling down her chin. She lowers her head, her gaze, and steps further back behind Father. I hold myself so tight, I can feel knots forming in my neck and shoulders.
Marcus scowls down his nose at Father, all his ire landing directly on Father’s shoulders.
“Are you a man, or what, Ricci? Seems to me like you keep letting women speak for you, clean up your messes. Your wife had to broker this deal in the first place.” He scoffs, shaking his head in disdain. “And then there’s your daughter.”
I keep my haughty glare trained on his face, holding it there with all my might despite the frenetic fear pumping through my veins. Marcus raises his own to meet mine. A smirk pulls at his lips, but it’s not teasing or lilting.
It’s threatening.
“Neither of you could get her under control.” He speaks to them but holds my gaze. “I plan to break her of that habit.”
As in he still plans to marry me. My stomach drops out of my body.
“No.” Father speaks for the first time.
Marcus tilts his head, still looking at me rather than Father. “Excuse me?”
“The deal is void.” Father’s voice trembles, but for the first time since this travesty of events began, affection for him blooms in my chest. Finally, he’s doing what he should have done all along—protecting his family. He raises his eyes to meet Marcus’s. “The wedding’s off.”
“The deal is void.” Marcus chews on the words. His jaw clenches, and Father waits. He turns on his heel and paces toward Danny, who keeps that maniacal smile of his stretched wide. Pat shifts around the sitting area, closing the distance between them and the threat, slow and quiet.
Marcus returns to Father, studying him with detached interest. I furrow my brow, glare still in place, as Marcus stands still. Waiting. The fire is across the room, yet heat crawls up my skin and sweat dews over my palms as I hold my breath.
And then Marcus punches Father in the stomach.
The cry that escapes him is guttural. My hand automatically seizes, dropping my glass to the ground. Mother cowers backward. Pat barely stops themself from jumping forward.
But I don’t.
Because Marcus didn’t just land a punch. He stabbed Father and left the knife wedged in the softness of his gut.
I race to his side, kneeling beside him. My hands hover around the handle, the blade completely disappeared inside his body. Father tries to grab for it, his breath coming in great gasps, but I smack his fingers away. “Don’t! Don’t! Leave it in.”
“You don’t get to decide shit, anymore, Ricci.” Marcus speaks above me. I don’t spare him a glance as I watch Father’s face pale, sweat lining his temples and already soaking his collar.
“You think a gangster can tell a don what to do? That’s all you are now. A broke gang leader without an ounce of power to your name. Gallo.” Marcus spits at Father’s feet, the glob landing on the toe of his Italian leather shoes. “Fucking useless.”
“Please, Marcus, please,” Mother begs. I don’t spare her a look, either.
“Stop right the fuck there.” Danny aims a gun at Pat, who halts their crawling approach.
“Here’s how this is gonna go.” Marcus steps around me, almost crushing my toes, and pours himself a drink at the sideboard.
His back is turned, and I take the opportunity to wipe Father’s hair from his brow, swipe my thumb across his cheek in the smallest gesture of comfort.
“Zarina and I will marry in an hour,” Marcus continues. “Ricci will walk her down the aisle—”
“You stabbed him,” I snap.
He ignores me, standing before my wedding dress hung in the window. “And the Gallo family will hold up their end of the fucking deal. You will give us the territory you promised.”
“We don’t have it,” Father gasps.
I drop my hand to my lap, my robe parted around my knees. Danny sidles over, like he doesn’t want to be left out of the fun, and plops down on the arm of Father’s chair. I glower at him. He ignores me, that grin curling over the edge to sinister.
Marcus stalks from the windows, snow still falling in fat chunks, and back toward us.
For the rest of Louredo, this is an idyllic Christmas Day.
For us, it’s a nightmare come to life. “Then you’ll spend the rest of your pathetic life obtaining it.
And if you don’t, if you refuse, or worse—if you fail—I’ll take what’s owed from your daughter’s flesh. ”
My fist clenches over my thigh. Around the hilt of my knife.
He sips his amber drink. “At least you keep good scotch,” he muses.
Danny reaches out and wiggles the knife in Father’s gut. Father cries out, pain breaking his voice into shattered pieces.
“Fuck off.” I smack his hand away, but he snatches my wrist, yanking me to my feet.
Everything happens so fast, it seems like it’s all at once. My free hand clears my knife of its thigh sheath. As Danny pulls me to my feet, I shove the blade into the space between his jaw and Adam’s apple. Blood spurts out of his mouth. Across my face.
And somewhere else in the house, gunfire ricochets.