Chapter 4
DAMIANO
That golden-eyed Clemenza prince has led me on quite a chase these last two days.
He’s fast. Fast and sneaky and he has something most of his brethren apparently didn’t have: survival instincts. Most Clemenzas are too busy tripping over their own egos to know when they’re in danger. Not this one. He’s quick as a rabbit and just as easily spooked.
But I was ready for him this time. Knew he’d head to the subway, dive underground in search of safety. So as soon as the damn bouncer turned away to order me a drink, I took off after the Clemenza.
I’ve been keeping tabs on him for years. The last few months, I’ve been paying Giuliano eyes and ears around the city to tip me off on any sightings. Then I stepped up my own personal surveillance, as the Clemenzas began to dwindle in number.
And recently, to piss me off even more, the remaining Clemenza Loyalists have been looking for him, too.
I don’t plan to let anyone get to Caligula Clemenza before I do. Not to kill him. And not to crown him, either.
I pause at the bottom of the station stairs and look around. The fluorescent lights of the subway station flicker a little, but they’re bright enough. I just don’t see him. My golden-eyed ghost.
He’s here. I fucking know it. And the train schedule shows the next one is overdue, which means he hasn’t escaped. Not yet. He’s hiding somewhere. Watching me from the shadows, heart pounding, breath fast.
Maybe I should’ve stayed in the shadows myself for a few more weeks, kept observing instead of intervening.
I followed him to his grandfather’s old townhouse last night and hung back as usual, cautious.
But I just couldn’t help myself when he came tearing down the street.
Some devil impulse made me step out and grab him.
I wanted to see him up close at last. Touch him. Smell his fear.
Good thing I did, too, since he was being tailed.
I move deeper into the station. A woman talks loudly and drunkenly into her phone, voice echoing around the tiled walls.
A business type stands stiffly at the opposite end, briefcase clutched like a weapon as he stares at me warily.
Behind me, another couple descends the stairs, heading home from what must have been a romantic dinner, based on how they can’t stop making eyes at each other.
The rumble of an approaching train vibrates through the platform, heralded by a rush of warm, stale air from the tunnel.
It pulls to a halt, the doors open, and the woman on the phone and the businessman get on.
The couple stumbles to a seat by the window, where they start eating each other’s faces.
And then I see him.
Not my golden-eyed prey, but another hunter.
A bulky figure in a dark hoodie pulled low over his face, heading fast toward the far end of the platform. He circles around, head turning this way and that, then turns to walk back, frustration in the stomp of his feet.
My gut tells me it’s the same guy from last night. He’s hunting the Clemenza. How fucking dare he…
The train is going to close up and go any second now.
A flash of bright hair catches my eye. A slim figure in a dark coat emerges from behind a pillar, darting toward the train.
The Clemenza. Even in this lighting, he’s pretty.
Pretty like a poisonous snake, I remind myself.
My fellow hunter has spotted him too, moving forward to cut him off before he can reach the train. I’m too far away to stop him physically, so I do the only thing I can.
“Hey!” I holler.
The hooded figure freezes for a split second, long enough for the Clemenza to slip onto the train and the door to slide shut with a definitive hiss. I run down the platform, but the thug is already backing up. He swivels sharply and bolts for the far exit.
He’s not what I’m interested in, anyway. Not right now.
I pull up and lock eyes with the Clemenza through the grimy window. He glances toward the exit where the hooded figure disappeared, then back to me, a tiny crease furrowing his smooth brow as the cogs in his head turn.
That’s the third time I’ve saved him. Once from losing those expensive teeth to concrete. Once from Jesse Foster.
And once from what I assume was an assassin.
I raise a hand in a mocking salute. You’re welcome. A small smile lifts his mouth, transforming him from pretty to a certified heartbreaker. He gives a slight, regal nod.
Nobody smiles at me usually, or not like that. People smile at me the way they might smile at a pet pit bull. Carefully, hoping I won’t bite. So much for my previous assumptions. This Clemenza is the same as the rest: no self-preservation instincts at all.
The train accelerates, carrying him away from me, leaving me staring at an advertisement for some bullshit meditation app promising inner peace. There’s only one way I’ll ever get peace.
And for just a second, something in the way the fluorescent lights flicker overhead dredges up that old, dreaded memory.
I’m thirteen again, on my knees on the kitchen floor, and the person I’m staring at is leaving me too.
A different golden-eyed Clemenza is standing over us both, drenched in blood.
I evaporate the rest of that memory before it can finish. I never let it finish, keep it buried so deep it would take a jackhammer to reach it. I shake it off and take the stairs back up into the cold night, the Clemenza’s smile still burning in my brain.