Chapter 5
Lula
I wake slowly,the taste of cotton in my mouth and a heavy soreness in my limbs. I raise my head, blinking in the hazy gray light, and the slight movement sends twinges through my core, reminding me of the hours I spent impaled on Victor’s monster dick.
All night. He fucked me with a knife handle. And then he just plain fucked me.
Scream for me,he ordered, and I did. My throat is raw from crying out. He ate me out and fucked me over and over again. And I orgasmed.
A lot.
And I want to do it again.
Victor lies beside me, tangled in the sheets. His broad body looks no less powerful now that it’s at rest, but his face is peaceful. The boyish, white-blond hair is at odds with the sculpted perfection of his face. He’s lovely, too lovely for words, an angel fallen to earth.
I’ve seen him hunt his quarry, a killer intent on his prey. I’ve seen him amused and arrogant, smirking as he alternately taunts me or commands me to obey. It was easy to hate him then. But watching him sleep, his large form denting the bed and his pale eyelashes fanned out on his cheeks, tender feelings stir inside me. What would it be like to wake up to someone like this, morning after morning, day after day?
It’s a crazy thought. I need to harden myself. To be ready to do what I must. Victor is a pawn in this game of vengeance. A means to an end. Our time is finished.
There’s no use dreaming of what might have been.
I rise silently and pad to the bathroom to do my business. The shreds of my wedding dress lie in piles on the floor. I’ll have to borrow clothes.
I touch my chest and realize my necklace is gone. Fallen off or ripped from me in the throes of passion, but I don’t have time to search for it.
I slip on the white satin heels—the only item of clothing to survive the night—and crouch to pull out my gun.
Forget Victor. I’m closer to Stephanos than I’ve ever been. Time to set the trap and close in for the kill.
Victor
I wakewith a sense of languid peace and the taste of defiled bride in my mouth. My eyes and body feel heavy, like I slept solid and haven’t moved for hours. I haven’t had a full night’s sleep in a long, long time. Maybe not since I was a baby.
The bride—Vera—banished my bad dreams.
She’s awake now, moving around in the apartment. Trying to escape? As much as I wanted to wake up with a beautiful naked woman stretched out beside me, I wanted to know what she would do if I left her to her own ends.
I didn’t expect to sleep so deeply. Perhaps I should have tied her up before succumbing to slumber.
Perhaps I will tonight. I’ve never wanted more than one night with a woman, but this one is different. She contains a puzzle I have yet to solve.
Something stabs my palm, and I open it, unsurprised to see the tiny dagger poking the muscle under my thumb. I turn it so it bisects my palm from top to bottom. I tore her necklace off while I rode her and gripped it all night while I slept.
Soft steps sound in the hallway, and I relax into the bed. She didn’t leave. I wonder at the sense of relief rushing through me. Another puzzle for me to piece together.
The door swings open, and I raise my head, ready to greet her with a smile.
The first thing to enter is the tiny barrel of a gray pistol. It’s small, delicate, and suited to Vera’s fine-boned hand. Vera appears next in an intriguing new outfit—my tan trench coat and her heels. Is she naked underneath? The sight of her inspires a whole new round of fantasies.
She’s pointing the weapon straight at my chest.
So this is what she was hiding under all that white satin. I was too obsessed with my win, too assured of my victory, to pat her down.
Are you always so well-armed?
The dagger in my fist bites my skin. I tighten my grip, unwilling to show her what I’m holding and start to sit up.
“No,” she barks, steadying the gun. “Stay there.”
“What is this?”
“You had your fun; now it’s my turn.”
I settle back on the pillows, smirking. “You had fun too, beautiful.”
She ignores this, though the faint color cresting her cheeks tells me she’s not as unaffected as she wants to be. “Don’t move. Don’t even breathe.” She reaches into the pocket of my coat and holds up a small black cell. “What’s the code?”
It’s the burner I’ve been using for this contract. I was planning on dumping it today after contacting Stephanos to ensure I received the last payment.
“You’re full of surprises.” I give her the code. She taps it in without looking.
I could rush and tackle her. I might catch a bullet, or I might not. She hasn’t proven whether she can even shoot.
But then I’ll never know what happens next.
We stare at each other, the pistol between us.
She didn’t kill me in my sleep or when I forced her into the car. She didn’t try to stop her groom’s death, either. Last night, she let me strip her down and fuck her to orgasm. Over and over.
“If you’re unhappy with my lovemaking, there’s no need to shoot me.” I relax back on the bed. “Come and let me make it up to you.”
“Shut up.” There’s no flicker of emotion on her face. I can’t see the wheels of deliberation turning inside her mind, but I know she’s trying to figure out what to do with me.
What is her endgame? No matter how things unfold, it’s clear: Vera’s the most interesting thing that’s happened to me in years.
“There are handcuffs in the side drawer—” I meant to give her an option, but she interrupts.
“Were you going to kill me?”
“Not last night. Not today. Not as long as you proved interesting.”
“Thank you for your honesty.” She nods. She’s come to a decision. “It’s nothing personal.”
Something bites me in the gut a second before my ears register the crack of a gunshot.
* * *
Lula
By the timeI make it to Three Diner, I’m limping in my high heels. Walking ten blocks from Victor’s building was enough to give me blisters.
I replayed shooting Victor the whole time. His pained grunt was the only sound to escape his gritted teeth, but his eyes drove needles of ice my way. I didn’t stay and wait for the blood to well up from the wound in his naked chest, but in my mind’s eye, the movie plays on. The rich, wine-colored stain spreads on the white sheets to the soundtrack of the big man’s labored breathing.
Victor is the first person I’ve shot, but he won’t be the last. He was a pit stop on my road to vengeance, and I’m done with him. There’s no turning back.
I’ll just have to ignore the way my body aches from the orgasms he gave me.
My destination is a long, low building on the edge of Unitatem University. It looks like a trailer and an Airstream had a baby, and the result is this silver-sided diner. The pink neon “3” sign has marked its spot for over fifty years.
I slap my palm on the door frame and walk in, Victor’s trench coat fluttering around my stocking-clad calves. I’m bare-assed underneath, like a call girl catering to her client’s specific fantasy. Only my stockings, shoes, and garter belt survived Victor’s blade, and this morning, I didn’t spend any time rifling through Victor’s drawers for clothes. I grabbed a coat and his burner phone, shot him, and left.
My aim is good—years of going to the range with my father’s men ensured that. I could’ve targeted the T-zone, the spot between the eyebrows. A bullet there means instant death. Clean and quick. Too good for a cold-blooded murderer like Victor.
But something stayed my hand.
I shot him in the stomach. Gut wounds lead to a slow and painful death. But if he can drag himself to a phone and get to a doctor in time. . . I’d put his survival rate at fifty/fifty.
I refuse to feel guilty. Victor would feel no regret about cutting me down. There’s no reason I should spare him a second thought. I only knew him for one night.
But. . . oh, what a night.
The diner is dark inside, with most of the light coming from the freezer chest to my right, illuminating racks and racks of fluffy-topped lemon meringue pies. The diner decor is straight out of the 1950s because that’s the last time this place was renovated. Faded red leather booths and metal tables line the window side. A long bar with red-topped metal stools line the other. The walls are painted teal and surprisingly clean. The air is pure eau de pomme frites. If they could bottle it into a perfume, I’d wear it every day.
“Party of one?” The waitress grabs a plastic menu without looking at me. The servers here are notoriously rude, but no customer would dare say anything about it. “Booth or bar?” She’s got the rasp of a seventy-year-old smoker, and her pink and white short-sleeved uniform shows off the dark tattoos whorling up both arms.
“Booth, please.” Just because the service here is rude doesn’t mean I get to be.
The waitress hustles away without checking to make sure that I follow. I clip-clop after her in my stupid heels. The place is empty save for an old timer at the bar who hasn’t left his spot in four decades and two workmen in a nearby booth. The two men glance up at me as I pass and instantly look away. I must have my ice-princess face back on. Either that, or they know not to look at customers of Three Diner too closely.
“Coffee?” the waitress asks, slapping the menu in front of me.
“Please. And the special, when you get a chance. Number three.”
Her fake lashes don’t flicker as I give the code. She nods at the menu and walks off.
I drum my nails on the metal table top. The scent of scrambled eggs and homestyle fries makes my mouth water, but if I eat now, I’ll fall asleep. I check the lapels of Victor’s coat to make sure it hasn’t gaped open to give those workmen a peep show.
Three Diner has three owners. I don’t know who I’ll get today. The eldest, the younger sister, or the daughter they adopted together.
In less than five minutes, a young, redheaded woman in dark glasses glides into the booth opposite me. She’s pale and tall, her arms too thin in the pink and white uniform. The waitress swings by to serve us both cups of coffee, and the young woman waits until she leaves to speak.
“Lucrezia Romano,” she says in a melodious tone. Her hair clashes with the pink in her uniform but frames her face perfectly. She’s startlingly lovely, but none of the workmen give her so much as a glance. Not that she noticed them. She’s blind under those dark, round John Lennon glasses.
“You asked for the special?” Her voice rings like a bell across a city square.
“I did,” I confirm.
“How can we help you?”
“I have an appointment today at noon. With Stephanos.”
Her lips pinch together. “My mothers told me you’ve been here before asking for his location.”
“Now I have it.” I set the burner phone Victor unlocked for me on the table. I impersonated Victor enough to get Stephanos to send over the meeting place, a restaurant on the edge of his territory. “I pay the tithe.”
“You have for some time, or so my mothers tell me. You’ve been on this quest for so long.” Her voice echoes strangely, as if we’re in a grand cathedral and not a cramped diner. “I will give you the choice now to turn back.”
I lean in. “There is no turning back. I know Stephanos murdered my mother. It’s taken me years to uncover this information, and by the time I did, my father was too old to do anything about it.”
“And your brother?”
I don’t ask how she knows about Gino. I just scoff.
She nods. “Your quest is true. We will aid you, but we require a boon.” She slides the burner phone back towards me. “Speak to your cousin. He knows you’re a frequent patron of ours. He’s been calling for you. Use the phone booth in the corner.”
I head to the phone booth and settle in. As soon as I sit down, the phone in front of me rings with a bright sound. I wince and pick it up.
“Lula.” Royal uses my family nickname. “Where are you?”
“You know where I am. I’m surprised you don’t have eyes on this place.”
“I heard about the wedding. You didn’t invite me?”
“I knew you wouldn’t approve.”
He curses in Italian, softly enough that I know his wife Leah must be just out of earshot. “This is madness,” he says. “What can I say or do to turn you back?”
“There’s nothing,” my voice chokes up. “Tell my brother that it’s over.”
“I could kill your father for putting you on this crazy quest.”
“He’s already dead.” And so am I. Royal and I both know there’s little chance I’ll come back from this. I’m going to walk into Stephanos’ lair with all the weapons I can carry.
“At least tell me your plan. I can send backup. I will support you in this.”
“No, you can’t. You don’t have enough men.” Our family is still reeling from the stupid moves his father made. “And we still don’t know who the mole is.” While he was in charge, Royal’s father had gone so far as to make deals with Stephanos. We did our best to sever the relationship, but now and again, shipments would go missing.
“Whoever it is will run to Stephanos and warn him as soon as you give the word about our plan.”
Royal curses.
I’m right, and he knows it.
“Lula, per l’amor di Dio?—”
Instead of hanging up, I place the phone down, letting Royal continue to try to convince the empty booth not to walk into the lion’s den alone.
Royal will never forgive me for what I’m about to do. But it won’t matter because I’ll be dead.
Something clicks, and a secret panel opens in front of my legs, offering a black briefcase. I lean down and take it. It’s heavier than it looks, but I steel my arm and carry it out of the phone booth.
The redhead is waiting. “Follow me.” She leads me back through the kitchen, past two stocky, short-order cooks with tattoo sleeves. The scent of French fries and fried meat is strongest here, and the air has an oily thickness to it that makes it feel like grease is coating my skin.
Near the back door, a white-haired woman with a red bandana wrapped around her head sits hunched over a big silver bowl, peeling potatoes. A mountain of brown peels is piled next to her. My guide stops in front of her. We both wait in respectful silence for the old woman to raise her head.
“Madonna,” I murmur.
“Oh no, not me,” the old woman cackles and nods to the far side of the kitchen, where a tall woman stands, Viking-blonde hair with threads of gray streaking through it pulled back, stirring a large pot of soup. “That would be that one. And I see you’ve met our young one. I’m the other.”
“It is an honor.” I bow my head.
The old woman narrows her eyes. “I knew your mother. Her name was Vera, was it not?”
“Yes.”
“You seek the truth, and you seek her. May you find both in the end.” She pats my cheek with a clawed hand.
The young red-headed woman leads me out the back door, where a discreet black car is waiting. A burly man in dark glasses sits in the driver’s seat.
“He will drop you off,” she tells me, the dark glasses turned to my face. I imagine her blind eyes underneath, big and wide and unblinking as an owl’s.
“Thank you,” I say.
“Consider services rendered,” she intones in that high-priestess voice. “Your tithe will be terminated at the end of the day.”
I don’t bother to tell her there’s no point, that I’ve left a significant portion of my will to the diner and the three women who run it.
My mother was the one who first took me to Three Diner when I was little. I sat in the booth and swung my legs, too short to reach the floor. I drank a milkshake as my mother spoke in whispers, first to the tattooed waitress and then to the Viking-blonde woman who came out of the back with the scent of fry oil. She never told me why we were there. To this day, I don’t know. But I’ll never forget what she told me.
“The diner is a place for women who need help.”
It gives me hope to know the diner will be there for women in need long after I am gone.
Once I’m safe in the backseat of the car, I give the driver the address of our destination. The car glides a few feet and turns onto the main road. As the diner’s dark neon sign disappears in the rearview mirror, I balance the briefcase on my legs and open it.
The weapons are packed in the foam like jewels, black and sleek and deadly. A fully loaded Sig 320 with a suppressor underneath. Extra bullets for my P365. A holster for both. And a small silver tube that turns out to be lipstick in my favorite dark red shade.
By the time we reach the rundown restaurant where Stephanos holds court, I’m fully armed, the Sig 320 deep in the pocket of the trench coat, my P365 strapped to my thigh, and a fresh coat of war paint on my lips.
“Cut through here,” I order, and the driver obeys, taking a sharp turn down an alley that’s barely an inch wider than our car. I hold my breath as if that will help us squeeze through. We reach the street, and he stops the car.
“Fates be with you,” he says.
I slide out of the car, tightening the belt of Victor’s coat so it’s secure around me, and march past the dumpsters to the restaurant where Stephanos waits. As I get closer, I slow my steps, letting my hips roll suggestively under my coat. The chilly air licks up my bare legs as I find a side door and slip inside.
Inside, dust motes dance in the air. The restaurant is dim and filled with faded decor and the stench of stale cigarettes. There are stains on the carpet that make me shudder to think of the state of the kitchens. The cooks and workers are too busy banging pots and pans and cursing to notice me. I float to the front and into the heart of the restaurant, past stacked chairs and an empty hostess stand.
The place isn’t open yet and probably doesn’t do much business besides host Stephanos’ business meetings and launder his money. He has a bunch of these places in his territory and moves between them constantly. His paranoia keeps him alive. It certainly kept me from tracking him down sooner and putting a bullet between his eyes.
There’s a light on in the back of the restaurant, and the sound of muttered voices filters out as I approach it. Two big men with unshaven chins stand guard outside a back room. They turn in unison and still as they clock me. Twin cigarettes flare in the shadows.
“Can I help yous, sweetheart?”
“I’m here about a birthday surprise?” I keep my voice low and purring, with a slight Jersey Shore accent. I pose, putting my weight on my left leg, the one with my small Sig Sauer strapped to my thigh, and let my right one peek out of the coat, flashing my knee and garter strap. Both men’s eyes snap down. I toss back my hair and part the top of the coat enough to give them a glimpse of the swell of my breasts without compromising the tight belt around my waist. I lick my lips and flutter my lashes.
Sexy call girl, that’s me.
“C’mere.” One of the men crooks his finger, and I sway towards him.
If he pats me down, I’ll have to shoot him in the gut and make a run for it. I let his eyes crawl over me for one long minute.
He just pats my bottom. “Have fun in there.” He smirks.
I let my lips curve up. “Maybe I’ll find you when I’m done.” I wink and sashay past him, down the hall towards the room towards the murmur of male voices. My heartbeat booms in my ears.
There’s an emergency exit at the end of the hall. I could glide down and escape through it, walk a few blocks away, and call Royal for backup. He’d come and help me, and in the end, he’d take me home.
Instead, I take a deep breath and turn into the larger room. It’s a room within a room, with booths lining four low walls to form a smaller square with a dark corridor around the perimeter for waitresses to scurry back and forth. At the back wall, a group of men sit along one long table. Cigar smoke hangs heavy in the air, even though it’s still morning.
“He’s late. The fuck,” someone, probably Stephanos, is muttering. “Bruno, go call him.”
A giant with a shaved head—Bruno—rises obediently. A minute earlier, Bruno would be sitting, blinking sleepily into his tiny white espresso cup. A few minutes later, he’d be out of the room, and I’d have had a clear shot.
Instead, his big, shaven head snaps up, eyes fastening on me. Instead of a call girl, he sees what I actually am: a threat. Years of instinct kick in. “Oi!” he shouts.
I let my coat fall open, and for a blissful second, every man’s eyes freeze on my naked breasts long enough for me to draw the gun in my pocket and crack off a shot.
I aim for the man who gave Bruno the order. The only clear photos of my nemesis are from a few years ago. But this has to be Stephanos, mean-eyed, squat, and ugly, with a few thin gray hairs clinging to his balding scalp.
My first shot clips his shoulder. He bellows, and I’m already aiming for his heart. But it doesn’t matter because Bruno flips the table.
Cups and saucers go flying, men bellow, and wood splinters around me. I duck into one of the booths and return fire.
Bullets whizz around me. The two men who were supposed to be guarding the door run in, guns drawn to eliminate the threat, and get mowed down in the crossfire. One does a grisly dance in front of me, blasted on both sides by my Sig and friendly fire.
Bodies slump between us. More men are running, fleeing to save their own skin. It doesn’t matter.
Somewhere behind the shield of a heavy restaurant table, Stephanos is on the floor, groaning. This is my chance to end him, and it’s slipping away from me.
I grab a chair to cover me and dart to a closer booth.
Bruno rises, howling, with a gun in either hand. I cringe away from the double barrels. He fires, and I dive behind one of the low walls. Something bites my thigh. Pain blasts up my leg and recedes to nothing, numbed by adrenaline.
Smoke fills the dingy restaurant. The gunfire cracks, so close and loud I might as well be deaf.
Through the screen of gray air and muffled sounds, I return fire until the Sig is out. I should’ve asked the diner ladies for an assault rifle. Ears ringing, I grab my backup out of its holster, but in the time it takes to do so, Bruno grabs his boss and drags him off the floor. They’re gone, disappearing behind the opposite wall. I could chase them all the way to the front of the restaurant, but Bruno will take his last stand there, and I’ll probably have to shoot my way through his rallied troops while Stephanos jumps into a getaway car and makes his cowardly escape.
The smoke is clearing. The floor is littered with black mounds of dead mobsters in dark suits. One of them gurgles, and the stench of blood and shit stains the air.
I rise and dash past the far wall. No one shoots. No one stops me. But I’m sobbing as I hit the emergency door and emerge into the bright day, trying not to think of how, for the second time in twenty-four hours, my plan for vengeance is bleeding out on the floor.