La Famiglia
Dante
Ididn’t know where I was going. I just drove. I had to get away, regain some semblance of control.
Her tears… Fuck, I hated seeing her cry.
Why that would bother me so much, I had no idea. I didn’t care when people cried. Hell, I usually made them cry. But Evelyn had spirit. She was strong, and I respected that.
She’d been through a lot, and I’d seen her absorb it all and adapt like few people could. I knew hardship. I’d been through it, and I’d inflicted it on others. I’d seen that delicate chin rise to each challenge thrown at her. She hadn’t cowered, she hadn’t submitted to her fear.
Until now.
My hands clenched the wheel as the open road stretched out in front of me. It slayed me that she was broken. By those fuckers. If anyone was going to break her, it should be me.
I vowed revenge on Los Santos Rotos, on Malakov, on anyone who tried to use her or her gallery again.
I thought about the ambush, about my men, about the millions of dollars we’d lost, and I stepped on the gas, pushing the SUV as fast as I dared, not caring about the speed limit.
There weren’t many other vehicles on this stretch of road, not at this time.
And those there were, I overtook without even noticing.
It wasn’t about the money. I got it now. They wanted to ruin us. They wanted our supply route, our network, and the gallery. They wanted to get rid of the middlemen—us—and stake their own claim.
But it was never gonna happen. Not on my watch.
And not through Evelyn.
Jesus, that kiss. I’d gone in hard, wanting to erase her fear. Show her that she was under my protection now. Safe.
But instead, I’d almost lost it.
I’d kissed her too hard. Wanted her too much. The way she’d responded, the way she’d melted against my mouth and given herself to me… it had nearly undone me. I’d tasted hot tears and desire, and something previously unthinkable had happened to me.
Suddenly, I’d wanted to protect her, to hold her and tell her everything was all going to be all right.
What the fuck?
On either side of the SUV, the trees passed by in a meaningless blur.
That wasn’t me. In fact, it was so far from me that I couldn’t understand it.
A deeper, more worrying thought struck me. I’d always known the woman was a witch, but if she ever discovered the effect she had on me…
Or if anyone else did…
Fuck. It would be game over.
I hissed out a long breath.
In my family, feelings symbolized weakness, and weakness could be exploited. Evelyn Cruz made me vulnerable, and that was the last thing I wanted to be.
I had to get a grip. I needed to take a step back and regain some fucking self-control.
Dammit.
I slammed my hand onto the wheel. I was a Marcelli. I interrogated our enemies without batting an eyelid. I brought traitors to their knees.
Yet one kiss from her, my tragic Ophelia, and I was adrift, questioning everything. Her guilt, my decisions. My fucking life choices.
It couldn’t stand. Wouldn’t stand. Because I wasn’t going to let it.
I forced myself to breathe and focused on the empty road ahead. City lights danced in the distance, faint little fireflies calling to me. Urging me to keep going, to put her behind me.
I was just about done berating myself when my phone rang. I pressed the answer button on the dash and my brother’s voice came through the speakers. “Dante?”
“Yeah.”
“Where are you?”
“Driving. What’s up?” I wasn’t in the mood to shoot the breeze, but somehow I didn’t think that was why Nico was calling.
“You know your snitch, Alberto?”
“Yeah.”
Some snitch he turned out to be. He’d dropped Evelyn in the shit. Directed my attention to her when in fact she had nothing to do with anything. I could have just let her be… oblivious to our activities.
But then she’d be dead, I reminded myself grimly. Tension coiled in my chest anew.
“The cops just pulled him out of the East River.”
Shit.
I took my foot off the gas.
“You serious?”
“Deadly.” He snorted at his little pun. I didn’t. “Marco’s tapping his police consultant for more information, but right now there’s nothing definitive.”
Marco, the successful businessman and public face of the Marcelli family, and my older brother. The firstborn and heir to the Marcelli syndicate, if my mother ever relinquished control.
The “consultant” wouldn’t be anything official. A bent cop who wasn’t against supplementing his meager police salary with Marcelli backhanders. It was petty cash for us, and meant we had an inside man on the force.
“You sure Rocco didn’t go at him?” I asked.
“It wasn’t us. Also, I checked out that story about his uncle in the Caymans. Turns out it was legit.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Sorry. He really did inherit that money.”
“Fuck,” I murmured.
“Listen, Valentina wants a sit-down.”
I sighed. Of course she did. Spotting a gas station up ahead, I changed lanes.
“Now?”
“Now. At the penthouse. Can you get here?”
“Yeah, I can be there in half an hour.” If I put my foot down, which wouldn’t be a problem in my current mood.
“See you then.”
Nico ended the call.
I slowed down and pulled into the gas station.
They hadn’t been able to find Evelyn, so they’d gone after Alberto. He was the one with access to the logistics system. As I’d originally thought, he must have been the one to give them the shipping details.
But he’d paid for it. With his life.
Everyone was there when I arrived, my mother holding court on the chaise longue, a glass of champagne in hand. As ever, she looked impeccable in a long, flowing skirt paired with a cream blazer. Her dark hair was tied up in an elegant French knot and diamond studs sparkled in her ears.
My father had given her those on one of their anniversaries. I remembered her unwrapping them in the living room, back when we lived in Brooklyn.
Nico sat beside her, slouched back, his long legs stretched out in front of him, a serious expression on his suave face. He nodded at me as I walked in.
“Always last to arrive,” Marco remarked dryly, glancing across at me.
“Like you don’t keep half the room waiting whenever you feel like it,” I shot back, annoyed by his perfectly cut charcoal suit, golf tan, and fit build. Marco was always well turned out. I’d always thought he looked more like a Wall Street shark than the future head of the Marcelli famiglia.
But that was Marco’s gift. Powerful and civilized, unlike the rest of us.
Out of all the siblings, he was the one I was least close to. Him being the eldest son and me being the youngest might have had something to do with it. That, and he’d simply refused to get into any fights with me when we were teens, despite my best efforts.
It was like he was better than everyone else. Above all that basic crap. He was the most educated out of all of us, if you didn’t count Nico’s alternative education in the nefarious corners of the internet.
I used to think Marco was a pussy, that he couldn’t fight and that’s why he avoided it. Then, I’d seen him lose it. Like really fucking lose it.
He’d almost killed a guy with his bare hands, and would have too, if Rocco—of all people—hadn’t pulled him off. The kid had been his own age, a fellow student. I didn’t know the circumstances surrounding it, but I’d never seen Marco so mad in my entire life.
So I knew he could do it, if he was provoked enough.
He just chose not to.
I’d never known anyone as tightly controlled as Marco, and that made him the most dangerous of all the Marcellis in my book.
“Don’t be mean, Marco,” my sister Isabella chided, patting the empty stool next to her. I went over to the bar, shooting her a tired smile.
My baby sister, the youngest of the Marcelli siblings. At only twenty-nine, I had five years on her. But what Izzy lacked in age and experience, she made up for in guts.
“How’s the fight circuit?” I asked, perching on it.
She smirked, the small gold hoop in her nose twinkling in the light from the chandelier. “Profitable.”
My sister ran three underground clubs across Brooklyn and Queens. Cage fights, betting tables, private poker rooms hidden behind legitimate businesses. Half the men working those circuits were scared of her, and the other half wanted to sleep with her.
Neither group made the mistake of underestimating her twice.
The only person missing was my grandfather, Leo Marcelli. At seventy-eight, he’d retired from the family business a decade ago, an act that had surprised everyone, not least our numerous enemies.
They’d thought they could take advantage of the leadership vacuum, but then my mother had stepped into his shoes and they’d very quickly changed their minds.
And that was the whole happy family.
“Let’s get down to business,” Valentina said, annoyed at our bickering. You’d think she’d be used to it by now, but then she’d never been particularly maternal. I’d found out most of what I needed to know from my father, then later my brothers. My sister had taught me a lot about women.
“What’s the status with your prisoner, Dante?” She shot me a scathing look. “We’ll talk about your little subterfuge later. There are more pressing issues at hand.”
Marco smirked and Nico grimaced at the dressing down my mother was going to give me. I wasn’t worried. I could handle her.
“Nico tells me she’s made herself very much at home at the cabin.”
I glared at my brother.
He shrugged nonchalantly.
“She’s helping us figure out who ambushed our shipment.” I tried not to sound defensive. “I was right not to take her out. She had no knowledge of any of it.”
“So I’m told,” Valentina retorted, her icy blue gaze tightening on me.
Both Nico and Izzy had her eyes, but where theirs were the color of the sky on a summer’s day, hers were glacial. Marco had that same icy expression when he was angry, although he hid it well.
I took after my father, and Leo.
“Evelyn found the discrepancies in the ledger,” I went on, proving my case. “It was her idea to check the buyer-side bidders that linked back to Los Santos Rotos. We wouldn’t have thought to do that. We don’t have her insider knowledge.”