Chapter 1 #3
Smiling, I cross the room and stand beside him. Next to us is a table with an elegant three-tier red velvet masterpiece filled with flowers and elegant designs. It was handcrafted by our pastry chef.
“I think it’s time we all sing happy birthday to our queen.” Matteo places his arm around my shoulders. “Altogether…one…two…three.”
The crowd erupts into a chorus of Happy Birthday in a mixture of Italian and American.
Once everyone has finished the last verse, Matteo hands me the microphone. Nonna places a glass of champagne in my hand, then they walk off.
The music fades and the chatter dies.
Raising the microphone to my lips, I clear my throat.
“Buonasera, famiglia,” I begin.
All eyes lock on me.
“Thank you for coming tonight.”
Murmurs of excitement billow through the crowd as they move closer to where I stand.
Flashes from phone cameras light the room. Smiling faces stare back at me as I sweep my gaze over the crowd.
I raise the glass of champagne and face the people who have helped build this empire with me.
“Tonight is about more than my birthday,” I continue. “It’s about celebrating the legacy that my Nonno started over half a century ago. Nonno laid the foundation with his bare hands and blood. Then my father expanded the vision with loyalty and grit.”
I pause, letting the words sink in. “Then when he was taken from us too soon, I picked up the crown and continued this business through sacrifice and strategy. When I started out I was twenty-one, alone, and underestimated. But I made a vow that the Capuano name would never fade. All of you in this room have played a part in making our name both feared and respected. Together we have built an empire where no one will ever question our reign. Thank you for believing in me and trusting me. Grazie mille.”
A few people clap and others raise their glasses.
I smile and lift mine higher. “To family, loyalty, and power!”
Taking a sip, I place the glass down on the table.
Grabbing the silver server, I make a huge slice in the bottom tier. After putting my piece on a plate, the servers roll the cake into the kitchen to cut it into pieces for the guests.
I lift a forkful to my lips. I know Nonna would not approve of how big my slice is, but oh well, I don’t work out for nothing. The red velvet dances on my tongue. Delicious.
Just as I swallow and go in for another bite, all hell breaks loose.
A heavy, invisible fist slams into my side.
There is no bang.
No warning.
Just an invasive, hot force slicing me open.
I jerk forward, my grip on the porcelain snaps.
The plate clatters to the table, and the piece of cake slides off, staining the lace. The fork falls to the floor, bouncing once, twice, before lying still.
I don’t gasp.
A Boss doesn’t create a spectacle.
My hands fly to my side. The agony sweeps through me as the realization dawns on me that I’ve been shot.
Silencer…well played.
Glancing down at my hands, I gasp as my fingers are covered in blood.
My blood.
Music swells into a lively Italian folk song. People dance and laugh, oblivious to the fact that I’m bleeding.
The black velvet is a blessing. It drinks the blood greedily, hiding the evidence of my fading life in the form of a stain.
I feel the dress growing heavy, the fabric is warm as it clings to my skin.
My knees turn to water.
Gritting my teeth, I white-knuckle the edge of the table, pivoting my body to shield wetness blooming through my dress.
Stay upright, I command myself. Don’t let them see you bleed.
My vision flickers as I search the sea of suits and gowns for Bruno.
How can I get anyone’s attention without creating a scene?
“I’m so happy you cut the cake. Now I can finally get a piece.” Gigi is by my side.
“Get Bruno,” I hiss.
She looks at me. “Cipi, are you okay?”
I grip the edge of the table. My breath is caught between my teeth.
Her eyes drop to my bloodstained fingers. “You cut yourself?”
I twist my hips slightly so she can see the large wet stain making its way down my gown.
She screams. “Bruno! Come here now!”
So much for being subtle.
The crowd is startled and voices die.
Bruno is by my side within seconds while the other guards push the guests back.
“What’s wrong?” He gasps as he catches sight of my bloody hands and dress. “What the fuck?” He waves his arm and three soldiers surround me, shielding me from the crowd who now has their full attention on me.
Bruno rips off his jacket and wraps it around me. My legs can no longer hold my weight but Bruno grips one arm tightly while a guard takes the other.
“Lock down the perimeter. There’s a shooter among us. Round up the guests. No one leaves,” he snarls to Salvatore. Then he turns to Gigi. “Get your mother and meet us at the hospital.”
Gigi is frozen in place
“Now Ginevra!” Bruno turns on another soldier. “Get her to her mother safely and grab the grandmother too.” The guard takes Gigi by the arm and leads her away from me.
I try to speak, but copper fills my mouth.
Bruno is on one side of me and a soldier Emiliano is on the other as they maneuver me through the French doors that are feet from the cake table.
Bruno speaks, but I can’t hear him with the ringing in my ears.
Each step feels like I have concrete chained to my feet. I don’t know if the crowd knows I’ve been shot or what’s going on.
“Silencer…Fucking professional…when I catch the bastard he’s dead…” Bruno hisses to Emiliano.
Cool fall air hits me in the face. A shiver runs down my spine as the breeze kisses my hot skin. My feet touch the deck. My heartbeat throbs in my side.
The door slams as Bruno sweeps me into his arms and runs to the black SUV parked in the driveway.
“Stay with me, Farfalla. Stay the fuck with me,” he murmurs.
“Mario! Dai, Mario! Dai!” Emiliano yells to our driver Mario who is taking a smoking break.
Mario drops the cigar onto the pavement and runs over, unlocking the car.
Bruno and Emiliano pile into the backseat sandwiching me between them.
“To the hospital now and step on it!” Bruno shouts.
“What’s going on?” Mario yells as he starts the engine and presses the gas.
“She’s been shot!”
“By who?”
“We don’t know, but the fucker is most likely still in the mansion.”
White-hot pain tears through my side, stealing the air from my lungs.
Every inhale feels like glass scraping my ribs.
Some birthday this turned out to be.
The car swerves and my vision swims.
Stay awake.
I have to stay awake.
The world smears at the edges like spilled ink.
I can’t die.
I won’t die.
Faces loom above me, they are telling me something, but the words won’t stick. The sounds slide past me as distant as shouting into a void.
I’m so tired.
My fingers won’t obey when I try to clench them.
The strength I’ve ruled with, bled for, killed for, drains out of me in warm, sticky pulses against my skin.
Cold creeps in to take its place, sinking deep, and settling into my bones.
I can’t stop shivering.
This isn’t how it’s supposed to end.
The dashboard lights blur into stars.
Someone is pressing a shirt tight to my side while a hand strokes my head.
A phone rings, over and over.
Queens don’t die like this.
I still have debts to collect.
Promises to keep.
Enemies who haven’t paid yet.
My eyelids are too heavy to lift now.
Darkness rushes in and I don’t know whether I’ll be joining my Father or fighting to stay alive.