Chapter 18
Chapter Eighteen
Family Curse
Chiara
“Chi, put the fucking gun away,” AJ commands, like he’s speaking to a petulant child. “Didn’t anyone tell you not to play with big boys’ toys?”
I love my cousin, but he can be a prick sometimes. I suppose you don’t get to his status in the family business without having a good percentage of ruthless running riot in your veins.
It rings true. I also understand his frustration and feel the tiniest bit bad for deceiving him.
After all, he helped convince my uncle to let me come to New York for a “holiday,” and he forgave me for hoodwinking him about where I’m staying.
But I’ve pushed the needle one percent too far by blindsiding him with the revelation of accepting a job that will require me to travel and make New York my permanent base, and then by having my romantic liaisons splashed across the internet.
Even if nothing happened—well, not the way he thinks.
“You’re aware that your dad taught me how to shoot the minute after I buried my parents. A loose end needs to know how to protect herself,” I snip, holding the gun steady.
He grunts in exasperation, rubbing at his bruising jaw. It looks fresh. Did Raf punch him? “Please. I’ve had more than my fair share of dramatics for one morning, no thanks to your lover boy.”
“He’s not my lover boy.”
“Oh yes. I stand corrected. You like older men. Let’s go with Law Daddy then.” His knowing stare feels like I have bleach slowly eating away on my skin. I flush a fitting shade of pink.
While my uncle knows the facts, AJ knows—has seen footage of—all the intimate details of what happened between me and Alessandro.
Until AJ made me aware, I didn’t know these explicit videos of private moments existed.
Another betrayal I was too blinded by lust at the time to notice.
He won’t tell me who sent it or why, but it doesn’t take a genius to figure out it’s some form of blackmail to inform one more underhanded deal, a golden handshake that results in the death of a former agreement, sealing the fate on a new one or, in many cases, simply resulting in death.
If I’ve been spared these last few years, it’s because of some deal AJ has done to protect me. I know it.
I’m so caught up in my intense stare-off with AJ, I almost forget we have an audience, until Raf’s gravelly voice pierces the tense air.
“Your parents died?”
“They were killed in cold blood.”
I don’t miss the way his sharp Adam’s apple bobs like he’s swallowing a lot more than his fucking pride—probably his razor-sharp words too.
“Please spare me your pity,” I say. I’m not letting him off the hook for the antics he pulled in the office, even as badly as I want him. Want the comfort of his arms and touch. He gives me the grace to indulge in the rage that has utterly and completely flipped my switch.
“AJ, who the fuck have you arranged to sell me off to?” I demand, keeping my gun pointed at him.
“It wasn’t me. It—”
“Hmmphhh. In the famous last words of Shaggy,” I deadpan, cutting him off.
Undeterred by the fact I’m pointing a gun at him, he sighs in exasperation.
Like my line of questioning is an inconvenience.
Well, cousin dearest, you know what else is a fucking inconvenience?
Having my suspicions confirmed that I’m being bartered off like fucking livestock in some episode of Yellowstone.
I unlatch the safety with a click, and this spurs Marco into action.
“Chiara, give me the gun,” he says firmly as he walks towards me. “This is fucking madness. I did not have three dead bodies on my bingo card today.”
“Not until that idiot tells me what meddling has been going on behind my back,” I level. “Besides, what’s to say I won’t shoot you too?”
Marco cocks his head to the side and bores his vivid green eyes into mine.
He gently pries the gun out of my hands, murmuring, “We’ll work this out.
I won’t let them do that to you. Okay?” In this moment, he feels like the only true ally I have.
He doesn’t know what I suspect about the truth of his identity, but now is not the time to discuss that.
“My father is trying to forge a truce with the Rizzos,” AJ finally explains. “Marrying you into the family instantly enforces a peace treaty between the families.”
“So why don’t you take their daughter as a trophy wife?
” I retort. “Why does it have to be me offered as the prize? Oh wait! That’s right, you’re too busy fucking around with a certain redhead.
Does Uncle Gino know about that? Maybe we should call him now for a group therapy session where we all air our dirty secrets. ”
AJ is in my face in a flash, vein in his temple bulging and skin flushed.
“Do not utter a fucking word about her,” he grits out.
“I’m trying to figure a way out of this, but you haven’t made it fucking easy with all your white lies, surprise job offers, and antics with him,” he says, waving a hand towards Raf.
“My dad thinks you’re up to your old tricks, and that has made him want to expedite this whole fucking arrangement. ”
“Tell them we have a deal,” interjects Raf in lawyer mode.
“That you’ve got intel that the Rizzo’s lawyer is double-crossing them—including going rogue and trying to take down Marco’s business with last night’s gas leak.
Keeping Chiara close to me is a way to feed information back to you.
He knows that you’re a silent partner in La Rosa with Marco, yes? ”
“Oh good. Let me get some snacks while a bunch of misogynist men make plans for Chiara’s life. Because an arranged fucking marriage is not enough,” I butt in.
Raf glares at me. He’s throwing me a lifeline and I’m pulling the detonation cord.
Not because I’m not thankful for his chivalrous gesture, but because I want to protect him.
I don’t want him to get into bed with my cousin—or become involved in a game of bartering favors, for that matter.
The Mob always comes back to claim them one way or another.
Raf does not belong on that side of the underworld.
Turning his attention to Marco, AJ cross-checks Raf’s story.
“Is that true? Was Arty behind the gas leak?”
“Yes, he paid off a city worker to tamper with the mains.”
“I should have had them put a bullet in his head and not just bust him up,” AJ snarls.
“I’m going to pretend I heard nothing of this,” Raf says.
“Talk to Gino. Convince him Chiara needs to stay to accompany me to a few law events, including the Law Gala, as part of our deal. Assure him there is no truth to those photos, and while we continue to make it look as though we are dating, I will not lay a finger on her. You have my word.”
“How did you know?” asks AJ.
“Know what?” replies Raf.
“About my uncle’s arrangement with Domenic Rizzo.”
“I have my sources.”
“Ah. Spoken like a true lawyer,” says AJ.
“So do we have a deal?”
“Leave it with me,” assures AJ.
“I have very little faith in this statement, cuz, but seeing as Raf is my lawyer, I’ll trust he has my best interests at heart.” I stare at him pointedly. “Right?”
“I hope you know what clusterfuck you have just invited into your neat, orderly life.” AJ chuckles darkly, like I’m a disease that will ruin Raf.
And maybe that’s the truth. But he’s just effectively managed to negotiate more time for me, time I need to use wisely, because there is no way that, while I am still breathing, I’ll be forced into an arranged marriage.
I’d rather meet the same fate as my parents than become a cog in an evil game of power that has no end.
“If we’re done, I have better things to do with my time—like drink Better than Cock cocktails.”
Raf coughs.
Marco stifles a laugh.
AJ snorts. “You’re off your fucking tree. At least I know for certain you have Gigioliotti blood running through those veins. I just wish you would direct that crazy at anyone but me. Would make my life a whole lot more peaceful.”
Thumbing towards Raf, I have the final word.
“Well you’re in luck. Until you can promise me this deal Uncle Gino made is dead, any communications will now need to go through my lawyer. Have a great afternoon, boys.”
I open the doors to the elevator and step in, but just before the door closes, I call out.
“Oh, and AJ…say hello to Lilah for me.”
When the elevator door opens on the ground floor, I see him standing there with his back to the elevator, arms folded in front of him. Avery. Broad shoulders. Long, strong legs. Steady. Strong. Unshakeable. Relief washes over me.
Marco has been my driver—AKA head of my security detail—since I arrived in New York, but after last night, he handed the job to Avery while he sorted out the drama in his own life.
Sorry to break it to you, Marco, but you better get used to it.
Family by blood or not, drama does not dodge the Gigioliottis. It zeroes in and takes aim.
Even in the few hours I’ve been in his company, I feel drawn to his quiet power.
The way he’s comfortable to sit in the silence.
His inherently knowing but non-judgmental reactions.
He is the ice to Marco’s fire, which is why they make such good partners, and maybe that’s also why I feel instantly soothed by his presence.
We walk to the car, no words passing between us until he opens the door to the backseat of the sedan.
“Do you want to go and meet the girls now?” he asks cautiously, like he can already sense I’ve changed my mind, the pull to be alone too great.
“No. I want to go to the cemetery.”
“Okay,” he responds without hesitation, not pressing further or reacting as most would at the morbid request. “Do you have a preference?”
“The one that’s the most beautiful,” I tell him, longing for the solace I feel amongst the dead.
“I’ll take you to Trinity,” he says, helping me in the car.
We drive in silence, and I go over every interaction at my cousin’s penthouse.