Chapter 5
FIVE
ROME
The VIP lounge still reeks of bleach. I’ve tried everything to mask the scent: air freshener, cologne, incense. None of them have worked.
It could just be me. Everywhere I go, the scent of bleach mixed with freshly-spent gun powder invades my nostrils.
And blood. Nearly forgot to mention the fucking metallic, coppery scent of blood.
It’s been two weeks, but it feels like only minutes.
I bring my hand to my throat and gently massage my fingers over the still-bruised skin.
I’ve spent my days trying to slip back into as normal of a life as possible by running my various clubs and hotels around the city, attending board meetings, flying around the country on my private jet for various business conferences.
But none of it has kept the ghosts of what happened weeks ago from haunting me.
“You sure you’re ready to reopen the VIP lounge tonight?” Marcus asks from where he’s standing on the opposite side of my expansive, mahogany-lacquered desk in my office at Club Verona.
“Rhys assured me he has the best cleaning crew for situations such as the one that happened there,” I mutter, scrolling through my phone.
I type Kingsten Capuleti into the search bar again, hoping I’ll find some buried article about what he’s been up to lately. Ever since he retired from his political career, he’s stayed out of the limelight. I’m just sorry the fucker died before I found out who hired him.
I’ve mentally poured over everyone I’ve ever met over the course of my life who would have the same tattoo as mine, and no one jumps out as my attacker. I’m in the middle of flipping through the various search results when an unknown number flashes across my screen. I answer it.
“Montgomery.” Rhys’s voice hits my ear.
“O’Connell.” I flash a look at Marcus. He takes the hint, turns around, and limps his way over to my office door, closing it behind him.
“I trust my team has cleaned up your VIP lounge well enough for you to operate business as usual.”
“Yeah.” I clear my throat and sit forward in my seat, resting my head in my hand, massaging my forehead. “I appreciate you taking care of it for me. Our business was supposed to be complete with that deal, so I know it meant a lot for you to do that for me.”
“You know I only make deals and arrangements that benefit me, Mr. Montgomery.”
Swallowing around the lump in my throat, I clear my throat again. “Are you needing to use my club again?”
“Oh, no,” Rhys answers swiftly. “No, no, Montgomery. While I would love to continue to use your space, I have more important matters to take care of at the moment. You held your end of the bargain. I offered you protection for years and, in turn, you gave me places to run my operation. With Tobias’s murder, I’ve been forced to shift my focus.
I won’t give you details because, let’s face it, you don’t deserve to know them.
No matter what you’ve done to prove your allegiance to your own family is fragile, it doesn’t erase the undeniable fact that you’re Italian. A Montgomery at that.”
“It’s been nearly ten years since I’ve had anything to do with the Montgomerys.” I sigh. “Still, can’t change my DNA.”
“Right,” Rhys agrees. “Back to what I was saying. I’ll no longer be operating in New York. I’m calling to fill you in on what I’ve found out so far about the man who killed Tobias before leaving.”
I grind my teeth. The man was sent because of me, but Rhys doesn’t seem to hold that against me. I guess he truly does trust that I had nothing to do with the man who killed his second in command.
“Did you find out who did this?”
“Not exactly.” Rhys pauses. “I’m still working on figuring out the details.”
“But…” I tremble, deflation replacing the sickness I’m constantly feeling these days.
Maybe I need to get the fuck out of New York for a while, reestablish my life goals.
“I was thinking maybe the Capuletis could be behind this. The snake tattoo is an Italian mafia symbol. The Capuletis are Italian with historical ties to the mafia. My father used to tell me about how Kingsten used to associate with them long before he ran for mayor. Political corruption at its finest. Kingsten has wanted nothing more than to see the last of the Montgomery family either put in prison or, better still, dead.”
“I don’t give a shit about your family rivalry, Montgomery. All I care about is figuring out who murdered Tobias.” His scold is followed by bone chilling silence. “Understood?” Rhys warns in a menacing tone.
“Understood.”
“Great.” He inhales a deep, resolving breath. “There’s something else I wanted to tell you.”
“What is it?” I ask, my blood rushing from my head down to my toes. I fall back against my seat and rake a nervous hand through my hair.
“While I’ve been doing some digging into who it was specifically that murdered Tobias, I’ve reached out to a few of my contacts in the meantime,” Rhys starts, his Irish accent growing thicker with every word. “They informed me of something I think you may find interesting.”
I don’t reply, allowing Rhys to continue.
“Dominico Montgomery died last night in prison.”
“What did you just say?” The words rush past my lips, and I pop up from my seat, massaging my forehead with my fingertips, wondering if I just heard Rhys correctly.
“You didn’t know?”
“No. I did not.”
After Dominico Montgomery—my father and head of the Italian mafia here in New York City—was sent to prison for the rest of his life, I cut all ties from my family.
In the years after, Rhys O’Connell reached out to me, offering specialized protection law enforcement couldn’t provide in exchange for offering up my places of business to conduct his business.
That was until two weeks ago when our agreement ended.
My head is spinning. “How? How did he die?”
“Suicide. At least that’s what my informants are saying they’ve been told.”
I jerk back in shock, knowing my father would never have committed suicide. He was too arrogant and selfish.
“Also,” Rhys continues, “while there’s no confirmation yet, I have reason to believe your father was the one who sent those men.
He must have found out you were working with me and used one of his own to disguise themselves as a fellow Irish buyer.
Trust me, I plan on getting my revenge for Tobias’s death, but Tobias is solely to blame for believing that man was legit. Feckin’ eegit.”
“I don’t understand why you’re the one telling me about my father’s death and not the courts.”
“Beats the fuck out of me.” Rhys scoffs. “We’re talking about the feds here. We both know they’re at the top of my shit list. Incompetent fucks.”
I’m speechless. Panic settles in, and I start rifling through my desk for the business card I’ve kept the past ten years.
The business card for the prosecutor who handled my father’s case.
I need confirmation for what Rhys is telling me.
Not that I don’t believe him—Rhys has eyes and ears everywhere.
“You sound like you are otherwise preoccupied,” Rhys points out. “My cue to end this call.”
“Wait, Rhys…” I sigh, giving up on my search for now.
“Listen, Rome. I can’t offer you protection any longer.
Our demons are bound to catch up to us one day.
One piece of advice I can leave you with is to keep a low profile, lay low.
The man who attacked you likely wasn’t working alone.
There’ll be another. I fully intend on searching for them myself, but you’re on your own with this one.
You can’t expect to leave this world without paying a price.
Speaking for myself, I would never let one of my men rest if they pulled the same shit you did. Understood?”
I freeze, understanding completely. I should have known this instead of living the past ten years with my head buried in the sand, pretending this never could have happened. That my father would never have a hand in sending someone after me, enacting his revenge on his own son.
The line dies, and I lower my shaking hand. My phone slips from my palm, landing on the top of my desk with a heavy thud.
“Shit.” I fist the ends of my hair. “Fuck.”
With my panic settling in, I search for the business card again.
There are no windows in my office as it’s set at the far end of the service hallway to Club Verona, but I know the night is only just beginning.
Heavy, pulsating beats echo down the walls and through the floor, indicating the transition of casual bar to vibrant nightclub.
The VIP lounge is reserved for the night.
A Wall Street banker booked it for his nephew’s bachelor party.
Before Rhys’s phone call, I was convinced it was the right thing to do to conduct business as usual.
But now I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing.
My father is dead, and I agree with Rhys: the man who tried to kill me likely isn’t the only one.
I’m still sifting through loose papers in my desk when my phone rings.
Unknown Caller again.
“I thought you said we were finished,” I answer on a heavy exhale.
“Far from it,” a man who clearly isn’t Rhys drawls.
The blood drains from my face. “Who is this?”
He clicks his tongue against his teeth in disapproval. “Rome fucking Montgomery.” He laughs a sinister laugh, causing the hairs on the back of my neck to stand. “How’s the neck?”
I massage my lips, trying to contain the fury brewing inside me. How the fuck does this guy know what injuries I sustained? He must be watching me, conducting surveillance.
I close my eyes and remember the man my father tried to raise me to be—the one I never became.
“I would say to ask your friend,” I start, lacing my voice with venom, “but I think he’ll have a bit of trouble answering, considering there’s a large bullet hole in the side of his head.”
“You fucking asshole,” he seethes.
Good, I’ve gotten under his skin.
“Where is he?” he asks furiously.
“Honestly? I’m not sure.”
“You’re dead, Rome.”
It isn’t the first time I’ve been threatened. “Listen, why don’t we stop playing games, and you tell me what the fuck it is you want from me?”
“Retribution.”
“Figures,” I chuckle. “I’m going to take a guess and say my father sent your little friend to send me a message.”
“The man you killed was more than a friend. Took us a while to figure out it was you who was responsible for putting your father and the other ten men convicted in prison. Unconscionable, really, a son betraying his family.”
This man and the one who attacked me must be associates of my father’s, just like Rhys suggested.
I clench my hand into a tight fist, forcing the memories to stay back. I banished them long ago.
“Every one of those fuckers deserves to rot in Hell, including my father.” I pause. “Oh, wait. He already is in Hell, since he died last night. So, why don’t we just leave all of this behind with his death?”
“Hilarious that you think we’ll end this because of Dominico’s unfortunate passing. Family used to mean something. But I guess that all went to shit the moment you betrayed the Montgomery name by turning Dominico over to the feds.”
I let out a reticent laugh. “We both know the idea of family loyalty went to shit before I turned him in.”
“You know what, Rome? You might be right.”
I stop cold. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Unlike finding you, this one didn’t take much digging. Surprised your father didn’t realize this years ago, but he always was a busy man. Besides, he never thought you would pull some shit like this.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Might want to check that message,” he taunts. “Then you’ll see.”
Right on cue, my phone pings with a message. I lower my phone from my ear, putting the man on speaker, before tapping on the little envelope at the top.
The floor beneath my feet shifts, and my vision turns bright red.
I’m staring back at a picture of Julianna and me the night of Asher and Charleigh’s wedding.
We’re in the back alley. I’m towering over her, inches from her face, with her back pressed against the brick.
It’s the moment she told me to go to Hell, and I told her if I was going, I’d be dragging her with me.
I grind my teeth until the pressure expands, building behind my eyes. I’m about to jump out of my fucking skin.
“He’s dead,” I seethe; lip curling. “Just let this go.”
“Don’t you understand? Your father found out you’d broken your oath. I mean, we knew you turned your back on your own family, but this… this level of betrayal doesn’t just die with him. You won’t be the only one who suffers.”
“I’ll fucking kill you if you even so much as breathe in her direction, you fucking piece of shit.”
“Little too late for that.”
“Fuck you!” I shout, vibrating with fury. I pace my office, not knowing what the fuck to do.
“You have no clue who the fuck you’re dealing with.”
I stop pacing and pound my fist on the desk. “I know exactly who I’m dealing with.”
“No.” He clicks his tongue again in disapproval. “I don’t think you do.”
“Why bring her into this? Isn’t it me you’re after?”
“We want you to suffer the way you made us suffer. Your father might not have had the courage to pull the trigger himself, but that’s what he has me for.
Now you know that whatever befalls your Capuleti princess will ultimately be your fault.
The choices you made to betray the Montgomery family will be your undoing.
It’s time for all the skeletons to spill out of your closet, don’t you think? ”
I barely have a chance to respond before the line abruptly ends.
My entire body is numb. I squeeze my eyes shut and clamp my hands around my head, pressing until it hurts, until I feel something. I need to wake the fuck up. A flurry of memories assault me, stealing my breath.
Glittery blue eyeshadow brushed across soft lids, peering at me through the cracks in the bookshelves.
The feeling of the balcony railing beneath my touch that night as I left.
Seeing her body spread out across the pool table, rivers of blood dripping to the floor.
“Marcus!” I shout. My eyes pop open, and my throat is searing with pain.
I spin around and find Marcus standing in the doorway.
“We need to leave. Now,” I order. “Get the car ready.”
He doesn’t even hesitate before leaving, sensing my urgency. He moves as fast as possible, limping his way down the hall, while I pick up my phone and type out a text as fast as my fingers allow.
Me: Time to cash in on my debt, Lark.
I wait ten seconds. Then another. No response. The little check marks in the corner of my message don’t even fill in.
“Fucking hell, Lark.” I groan before leaving my office in a hurry.
Fine. I guess we’re doing this the hard way.