Chapter Ten #2
Apprehension knots in my throat as I glance at Gio, silently pleading for some kind of intervention. But he looks just as on edge as I feel.
The Uppermen exchange wary glances, some of them looking like they’re holding their breath.
Someone shifts, and my heart stalls. I don’t even know what I’m bracing for, because I have no weapon, no way to defend him if this goes sideways.
But…
No one steps forward.
“Fucking cowards,” Ricky mutters, disappointment laced in each word.
“Indeed,” Stefano agrees smoothly. “If you’re not against me, am I to assume you’re with me?”
A chorus of muttered affirmations ensues. Varying versions of “Always, boss. Loyalty to death.”
Stefano rubs his jaw, drawing out the moment, stretching the tension thin. Letting them feel it.
“Like all of you,” he begins, “Garro once pledged loyalty to this empire. But as it turns out, he’s been working with outside forces to bring it down.
Even murdered one of our own on his lunch break.
” His gaze sweeps the men, his voice calm, deliberate.
“But when I caught up to him, he didn’t beg for his life.
He didn’t try to backtrack. He owned his betrayal. Stood by the side he chose.”
He pats the top of Ricky’s head like a proud father.
“And that kind of courage should be commended, don’t you think?
” A slow smile curves his lips. “I’m in a merciful mood.
So I’m willing to let him go. Because he wasn’t a coward.
He told me exactly what he thought of me.
To my face. A quality that will make him a worthy adversary on the other side. ”
Ricky perks up at the prospect of being spared. His bowed head lifting now, chin jutting out with pride, eyes sparkling with victory as he stares the men down, basking in Stefano’s praise. Completely oblivious to the devious set up.
Until one of the men steps forward, expression grim as he grits out, “Hell nah. I don’t fuck with traitors.”
With that, he points his gun and shoots Ricky in the gut.
Eyes widening in shock, Ricky shudders and topples over.
Another man steps up. “You fuck with the family, you don’t deserve to breathe.”
Bang. A shot to the thigh.
A third man moves forward. “Death before dishonor.”
Bang. A shot to the chest.
One by one, they come forward. Each putting a bullet somewhere new. Each making a statement.
By the time Luca steps up—having appeared at some point—Ricky’s body is riddled with holes. He delivers the kill.
Bang. One clean shot right between the eyes.
As Ricky’s body goes still, his lifeless gaze frozen in shock, Luca spits at him and grumbles, “I fucking hate traitors.”
Stefano tsks. “Good Lord, you men are merciless.” He exhales dramatically, shaking his head. “Remind me never to piss you off.”
Dipping my head, I bite back a smile. He’s so full of shit.
“Ricky’s been pulling a lot of questionable shit lately,” one of the men comments. “But being a Judas? That’s where I draw the line.”
Stefano taps a finger against his chin, scanning their faces one by one.
“Don’t think for a second that I don’t know,” he says evenly.
“There are quislings standing here, looking me in the face, lying about being loyal to the family.” His voice hardens.
“My mercy expires at the end of the hour. You have until then to pick your side and fucking go. Prove yourself to the man on the other side. Then…” He pauses, the air stretching tight.
“You can meet me on the battlefield like a real fucking soldier. Not slither around and sneak up on me like a grimy, dishonorable snake.”
Intense silence stretches as he stares them down, waiting for the Trojan horses to reveal themselves.
No one moves.
No one dares.
He continues, “Pass the message on—to the off-duty Uppermen, the Soldati, the Mid Troopers, the Footers, and even the goddamn Tyros: I’m awake.
And I. Am. Hunting.” His voice drops, slow and deliberate.
“You’ve been working against me? Then run while you still can.
Or be prepared to fucking dance when the music catches you. ”
With that, he returns to the cart.
And I don’t wait. I slam the pedal and speed off.
~
A FULL MINUTE passes after I park outside Stefano’s house, waiting for him to step out of the cart.
But he doesn’t move. He remains comfortably seated, typing away on his phone.
Gio swings up beside us, checks his watch, then hops out.
Stefano still doesn’t move.
Gio circles around to my side of the cart and pats the roof, pulling my attention. “I’ve got a few things to wrap up, then I’m heading down to the tennis court. Wanna swing with me?”
“Hells yeah,” I say. “I need to blow off some steam kicking your ass.”
“Great.” He grins and pinches my chin. “Meet you there in thirty.”
As he heads off toward the house, I clear my throat and drum my fingers against the steering wheel, waiting for Stefano to finally get out.
He doesn’t. Just sits there, absorbed in whatever he’s doing on his phone.
If what happened at Brioso Hubb taught me anything, it’s that he’s a cunning mindfuck. There’re more wiles behind that brutally handsome face than he lets on.
If I tell him to get out, he’ll probably remind me that he owns everything here and can sit wherever the hell he wants. So, with a resigned sigh, I hop out instead and climb into Gio’s vacated cart.
Just as I’m about to reverse, his voice cuts through the quiet. “You seem agitated, little liar. Something you would like to get off your chest?”
He can’t even be bothered to look at me, attention still on his phone.
Set on ignoring him, I start to reverse. But then brake—because, let’s face it, holding my tongue is not my forte.
“What if that stunt you pulled back there backfired, huh? What if some eager-to-impress puppet actually stepped up and planted a bullet in your head?”
A light scoff leaves him. “I believe it was Dorothy Parker who wrote, ‘Love is like quicksilver in the hand. Leave the fingers open and it stays. Clutch it and it darts away.’” One corner of his mouth curves slightly.
“I don’t believe in love, but that quote is my philosophy on life.
” He finally looks up, pocketing his phone.
“The more you’re prepared to die, the longer you live. ”
“Or, you’re just an overconfident, cocksure, narcissistic nutjob.”
Eyes glinting, he tilts his head. “Aw. Were you worried about me? Or just worried about your fate without my protection?”
“Arrogance always comes before a fall,” I tell him. “You’re being way too blasé about all this.”
He tsks, shaking his head. “There you go again. Trying to tell me how to handle my business.”
“Don’t mistake my youth for ignorance,” I counter.
“I grew up in organized chaos. And in my short lifetime, I’ve seen the mighty fall time and time again.
When the king topples, the entire castle crumbles.
” I hold his gaze. “So, king of Vegas, when your ego starts to outgrow your crown, think about all the subjects in your palace who will get buried under the debris of your inevitable collapse.”
I hit the pedal to reverse, but he’s lightning fast.
In an instant, he’s at the driver’s side, forcing me to brake with a sharp halt. Before I can react, he leans in and flips the key to shut it off.
And then his fingers are around my throat, yanking me out of the cart. He slams me up against it and leans in, his face mere inches from mine, his breath warm against my skin.
Low and lethal, he bites, “What did I say about talking to me like that?” His grip tightens. “You should be kneeling at my feet, you fucking worm.”
Something wicked unfurls inside me, liking this way too much. I laugh around his chokehold. “You don’t impress me enough for me to kneel.”
“Why the hell would I want to impress you?” he grits out. “You’re nothing. No one. Just an annoying little thumbtack stuck to the bottom of my shoe.”
Drop your gaze in submission, Raya. Shut up. Don’t push him.
Unfortunately, my mouth has a death wish.
“And yet…” I smile, slow and taunting. “Look at you. My indifference infuriates you so badly you want to kill me right now.” A soft, knowing laugh slips past my lips. “Why do the useless words of a nobody bother you so much, my reckless king?”
Why are you provoking him? Stop.
But it’s too late.
A tempest rages in his eyes, dark and violent. His nostrils flare, jaw clenched.
His vicious glare drops to my lips. Lingers…
With a deep grunt, he releases me. “Thank my brother when you see him. He’s the only reason you’re still alive right now.”
Backing up from me, he warns, “Tread carefully, little liar. Your luck won’t last.”
As he turns to leave, I call after him, “Dorothy Parker wrote other words too, you know.”
He pauses. Glances over his shoulder to me. “What?”
I rub my throat where his fingers had been, letting the words settle before I quote them. “‘If wild my breast and sore my pride, I bask in dreams of suicide. If cool my heart and high my head, I think, ‘How lucky are the dead.’”
Slowly, he turns, brows furrowed, and stares at me like I’m an equation he can’t quite solve.
“I think that’s also your philosophy on life,” I say. “Heavy is the head that wears the crown…and all that.”
I don’t give him a chance to come at me again. Jumping back into the cart, I wiggle my fingers in a small wave, then peel off.