Chapter 21 Kira
KIRA
There are a lot of reasons to hate my mother.
First reason: she’s a selfish asshole. No matter what you say or do, nothing’s ever enough, because everyone’s out to get her. She’s a victim, but she’s also a user. As in, she uses everyone around her to get what she needs.
Which brings me to reason two: she’s an addict.
And not one in recovery. She’s in full-blown addict mode, happy to steal what’s not bolted down to sell for drug money.
All my life, I’ve had to deal with the whims of my mother’s addiction, and while I know it’s a disease, I still hate her stinking guts for being such a piece of trash all the damn time.
But those aren’t even the most frustrating reasons. At least, not right now.
Reason three, and the reason I’m most pissed off: my mother can’t organize a damn thing to save her life.
“Why the hell did she save old grocery receipts from fifteen years ago?!” I throw the folder across the room. Papers flutter out and cover the already-messy floor.
The apartment feels strangely empty. We still have furniture in here, but most of our personal items are back at Stellan’s place. Or I guess back at our place. I don’t know how to think about it yet, but that doesn’t matter.
We did leave some stuff here though. Such as all the crap my mother left behind that I’ve been carting around in case it ever becomes helpful one day.
Old bills. Ancient tax documents. The pile of myriad papers that makes up a life.
I’m hunting for some hint of my father, some clue about his life and his connection to Stellan’s organization. He was married to my mother for over a decade, and there should be some trace of him. Even just a signature on a work order or something like that.
But there’s nothing. Not a single trace.
Like the guy didn’t exist.
I remember him though. He had a deep, booming laugh. His smile was bright and airy. He taught me how to throw a ball, how to do math in my head, how to shovel the sidewalks, how to catch a train, how to ride the subway. He taught me cooking, dancing, singing. He taught me everything.
He died when I was ten. That was long enough to know him.
Except I never really did.
Because somehow he had a second life I never knew about.
I try to remember what my mom told us about his work, but I come up with nothing.
Dad left early and was there when we got home from school most days, but I just figured he had some boring office job somewhere nearby.
That’s what most kids think, right? Their parents couldn’t get more normal and average?
Now I’m finding out my father was an important member of a freaking mafia family.
Important enough to mentor the Don’s own kid.
There are too many questions swirling around in my head. Like, what did Dad do to make everyone hate him? Did he really die in a car accident, or was his death linked back to the Corsettis?
It all comes back to one question in the end.
Why me?
I groan and collapse back into a pile of papers. My mother was a hoarder, but she never kept anything worthwhile. There’s nothing here. Not a useful scrap. Not a speck of information.
I should’ve seen this coming. I’m frustrated with myself for going into this relationship with Stellan without getting all the facts. I should’ve been smart enough to realize he didn’t decide to marry some random diner waitress on a whim.
He chose me.
And I still don’t know why.
It seems like his family hates me, or at least they hate my father.
I think about telling Gem, but it’ll only upset her. I don’t want to drop a bomb about how we’re descended from gangsters while she’s trying to get into college.
Does that make me as bad as Stellan?
I groan to myself, head pounding, when there’s a click from the hall.
I sit up straight, heart suddenly racing as adrenaline spikes in my core.
That’s the door opening. I leap to my feet, looking for a weapon, but I’m pretty sure I won’t be able to defend myself with a stack of old instruction manuals for long-gone appliances.
“Kira, it’s me.”
Stellan’s voice. I let out a long breath. Not a murderer come to get revenge for something my father did years ago. Although still a murderer.
“What are you doing here?” He appears in the hall and hesitates. He looks like he wants to come closer, but doesn’t. “You smell like blood.”
He glances down at himself. “That’s not a surprise.”
I frown, looking for injuries. “Are you hurt again?”
“Not me.” He glances to the side and looks into the bedroom. “What are you doing in there?”
“Going through my mom’s old things.” I glance at the mess. “It’s not going well.”
“What are you looking for?”
“Answers.” I stare at him, and he looks straight back. I wonder if I weren’t better off not knowing. Maybe I could keep on going like this, a big black hole where my past should be. Isn’t ignorance bliss?
“Go ahead. I know you want to ask.”
My breath hitches. Do I really want to do this?
But I can’t help myself. Even if I really wanted to bite my own tongue off to keep from talking, I’d end up writing down the questions anyway. It’s a compulsion, and I can’t stop it.
“Why do they hate my father so much?”
He grunts and glances aside. For an instant, his ice-cold exterior cracks, until he quickly puts it back together.
He stalks off, and I follow him to the kitchen, where he roots around in the cabinets until he finds an old bottle of whiskey I had stashed away.
He pours two glasses, tosses his back, and pours himself a second. I don’t touch mine.
“Your father was one of my father’s top Capos,” he says slowly, like he’s pulling up an old, tangled rope from a long-collapsed well.
He shivers and sips his second drink. “He stole something important a long time ago. Nobody knows why he did it. But that theft nearly destroyed the entire Corsetti organization.”
“What did he take?” I pick up the drink, figuring whiskey isn’t a bad idea after all. It burns and tastes terrible.
“The Black Book.” He looks down at his drink, swirling it slowly.
I wait a beat. “Okay, and now this is the part where you tell me what that is, because I have no idea.”
“It’s a book that contains the family’s most valuable secrets. Lists of politicians on the take. Blackmail materials. Murders, gun caches, and drug deals. The Black Book is the heart of our power.”
I feel cold all of a sudden. “You use it against people, don’t you?”
“It’s how we keep control of the city. A rogue police chief cracking down on our operations? A few whispered words and casual reminders are enough to bring him to heel. My family has been stewarding the Black Book for a long time.”
“And my father tried to steal it?” I can only imagine how insane he must have been. If that book is the source of the Corsetti power, he must have known that taking it would mean a death sentence. “Why would he do that?”
“I don’t know. My father never said. Back then, it was an enormous scandal, and it would have shaken us to the foundations—except it ended as quickly as it started.”
“How?”
“My father found the book, caught your father, and killed him.”
I feel sick. The whiskey is like fire in my guts. I’m talking to the son of the man who murdered my dad. “That’s awful.”
“It was justice. At least that’s what everyone thought.” He turns away, shoulders hunched, and takes another long drink. “But my father was lying.”
I pull back in surprise as he walks into the nearly empty living room. He paces, a man too burdened to remain in one spot. I watch him warily.
“Lying about what?”
He doesn’t look at me as he talks. “Things were fine. The book was back. The traitor was dead. Even if it broke my heart when your father was killed, we all knew it had to happen. The Black Book was too important. But then my father got sick, his strength faded, and he called me to his bedside barely hours before he slipped away. That night, he told me the truth. We all assumed the Black Book was found, and in a way, it was. Except it’s trapped inside a safe deposit box with no way to get it out, effectively lost forever, at least until I find the key. ”
I stare at him, stunned. I’m trying to process all this information at once but struggling. “Your father lied?”
“He told a half-truth. He tracked down the book. Your father must have told him. But there was no key and no way to convince the bank to hand it over. My father’s been tracking the key ever since, and he hasn’t been able to find it.
And now that burden is mine. I either find the key and retrieve the book, or my family is fucked. ”
I rub my face with both hands and let out a nervous laugh. “How are you supposed to do that?”
“I don’t know.” His expression darkens. “And what’s worse, there’s a Turkish gang leader named Isak Vural who’s been pushing into our territory. I think he knows about the book and I think he wants to find the key too. If that happens—” He leaves it unspoken.
I can put it together. If an enemy of the Corsetti gets the book before Stellan does, they’ll be ruined. Vural will use the blackmail material to destroy them piece by piece.
The full weight of our situation hits me like a bus.
I sink down to the floor, my back scraping against the wall.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, throat hoarse. I throw back the last of my whiskey, even though it makes me gag. “You put me in the middle of a war.”
“In my defense, I didn’t know about Vural until recently.”
“My dad stole that book. Which means they could be after me.”
“You’re safe so long as you’re my wife.”
“But Gem—” I look up in a panic. “Where is she? Is she safe right now? What if they’re after her!” I shove my way to my feet.
“She’s fine, Kira. She’s back at my house. I promise, she’ll be okay. I have people watching my place and keeping an eye on her when she goes to school. They can’t touch her.”
Panic threatens to overwhelm me. I’m breathing fast and barely able to think. My head feels dizzy.
My dad stole a book. And now two rival gangs are fighting over its location.
With me and my sister in the middle.
I had no clue. Not a single idea until right now. All this time, a target’s been painted right on my chest.
“You did this.” I look up, numb all over, save for a spark beginning to grow, a cherry ember in my chest. A little nub of rage. “You dragged me into this.”
“No, Kira—”
“We were fine before you!” I climb to my feet and stalk toward him. “We were fine!”
“If I found you, Vural would have too.”
“You dragged me from my life. I was a waitress! My sister was going to college! Oh, god, they might hurt her, and I swear, I’ll rip you to fucking pieces—”
I try to shove him, but he grabs my wrists. I gasp in surprise as he tugs me close, wrapping me in his arms.
“No, Kira.”
I struggle against him. “Fuck you!”
“Calm down.”
“You’re a murderer! You took my dad away!”
“Your father made his own choices.” His massive body tightens around mine. “Vural would’ve come for you whether I got involved or not. Now that you’re my wife, you’ll be protected. My whole family will throw its weight behind you.”
“I didn’t want this. I just wanted to give Gem a better life.”
“You didn’t ask for your father’s sins to come staining you now, but there’s no pretending like it’s not happening. I’m going to get you through it. I swore I wouldn’t let anyone hurt you, and I meant it.”
I finally break. I was holding myself up by sheer force of will, but I can’t do it anymore.
I cry against him, hating him, but also aware that I need him now more than ever.
His smell, his warmth, his strength. A part of me knows Stellan is right.
He didn’t do this to me, and if the Turks knew about the book, it makes sense they would’ve come looking for me too sooner or later.
But I still hate him. And I want him and I need him. But god, all I’ve done to make my sister’s life better, it’s all going to wash away if we can’t survive this.
“I have you,” he whispers, holding me tight. “I won’t let you go. I’m here.”
“Fuck you,” I whimper, the fire in me beginning to burn out. Exhaustion takes its place.
“You can blame me if that makes you feel better. Go ahead and hate me too. But you’re going to be my wife, and together we’re going to get through this.”
“I don’t believe you.”
“You don’t have to. In three days, you’re saying the words. And after that, you’ll be all mine, and I’ll die before anyone touches you or your sister.” He pulls back so he can look at me. His face shines with righteous fury. “Nobody touches what’s mine.”
“I’m not yours,” I say, feeling weak and pathetic. I thought I was strong. I thought I could handle anything if it meant protecting Gem.
Now I don’t know anymore.
“You will be.” His lips crush mine. It’s a furious kiss. He kisses my face, licking away the tears, almost drinking them down, an obsessive and needy pulse below the way his hands brush down my skin, before taking me in his arms again.
I melt against him, spine like clay, skull like ashes, wishing I were anywhere else.