shaking hands I pulled out the honeymoon checklist Andi had given me and looked down at the scribble that said, Go to a Broadway show in New york and sing along even if it sounds horrible.
I didn’t have much to choose from since it was getting so late. I finally decided on Beauty and The Beast, maybe because I felt like the beast, only in the end, I wouldn’t turn into the prince.
Then again, it always boggled my mind. The prince had lived so long as a beast, how was it possible for him to go back to his royal status? And what was the purpose of all of his suffering if he was left with no reminder of the way he looked toward people on the outside? It would fade. And in my mind, it was only a matter of time before the prince became spoiled and discontented, because that was life.
That was the real human condition.
Save me today, and I’ll live for you tomorrow.
Fix it and I’ll do anything.
Just this once! And my life is yours.
We say a lot of words we don’t mean.
And yet, I would say all of those things again and again, if it would bring her back to me.
With lead-filled legs, I went to the box office, purchased my ticket and sat in the farthest row back I could.
It was packed; then again, it was Friday.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
Nixon: Are you dead?
Sergio: I’m texting you back, does that answer your question?
Nixon: You need backup?
Sergio: No.
I turned off my phone and slid it into my pocket just as the lights dimmed then lit up again only to dim one last time. As the music swelled, I closed my eyes and hoped to God, one day, one day I’d be free.
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the curtains, landing square on my eyes. I hissed out a curse and tossed a pillow in the general direction of the window.
We were staying at a boutique hotel near Times Square, the more people around us, the merrier. It meant we didn’t have to worry about getting shot at. My money was on the uncles staying up all night trying to figure out how to order a hit on their own family and the single Abandonato in a sea full of Alferos.
Four loud knocks on my door had me leisurely getting out of bed, grabbing my Glock, and holding it behind my back as I peeked through the peephole to see who was there.
Dante.
He didn’t appear armed.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t.
Sighing, I pulled the door open. “Either I’m going to be your first kill, or you want to talk.” I scratched my head with the gun in my right hand. “My bet’s on the latter.”
“You’re a real arrogant prick, you know that, right?” Dante observed in a calm voice.
“I’m very aware of my accomplishments, yes.”
Rolling his eyes, he shoved past me.
“Yes, please, come in. I wasn’t sleeping or anything.”
“Men like you don’t sleep, too much blood on your hands.”
“Jaded for someone so young.”
“Nineteen isn’t young, not in this world. How old were you when you first killed someone, when you took someone’s life?” His blue eyes locked on mine. They saw too much, just like Luca, damn it.
“Fourteen,” I answered in a deliberately bored tone. “Though I was only ten when my father forced me to shoot the family pet at point blank range. Then again, it was either shoot the pet or my own cousin. I chose the dog.”
Dante didn’t flinch, but he did avert his eyes.
“I don’t need your pity,” I snapped.
“Good.” He sneered. “Wasn’t offering it.”
“So that’s it? That’s what you wanted to know? How old I was before I sold my soul to the Family?”
“No.” His shuttered expression cracked, revealing something I recognized well — fear. “I wanted to talk about Val.”
“What about her?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“No shit.”
“Would you just listen? And stop with the sarcasm, damn it. Do you realize how annoying you are? Or how emotionally draining it is just to be in the same room as you?”
“I’d like to think it’s part of my charm.”
He took a
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