Mil looked at me. Why me, of all people? I tried to give her a reassuring nod.
Her voice was quiet. I hated when she acted docile and compliant; it was so against her character that it pissed me off, making me want to get in a fight with her just so she’d get some of that spark back.
“Sex trafficking.” She swallowed. “My dad was desperate for money. He had a… um, a bit of a drug problem.”
“What drug?” Nixon squinted.
She looked down at her hands. “I think the better question would be what drugs didn’t he have an interest in?”
“So that’s how,” Nixon muttered. “So the family ran out of money really fast, and without our support, it just got worse, I imagine… so he dabbled in prostitution?”
He made it sound like he had it all figured out, but I knew it was just the tip of the iceberg. Mil would never tell him everything all at once; she didn’t work that way. None of us did.
“What we’re dealing with,” she continued. “It’s bigger than just our family, it’s—”
“It’s what?” Nixon asked.
When she didn’t answer, he leveled the gun on her and thumbed off the safety. She rolled her eyes in frustration.
“It’s what?”
“Phoenix tried to protect me,” Mil whispered. “I didn’t know that by taking his protection, by going to school, I was damning him to hell. He was too deep in to see his way out. He found out too much — he discovered the connections my father had made — and by then it was too late.”
“What connections?”
“I can’t say.” Tears formed in her eyes as she looked at each of us in turn. “Please don’t make me say it. Please.”
“Mil.” Nixon’s voice was cold as death. “Please don’t make me force you in front of Chase. Don’t turn me into the villain.”
“Don’t think I’ve ever heard him say please,” Tex muttered.
I think he was trying to lighten the dark-as-hell mood, but it wasn’t working. I debated on whether or not to try to punch him in the throat or just wait until Mil was done confessing, not that I could do anything with my arms pinned, but still.
“Nixon.” Her voice shook. “My family has broken every single one of the rules for the Sicilian Mafia. Every last one. They’ve stomped on them. They’ve spat at them. But worst of all, they’ve decided the only way to get even with everyone is to do the worst possible thing a member can do.”
“Look at another man’s wife?” Tex said under his breath.
“Tex,” we said in unison, all of us clearly annoyed.
“Exposure.” Nixon cursed a blue streak and stood. “Tell me you don’t mean exposure. Tell me your family isn’t hell-bent on flushing every last member of our families out of the country. Tell me they haven’t made a deal.”
Mil lifted her head, tilting her chin in defiance. “That’s just the thing. I can’t.”
Tex gripped me harder. I tried to get free, cursing in the process, nobody moved.
It was their worst fear. It was mine.
Our lifestyle, our legacy, our money — property of the US government, compliments of one of our own families.
That’s where jealousy got you. A shiny seat in prison next to every last family member you used to joke around with at family dinner. Only the De Langes would come out smelling like roses while everyone else burned in hell.
Chapter Eleven
Nixon
She wasn’t telling the whole truth. Every time I questioned her, she bit down on her lip, her eyes always focusing on the floor to the left, and then her body language would change. She’d tap her foot or turn her knees away from me toward Chase.
He was the key to everything.
Because if he could get Mil to trust him with her heart, with her life, with her secrets, then it would be possible to save everyone before the shitstorm hit our family.
He’d hate me for it.
But Mil never had to know, and as far as I was concerned, it was good relationship therapy. Pretend to be in love — hadn’t he done that a few months ago? Only, it wasn’t fake — it was as real as death.
“Okay.” My knees popped as I got up from my seat and tucked the gun back in my pants. “Let’s just say I believe you. Your family’s in some deep shit. You know everything there is to know — the dirty secrets, the lies, and whatever else they have up their sleeve this year. What exactly,” I paused my face pinching in irritation and hatred, hopefully scaring her and getting my point across in dramatic fashion, “is your brilliant plan?”
A rosy blush spread across Mil’s face. “I hadn’t exactly gotten that far yet.”
“Oh?” I raised my eyebrows and gave her a mocking look. “And why’s that? Wedding plans trump life and death situations?”
“Ass,” Chase muttered under his breath. I shot him a glare. He shook his head. Fine, I knew I was pouring salt on a wound, I knew I was making it worse, and it was working like a charm. “Tell me, Mil, were you so focused on yourself — your own worries, your own fears, your own damn plans to have the happily-ever-after — that you forgot all about the lives hanging in the balance?”
Her eyes darted between Chase and me. Then she closed them as a tear trailed down her cheek.
“Pathetic,” I muttered under my breath. “Are you crying because I’m right or because you’ve finally realized you are the last person on earth who should be a mafia boss? After all, you are a woman.” Yeah, had Trace been there, she would have slapped me.