I’d known Nixon my whole life.
He wasn’t bluffing.
I nodded my consent and braced for impact. “Go ahead.”
His teeth clenched as he gripped my shirt with his free hand and pressed the barrel of the gun to my shoulder. “Don’t mind if I do.”
The shot rang out like a bomb going off in the kitchen.
The impact burned like hell. The bullet lodging somewhere between my clavicle and my deltoid.
Everyone started screaming at once.
But I held Nixon’s gaze.
I didn’t blink. I didn’t yell. I made no sound whatsoever. I was a hit man. Hit men didn’t cry. Made men didn’t cry. The only remaining descendent to the Cappo? Did not cry.
Liquid started staining my shirt and dripping down my chest onto my stomach as I waited for Nixon to say something—anything. I probably needed to stop the bleeding before I passed out.
“Clean yourself up.” Nixon shoved a towel in my hands. “Meet me in the living room in fifteen.” He slammed the gun on the counter and grabbed Chase by the arm. “Get the bullet out and pull some morphine from the stash, but don’t give him too much. I want him to feel every damn punch.”
As Nixon walked out of the room I did what I’d always done in the family to alleviate tension; I made a joke. “Welcome home Nixon!”
Mo groaned into her hands next to me while Chase gently grabbed my arm and ripped my shirt open so he could look at the wound. “Tex, your humor isn’t helping the situation, not this time.”
“Made Trace laugh.” I pointed with my good arm.
Chase looked behind him and shrugged. “She doesn’t count, she laughs at commercials and butterflies.” He turned back to me and froze.
I smiled as Trace held the gun to his back. “You were saying, Chase?”
“Damn this family’s violent,” Mil said from her corner near the door. “But seriously Trace, put the gun down. I want my husband to live so he can get me knocked up some day.” She winked.
Chase paled.
“Mil,” I babbled, nodding like a bobblehead hit man. “Have I told you how much I love you? Cause I do, I really do.”
Mil rolled her eyes. “You’re getting blood on the hardwood, rock star. Let Chase clean you and drug you. Trace and I will make the popcorn and grab the whiskey.”
CHAPTER FOUR
Lies are almost impossible to repeat backwards because whatever you’re lying about didn’t really take place making it so your brain creates no memory to pull from.
Mo
CHASE TOOK TEX out of the room, most likely to shield us from the cursing that would take place once he pulled the bullet out of Tex’s shoulder. I shuddered. My fault. Everything was my fault.
One stupid choice.
One moment of weakness.
“What’s wrong dolce ragazza?” He took my hand in his and kissed my open palm. “Your face isn’t normally so sad.”
I shrugged. “Oh you know, the life of a Mafia princess, lots of drama and broken crowns.”
His face fell, I’d always thought of him as some tragic hero. The way his features were framed made him look like a soldier or hero from King Arthur’s Court or something. He always acted that way too. Like he was a hero. Too bad I knew all his secrets. I looked up into his eyes again. Definitely too bad, because he was gorgeous.
“Sit,” he ordered. “Drink.”
“Drinking won’t help,” I said dryly. “Believe me.”
“Wine.” He scooted the bottle closer. “It always helps, no?”
“Yes.”
“No?” He teased and winked. “Seriously Monroe, you need to take better care of yourself.”
“Right, I’ll just schedule that pedicure when I get home. Happy?” I pushed a wine glass towards him. Everyone else was in bed, but I was awake. Awake, and oh so blatantly aware that Tex had brought home another girl.
I heard her moans.
I heard her screams.
And then they turned into mine when I finally couldn’t take it anymore and got the hell out of the house.
The only place I knew I could go that was actually safe belonged to my family. It was one of our many investments. A fancy bar and grill a few miles away from the house in one of the nicer subdivisions. I knew some of our men would be there blowing off steam. They’d recognize me, and if anyone tried anything, they would shoot them first and ask questions later.
I hadn’t expected him to be there, however. He rarely went out in public.
And that was when it hit me.
“Nixon sent you, didn’t he?” I licked my lips and stared at the red liquid as he filled my glass.
He didn’t answer right away, instead his strong hand reached for the stem of the glass, his fingers wrapping around it, caressing the smooth surface for a minute. “And if he did?”
I shrugged.
He leaned closer until I could smell the warm swirling scent of honey and whiskey on his breath. “And if he didn’t?”
“Then…” My voice shook. “That means you’ve been following me? Like a stalker?”
“Stalker.” He laughed and leaned back. “I like the sound of that. Stalker of the Abandonato family gem.”
I rolled my eyes.
“What?” he whispered, tucking my hair behind my ear. “Don’t tell me… you think I’m full of shit.” His lips grazed the same ear. “When really, I’ve been watching you your whole life. Always close. Always ready to attack. Always ready, ready for the time…”