Home > Empire (Eagle Elite #7)(17)

Empire (Eagle Elite #7)(17)
Author: Rachel Van Dyken

The golf ball in the back of my throat swelled, stretched wide and spread down my chest as I fought for a breath that didn’t hurt.

“Okay.” I finally squeezed out, my voice weak. “No false hope and all that?”

“I don’t do hope,” he snapped, and then he whispered under his breath. “Not anymore.”

He walked with a jerking gait over to the door and left, shutting it behind him, leaving me to wonder… if he wasn’t my friend…

Did that make him my foe?

A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing —A Midsummer Night’s Dream

Sergio

I’D BEEN FIELDING texts and calls from the crew back in Chicago all night. Tex was losing his shit. He even went as far as to ask if Frank shot my sorry ass. I replied with a middle finger emoji and moved on.

Nixon was next.

Followed by Chase.

Even Phoenix decided it would be in his best interest to play therapist. God help us all if the darkest mob boss out of all of them, the one with the most secrets, the worst past, started sending me motivational texts about teamwork.

Actually, it was more along the lines of, keep your head out of your ass, you can’t see the sunshine when you’re poking your head where it doesn’t belong.

I didn’t have the energy to respond. Not after dealing with all the Alferos, damn it. A little warning from Frank would have been nice. Then again, that wasn’t really Frank’s style.

He was more of a toss the person into the snake pit and, if he lives, give him a promotion sort of guy.

My neck hurt, my knuckles were scabbed over with a mixture of blood and torn skin.

And the night was young.

We’d left the Alfero house with plans to have a meeting the following day, which was good, all things considered.

They wanted to talk that evening.

But I knew the last thing the innocent girl sleeping upstairs needed was to wake up and truly see her entire existence altered. Granted, you couldn’t run from reality, from your truth — if you could, I’d have done it.

God knows, I’d tried.

The truth would find her soon enough — and the happy girl who offered easy smiles and doted on her uncles like they were senile retirement home members, would be gone.

Replaced by the harsh reality that only the mafia brings.

Death.

Blood.

Destruction.

Repeat.

“Don’t be gone long,” Frank said once the car stopped near Times Square.

“Aw, you gonna miss me, old man?” I tried joking, even though my voice was gravelly, foreign. The night had taken its toll already.

Frank rolled his eyes. “Try to stay alive.”

“I’ll do my best.”

He snorted as I slammed the door to the Mercedes and leisurely walked toward Broadway.

Blood roared in my ears as I hit Broadway and looked at all the signs proclaiming a variety of shows.

With 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.

   
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