Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
“The Don has a poker game every Wednesday night,” he says. “It’s here, on the South Side in some shit rundown deli. He thinks nobody knows about it, but I’ve been staking him out.” I follow my father’s finger as he points to the various locations.
“Okay, so he plays poker. He’s guarded though.” I know he is. Every video feed shows at least three men with him. Men who could turn on me the second the first bullet flies out. I don’t care for shootouts. I prefer a clean hit.
“Right,” he confirms. “That’s where I come in. I’m going to set their cars on fire, here,” he says, pointing. “Once ablaze, they’ll come out. That’s when you shoot him from here.” He points to another spot.
“What’s that?”
“It’s a building across the street. Abandoned, the perfect spot.”
I nod, my face tight. It seems like a decent plan, though I don’t like the uncertainty around the distraction. Still, this sort of thing has worked in the past, and I know I won’t miss the shot.
“Before we do this, I want something,” I say.
He leans back against his truck, raising an eyebrow. “What do you want?”
“The girl,” I say.
He pauses, surprised. “You want that mafia bitch?”
“Yes.” I don’t like that he called her a bitch, but I let that slide. For now, at least. Until I have her, and she’s safe.
“What the fuck for?”
“She’s mine. I’ve grown… attached.”
“Shit,” he says, laughing. “You got pussy whipped.”
I have to keep myself under control. I need his help in convincing the Romanos to let me keep her.
“She’s not a good sex slave,” I say. “The Romanos won’t like her.”
“You did it wrong, then.”
“I didn’t,” I say fiercely. “She’s just stronger than you realize.”
He watches me for a moment, then sighs. “You really want her? You can have her.”
I blink, surprised. I didn’t think he’d give in so easily.
“Okay,” I say. “You’ll help me convince the Romanos?” It was his idea to begin with, and I have faith in my father. He can convince them. I know he can.
“They don’t really give a fuck about her,” he says. “If we pull this hit off, you can have as many Romano sluts as you want.”
I clench my fist but instead of slamming it into his jaw, I just nod. “Good,” I say. “Let’s go then.”
“Fuck yeah,” he whoops. I can tell his blood is up and he’s already forgotten about our conversation.
As we get into his truck and head over to our positions, that conversation is all I can think about. To my father, Grace is just some mob bitch to be used and abused until you’re finished with her. She’s just a wet hole to fuck and fill. But to me, she’s become much, much more than that.
I’m protective of her. I’m possessive of her. I find myself wanting to be more tender, gentler, more loving than I’ve ever been in my entire life. When I’m in that room with Grace and she’s giving herself to me, the darkness is completely silent.
Nothing silences the darkness. Or at least nothing had before, except maybe at the moment of the kill. When I’m with Grace, though, the darkness is totally quiet. There is only me and her and what we’re doing, our bodies intertwined or just lying side by side afterward. She makes me feel something I’d never felt before.
She makes me feel at peace.
I glance at my father as we drive to the South Side of Chicago. He’s probably never felt a moment of peace in his life. He has the darkness inside of him, too, just like I do. He probably thinks that the darkness will go away if the Romanos let him into the familia, but I know better.
Nothing so shallow could ever silence it. I don’t know what could help him. I doubt anything at this point. He’s a lost cause, but I’m not. Grace showed me that. My princess.
We finally reach the spot where the hit will go down. We park down the block, and my father points out the building.
“There, on the left, is the deli,” he says, pointing. “And that on the right is your building.” He points at a taller brownstone building that looks like it was once a shopfront with apartments on top.
“Roof access?” I ask him.
“There’s a fire escape on the back. You can get up that way.”
I nod. Fire escapes are convenient and cleaner. “Timing?” I ask.
“I’ll give you,” he checks his watch, “ten minutes to get into position. Then the fire starts.” He grins at me.
“Fine. Plenty of time.” My blood pumps with adrenaline. My body tenses, knowing the time has come.
“Remember, one shot. Then we’re out of here. I’ll be nearby waiting in case something goes wrong.”
“I understand.” I open the door and climb out.
“Son,” he says. I look back at him. “Don’t miss.”