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“What do we do?”
“You go upstairs and don't come down, no matter what you hear. You make sure nobody gets to the others.” I grip his shoulder for emphasis. “I mean it, do what you need to, nobody hurts them.”
He nods, his grey eyes brimming with determination. “I've got it.”
I swallow the lump in my throat, my grip on his shoulder tightening. “And if something happens to me, you take them and you get them away from here. Take them to Vegas.” Our godparents rule over Vegas, I shouldn't trust them, but I do.
His eyebrows drop in surprise and he shakes his head. “I won’t leave you.”
“Yes, you will. If something happens to me, their safety is your responsibility.” If I die, Luca will be next in line. They won't just kill our father and his heir, they will exterminate the whole bloodline. It's the only logical solution to stop one of us coming back and taking the city back when we’re older. Our last name holds weight in our world.
We both pause for a second staring at each other. I feel like I should say something, like goodbye maybe but we both know it's not necessary. We have both had it drilled into us from the get-go that fearing death isn’t an option. Failure isn’t an option. I motion for him to go and he reluctantly sprints off towards the stairs, sparing a glance over his shoulder before he disappears.
I hear a thud from the front door and I run for the side door in the kitchen. Our front door is reinforced. It takes approximately six minutes to break it down, I’ve tested it.
I unlock the side door and slip out quietly, making sure to lock it behind me. Keeping my gun aimed ahead as my eyes dart around the side walkway, I keep moving around the side of the house until I see the front porch. The guy in the balaclava hasn't heard me yet as he crouched in front rummaging through his bag.
I try to keep my breathing even but it's almost impossible. The thought of him getting his hands on any of my siblings keeps me pressing on as I creep behind him, I pause before my foot hits the wooden step and aim my gun at the back of his head. I don't let myself think. I pull the trigger.
He falls forward onto the door with a crash and slumps to the floor. The breath whooshes out of me and I place my hands on my knees, blinking fast as I try to gather my racing thoughts. My stomach turns and I think I might be sick.
The sound of a car pulling up outside the hedges has my attention snapping to the gate. I duck back around the side of the house and press myself up against the wall. I hear men's voices but I can’t make out the words because my blood is rushing in my ears too loudly. Carefully I peek around the corner and relief washes over me when I see three of my father's men rushing towards the house. I stumble around and head towards them. My uncle Gio is the first to see me and his face drops from anger to something I can't quite place. I rush towards them and he grabs me on the forearm. “Is everyone safe?” He demands.
I blink the words tumbling out. “Yeah, they're all upstairs. I managed to take one of them out.” I swallow the lump in my throat and point my gun toward the man slumped at my front door. “Where are my parents?” Gio looks to my other uncle Antonio and looks away from me. “Where the fuck is my mother?” I snap.
Gio looks back at me, something like regret on his face. “Your father is at the hospital. Your mother was shot.”
My face drops along with my stomach, the adrenaline from shooting someone in the head completely gone. “Is she alright?”
He shakes his head “She's dead, Enzo.”
8
Enzo
Present- day
Manhattan, New York City
Casimira lives just off Grand Street. It's technically in Little Italy but I'd say it's more Chinatown. Not that it matters, Moretti properties own most of both. I ring her buzzer and nothing happens. The silence crackles in the hot city air and I take a step back into the road, holding my hand over my eyes from the blazing sun so I can look up at the fourth-floor walk-up. I call her number but she doesn't answer.
Fuck. Am I about to get stood up?
I'm about to get back in my car with the air-con when her head pokes out of the window and she grins. It makes my heart speed up a little bit.
“The buzzer is broken, just give it a kick!” She shouts, head ducking back inside. I shake my head looking back around the street. Is she stupid or just not bothered about her safety at all? She just outwardly told anyone who was listening that the apartment is open to all.
Not my problem.
I shoulder the door and it swings open way too easily.
I seriously hope that it hasn't been like that for long.
Not. My. Problem.
I don’t know why I'm even taking her out. I don't do this. But every time I tell myself ‘Enzo, you don't do this’, my head reminds me of that face and suddenly she's all I'm thinking about. The body, the eyes, even the fucking hair. The hair. Why is it so shiny? Why do I want to wrap it around my fist and keep it there like a pet? I've been like a dog with a bone. It’s fucking annoying.
She's clearly got under my skin but it's just an itch I need to scratch and then move on. I’m getting married, I just need to get this out of my system first.
