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I’m in the middle of the living room. The door is mostly shut behind me—but not all the way. I left it cracked slightly in case I get the chance to turn and run away.
Problem is, Julien Moreau is a professional.
He’s another remnant of the alliance my former partner Marco was trying to build. Julien runs the French Connection inthis part of town, importing high-quality heroin through secret shipping containers and ports scattered all over the world. The FBI figured the connection got shut down a long time ago—but Julien and his people are working with their contacts in French-aligned Africa to get the drugs flowing again.
From what I hear, business is going well. Julien’s gang is more of a loose confederation of employees than it is a crime family, and in many ways, he’s even more dangerous than Ronan or the Biancos.
“I haven’t heard from you in a while,” I say, trying to mask my fear. The weight of the gun in my bag is both familiar and infuriating—there’s no way he’s ever let me get it even halfway drawn.
“That’s because you’ve ignored my calls.” He smiles, head tilted to the side. Julien’s an attractive man—square chin, sharp eyes, hair cut short, wavy, and pushed to the side, always wearing tight slacks and tight black shirts that show off his muscular physique.
“Honestly, after the way the alliance broke up, I kind of figured it was better if I kept my head down.”
“I’m sure you did think that.” The gun doesn’t waver, even as he takes another drag.
“Can you put that thing out? My landlord’s going to evict me if he smells it.”
Julien laughs but jabs the butt down onto a plate he has resting next to him. “You’re admirably calm for a woman I suspect was involved with a friend’s murder.”
“I had nothing to do with Adam’s death.” That night still haunts me: I can still hear the gunfire and the screams in my nightmares. It was supposed to be an ambush against the Biancos, but they got a drop on our group instead, and the head of the Polish mafia was killed during the fighting. It went so freaking wrong. And all because of Marco.
He tipped them off. Without his betrayal, Adam might still be alive. But Marco has the backing of the Bianco Famiglia now, and he’s not an easy target for Julien’s anger.
Not like me.
“Perhaps you didn’t. But I always wondered. You and Marco were very good friends, and yet you didn’t warn anyone about his relationship with that bitch Laura Bianco. I find it hard to imagine you didn’t know about it.”
I consider lying. I choose not to. “He was my friend. I didn’t think he’d betray us the way he did.”
“And yet he was fucking a Bianco, which seems like it was always a betrayal.” Julien leans forward. If I can rattle him—if I can make that gun point somewhere else, just for a minute?—
What can I do? Make a break for the door? I’m not sure Julien will kill me, but I’m also not sure he won’t.
“Marco was your friend too,” I point out.
“We both know I was never as close to him as you were. Come now, Valentina, don’t tell me that’s your defense? What about me?”
“I had nothing to gain from Adam’s death and everything to gain from hurting the Biancos.” I step toward him. My hands tremble and my heart patters in a wild rhythm. This is stupid, baitinghim like this, but I don’t see another way out of this situation. “They killed my father. The Biancos stole everything from me. I wanted to hurt them, and Marco stole my revenge away.”
“Killing Adam in the process,” Julien murmurs, and for a moment I think he might even be convinced. But his expression hardens. “If you really were innocent, I need information on your former partner.”
I hold my hands out, palms up. “You know as much as I do. He’s with Laura Bianco. They’re living together.”
“Get me more. I want an address. I want to know who’s watching his back.”
“I don’t know any of that.”
“Then what use are you to me? Why keep you around when killing you might make me feel better?” He stands suddenly. I forgot how tall he was. “Adam was a good man. With him dead, his family is in disarray. His cousins and uncles are fighting each other for control. It’s ugly, and meanwhile, Marco gets to live happy and free in marital bliss. You get to sit in this apartment and keep on making your clever little plans. Does that sound like justice to you?”
“There’s no justice here,” I say, taking a step back. I never should’ve pushed. I overplayed my hand, and now Julien’s angry. I can see the violence in his expression—it’s a look I’ve seen a hundred times on the faces of the men in my father’s Famiglia. It’s a look I know too well.
“Perhaps not the correct kind, but I can try.” He raises the gun.
The door bangs open. It slams against the far wall, and I let out a shocked yelp as I throw myself sideways. Gunshots ring out—I’m not sure who’s shooting or who’s injured, but there’s a grunt of pain and shouting.
My ears are ringing. I’m on the floor, but there’s no blood.I’m not shot. I stare up at the ceiling, blinking a few times to get myself under control, before I slowly push myself up into a seated position.
Ronan’s standing over Julien. The Frenchman’s clutching his left arm and grimacing in pain as blood pours between his fingers. He’s injured, but not dying, and Ronan’s shouting something in his face. I can barely make it out, but my hearing starts to come back in fits.
