Chapter 3
1071 Words
Chapter Three
REINA
COMPLICI BY CESARE CREMONINI PLAYED SOFTLY FROM the old pool radio. Condensation dripped down crystal glasses, and silverware glinted in the bright sunlight.
It was a hot afternoon, but the steady breeze was the perfect interlude.
Lights wound around the wooden slats of the patio cover, and my mama’s rose bushes were flourishing. The chairs were soft and the food was good, but it could only be so comfortable having lunch with people who were measuring each other with smiles.
“Anyway, the girls offered for me to take my coke—”
“Vlad.”
The word was a low warning from Javier’s spot at the table.
He rolled his eyes and took a deep drink of wine, but spoke no more.
I wondered what their relationship was.
Siblings?
They did appear to find each other annoying, but I was sure I’d heard somewhere that Javier was an only child.
Javier’s senior citizen of a colleague sitting next to him hadn’t said a word, except for some oddly-
timed chuckling. I was beginning to think he was hard of hearing.
I turned to look at my sister. Belcallis was my polar opposite. Where I was quiet, she spoke with
abandon and laughed loudly. Where I was demure, well . . . she’d thrown her gum to the ground before eating her pasta without twirling it around the fork. I was a little jealous of her carefree approach to life.
Andre sat on her other side. He leaned back in his chair with his jacket unbuttoned looking bored, but I knew him better than that. I’d seen that
smug way he scratched the scruff on his jaw like he was angry and amused at the same time.His
recklessness was dangerous for anyone involved, especially himself.
He caught my uneasy look and shot me a small smile. Low chatter and the scraping of silverware filled the yard, but underneath it was something else. A wire pulled too tight. Maybe it was just me.
Vlad didn’t stay quiet for long, though he no longer spoke about coke. He changed the subject to horse racing. That was an acceptable conversation many joined in on. It wasn’t like this was a drug-free zone—in fact, many people came through this house on a daily basis with drugs on them—but out in the open, it was Cosa Nostra etiquette to pretend we were the classic example of a white-picket-fence family.
Maybe I was a coward, but I was glad I didn’t have to sit near Javier. I was the perfect hostess and had a polite response for anything—as
inappropriate as the comments could sometimes be when people were drinking—but with him, words were at a loss for me.
I felt tongue-tied around him, a blush permanently warmed my skin.
It might be unpleasant speaking to him, but it was too easy to look in his direction.
If not for his size, he could easily fit my pretty-boy preferences when he had a sober expression on his face.
He was tan, his hair was almost black, and I couldn’t help but notice that his biceps were
defined through his shirt. My future husband was
handsome if I was to overlook his overbearing character. It was unfortunate his personality didn’t match.
The most intriguing thing about his appearance, however, was the dark ink that showed through his white dress shirt. It was vague, but I could see the outline of what seemed to be a snake or so on his bicep and some writing of sort on his forearm. I could only make out some letters. I knew that gentleman's look was a facade to a raging beast.
He glanced over and met my gaze as if he’d felt me observing him. The impact of an indifferent stare still found a way to touch my skin. The way he shouldn’t have said my name played on a
loop, deep and suggestive, in my head. Just so I didn’t look like a coward, I held his gaze for a breathless second before looking away.
“I hear you have a dance coming up Reina.” Uncle Macmillan said from a few seats away from my brother.
Every pair of eyes shifted to me, all twelve of them, but I was only aware of one of them.
“Yes.” I forced a smile. “Saturday.”
“You dance?” Vlad asked. “How fun! I’ve done some dancing but”— his voice lowered—“we’re probably talking about two different things.”
My eyes twinkled. “Salsa, right?”
His laugh was light as his hand worked his hair. “Yes, definitely salsa. You've been doing it long?”
“Since I could walk.”
“You any good?”
“Honestly? No.”
The conversation moved on. Food. Wine. But the tension didn’t leave. It sat there, waiting.
Then Andre set his glass down too hard.
“And what exactly are you implying?”
Belcallis groaned under her breath. “Ugh.”
My stomach dropped. The day my brother walked away from a challenge was the day hell froze.
“Andre, don’t,” Benjamin said from beside him. He was always the one talking Andre down. But Andre didn’t look at our cousin. He looked across the table, at Piero—i learnt his name from Nonna, and smiled. Not a nice smile.
My chest went tight. I looked towards Papà, but he was deep in conversation with Javier and my uncles.
“Not sure what you’re talking about,” Piero drawled.
My brother’s eyes flickered with dark anger before his amusement faded into a deathly quiet that even the family and guests at the head of the table noticed. Everything went static, like a still-shot in a magazine.
I never saw it coming.
My pulse leapt into my throat as an arm clamped around my waist, pulling me to my feet. My head was forced to the side as a cold barrel
pressed against my temple.
Shouting rang out in Italian. Chairs fell backward to the patio as everyone jumped to their feet.
Guns rose in every direction.
Bu-bum. Bu-bum. Bu-bum. The beat resounded hard in my ears. Cold fear ran under my skin.
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