Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102335 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 512(@200wpm)___ 409(@250wpm)___ 341(@300wpm)
Victor moves from the chair to the open fireplace on the other side of the room. He kicks out his leg, keeping his eyes on me as one of his foot soldiers enters behind me. I think his name is Tony. Different from the one who usually drives Ruby around. “They’re ready and waiting.”
Victor leans forward, flicking his fingers over his shoulder but keeps his focus on me. “If you’re in, I need you all the way in.” His tongue runs over his lip.
“I’m not Italian, I have nothing to offer you as far as the outfit is concerned.”
Victor keeps his eyes on me. Ruby gets her green eyes from him, since her mother’s are blue. “That doesn’t matter.”
“Really?” I ask, kicking my foot out. “I find that hard to believe since all of this”—I wave my hand around the room—“feels a lot like old school mafia type shit. Not that new age bullshit.”
A beat of silence stretches between us before he stubs out his cigar and nudges his head out the door. “Guess we’ll find out.”
An old church stands at the top of a hill where thick green grass grows against it. It’s all withered white wood and cracked paint, but I know why he’s taking me here.
Well, I have my guesses. I’ve come to realize Victor is about as consistent and reliable as mob bosses go.
I push my door open and stand from the back seat, closing it behind me and watching as another car pulls up beside ours.
Victor points to the city limo with the fingers that hold his cigar. “You don’t know who I am, son…” He pauses right at the front of the car, before nudging his head toward the church. “But I’m about to show you, if you’ll accept my initiation.”
I know who he is to an extent. I’ve watched how they’ve walked around each other, and I’ve seen the Phoenix on the back of his hand. I know exactly who he is without knowing who he is. I don’t ask questions because he doesn’t.
“When you step through those church doors, everything you think you know about your life, about my life—is going to unravel. I’m going to show you things you’re not going to want to share, but let me tell you something.” He steps closer to me, his chest almost brushing against mine. I bring my eyes to his. “You won’t be walking back out of those doors alive if you don’t agree once you step through, so I’m giving you your chance right now, son.” He pauses, puffing on his cigar before turning his head. “Do you agree?”
I’ve made some pretty shit decisions in my past. Got Poppy and me into a heap of trouble among other dark shit.
This is different.
I nod. “Yeah, take me through.”
Following Victor up the stairs to the Gothic-style building, I pause when he widens the door, displaying a long dark corridor. Two men stand on either side of the door, both dressed in dark suits with shiny loafers on their feet.
Victor must sense my hesitation, because he turns to face me, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Ask me a question and I’ll answer honestly, but after you’ve asked your three questions, you step through these doors, Wicked, or you get carried out in a body bag, and I’m not talking about the kind the pigs carry you out in.” Victor La Rosa is mafia. His family is suits, guns, and high-end security, and his thick Italian accent is one you can’t ignore.
“Was it by accident you picked Poppy and me up?”
He rolls his lit cigar around his mouth, the wrinkle lines in his skin crinkling every time he does it. No doubt he was a good-looking man in his younger years, but time has not been kind to him. Money has, though, judging by his expensive suits, cologne, and the Cuban cigars he always has hanging off his fingers. That’s obviously leaving out the expensive mansion and cars too.
“Yes.” His eyes meet the young fuck from earlier. Ruby’s new soldier. Val. He comes back to me. “Next question.” He leans back slightly and the withered door creaks under his weight.
“You’re in the mafia…”
He studies me closely, and for the first time since he collected Poppy and me, I feel a wave of darkness hover over him and touch me. “I’m from Palermo, Sicily, son. Do you know what that means?” I don’t shake my head. He picks out tobacco from his tongue, flicking it onto the floor. “Means I don’t talk to anyone who isn’t a made man about my business, until he’s a made man.” I know he’s not going to continue, so I say the first thing that comes to my head.
“I’m not Italian. I can’t be a made man…”
His mouth curves upward as he presses the door farther open with one hand, gesturing inside with his other. “Actually, son, you are…”