A look of distaste crosses Marco’s face. Tommy Moretti is a member of the family, but something has always seemed off about him. As Marco and I began digging into the death of my father, even though neither of us found anything that couldn’t be explained away, we both shared uneasy feelings about Tommy. And given our instincts have saved both our asses many times before, we know better than to discount them. “He’s careful, Tony, almost too much so. He goes to great lengths to cover up family business, which makes no sense to me. Why hide what you’re doing from the people who told you to do it in the first place?”
“Because it’s become second nature,” I interject. “If he did have a part in Dad’s and Victor’s death, then he’s been covering his ass for a long fucking time. Probably doesn’t know how to operate any differently at this point.”
Marco glances around my office, then leans forward, dropping his voice. I almost point out that my office is soundproof and checked several times a day for bugs. This is who we are. “According to a couple of the guys, he’s gotten tight with Frankie Gavino. They were giving him shit about it over dinner a few nights back.”
I play devil’s advocate as I say dryly, “The Morettis and the Gavinos have a few joint ventures. It’s not out of the realm of possibility that they’d be friendly.”
Marco snorts, then gives me a roll of his eyes. Asshole. “You know that punk has nearly been ex-communicated from the Gavino family a half-dozen times. If it wasn’t for his father being a major player, his dumb ass would have ended up in a morgue by now. He’s a misfit, but he’s just smart enough to think he can pull off something big.”
“Like a hit on a Moretti and a Falco,” I muse. “It seems almost too obvious, though. Like maybe we’re being pointed in that direction. Yet—”
“It feels right as well,” Marco finishes. “I’ve had the same thoughts. Been over it in my head a million times. Hell, he’s only a few years older than we are, so would have been a kid at that time. Do you think he could have masterminded a hit of that magnitude? He’s not exactly Einstein, so it’s a hard sell.”
“Plus, Hunter Wrenn confessed to setting the entire thing up. And I can’t see him being loyal to a Moretti at that point. Fuck, he’d have gotten off rubbing my face in that shit.”
“True,” Marco says before adding, “but what if he only thought he’d been the one to pull the proverbial trigger? I don’t doubt he paid some junkie to do his dirty work. Sounds about right to me. But let’s say that Frankie and Tommy rode in on his coattails, wanting to accomplish the same thing and were more than willing to let Wrenn think he’d done it. Puts things away neatly and gives the family an easy target for retribution.”
“That was almost twenty years ago, though. Do we have anything that links Tommy and Frankie together back then? Don’t get me wrong, I agree they’re both pieces of shit, and on paper, this lines up perfectly. But we’re going to need a hell of a lot more than that before we act against them. Like it or not, Tommy is a Moretti, and the family won’t sanction anything without a fuckload of proof. Plus, Frankie might be an outcast within his own circle, but if we touch him, we’d damn well better have more than what we do now. Not only would it get us killed, but a war between the Morettis and the Gavinos would be catastrophic, turning the streets into a bloodbath. This city would be turned to ash, and you know it.” Even to my own ears, my words sound overly dramatic, but they’re anything but. If there were to be a clash between these two powerful families, it would be a nightmare of epic proportions. Even these secret discussions are dangerous.
But I need to know the truth—I must. I’ve waited long enough.
Marco gets to his feet and begins pacing my office, his brow furrowed in thought. Ever since we were kids, when something bothers him, he’s restless like a caged animal. Patience is a trait neither of us was born with. So, the fact that I’ve waited twenty years to get to this point is nothing short of astounding. “I don’t want to believe this,” he starts quietly, “but if Tommy and Frankie were involved, then there’s someone else. No way those two started this. We know that Wrenn may have inadvertently played a hand, but fuck, there’s got to be a Moretti at the helm. It makes me fucking sick to my stomach to say that, but it’s there, Tony, you know it is.”
I don’t bother to confirm or deny his statement; instead, I say firmly, “We have to be careful. You believe we’ve been covert in our digging so far, but going forward, it’s got to be a whole new level of paranoid. Like our lives and everyone connected to us depends on it. Because it’s true. Someone at the top of the Moretti food chain may have ordered a hit on my father. And believe me, if they were that fucking brave, then taking us out will be nothing to them. Truthfully, I’m surprised they haven’t tried it already just to eliminate any future problems. Probably the only thing that has kept that from happening is my inactivity within the family and the fact that you and I are careful about being seen together. But one of two things could happen with Wrenn’s death: the guilty party may relax, thinking he’s safe with Wrenn’s confession, or he may figure he dodged a bullet and decide to make a clean sweep. All depends largely on one thing.”
Marco stops pacing and turns to study me for a moment before nodding slowly. “How much he or they have to lose. If it were only Tommy or even Frankie and Tommy, I wouldn’t expect much more than a wait-and-see approach. They’re not proactive. They’d rather try to put out a forest fire with a bucket of water, than step on a spark to prevent it from happening.”
“Exactly,” I say, appreciating once again how easily my cousin and I have always understood each other. Largely because we view life in a similar way. “You need to pass this warning on to Nic. Make sure he watches his back and yours.” Nicoli Moretti is a distant cousin, and a man I trust almost as much as Marco. He grew up with us and has never given me any reason to question his loyalty. He’s been just as skeptical of the official story of my father’s death as I have. And given patience isn’t one of his strengths either, he’s never been happy about waiting to find answers.
“We know the stakes are high. I’ll relay your words to him.” Marco’s mouth curls into a grin as he says, “I’m fairly certain we could simply release Nic onto Tommy, and he’d be begging for mercy. He hates that bastard with a passion.”
I roll my eyes and snort. “Swear to fuck, is he still pissed over the goddamn barbecue competition? Tell him if that’s all he’s got to obsess over, then I’ll buy him a pair of fucking lace panties and we’ll change his name to Nicole.”
Marco roars with laugher, his big body shaking. “You know he takes everything seriously, including cooking. He swears Tommy paid some famous chef to make the ribs he entered into the contest. Claims they were already almost fully cooked when Tommy put them on the grill.”
“Jesus,” I hiss. “How have the Morettis managed to intimidate their way through life as Martha Stewart wannabes?” What makes this so amusing is that Nic Moretti is as big or bigger than Marco and doesn’t have to open his mouth to scare the hell out of people. To say he’s an intimidating fucker is putting it nicely. So, given he’s still carrying some crazy grudge over a family cookout from years ago is comical.
Marco flops back into his recently vacated chair, and the wood creaks under his frame. “If we were women, we’d be fighting over clothes, so that’s the kind of shit you have to expect when you spend so much time around each other.”
I don’t bother to point out that he’s talking about a family of mobsters, not sorority sisters. “Just pass the warning along.”
He looks amused as he remains in his seat instead of preparing to leave. “You seem to be a little impatient. Have somewhere to go, do you? Maybe chasing the hot piece you’re so into?” When I narrow my eyes at his choice of words, he grins in triumph. “I’m kidding; you know how I feel about her.”
“Who doesn’t?” I ask wryly. “I think you’ve made your affection for her very clear. Fortunately for you, I also know you’d never touch anything of mine??
?especially a woman.”
Looking suddenly serious, he nods solemnly. “That’s one concern you needn’t ever worry about, brother. I’d never make a move on her, nor would I allow another to get away with harming a hair on her pretty head. She became a Moretti the day you staked your claim. She’s a beautiful woman, but she might as well be my sister now.” When I cock my head to the side, waiting, he adds, “Okay, my sister with an amazing ass.” I flip my middle finger at him, and he chuckles. “Gotta give me that one.”
We talk for another half hour before he leaves. I walk to the wall of windows and look at the crowded club below. The two-way mirrored glass is bulletproof and provides complete privacy. It’s past midnight. I planned to pay Jacey a visit, but now I’m hesitant. This is too important, and I don’t want to make a rash decision I’ll regret later. She’d be the first to disagree, but it doesn’t change the fact that she’s fragile. Fuck, a complicated entanglement is the last thing I need. Not to mention I’d be putting her in the crosshairs of the Moretti family. Hell, if not for Lee and me, the Wrenn offspring would have died along with their father that night. That Jacey pulled the trigger kept her alive.
I run a tired hand through my hair and lean my forehead against the cold glass. Do I even know what I’m doing anymore? I’m mentally and physically exhausted. I’ve never been one to sleep more than five hours a night, but it’s gotten worse in the last year. This shit with Hunter Wrenn is a mindfuck. Finding out the truth about my father’s murder has become an obsession. And when I can put that aside for a while—she is there. I need her—which is insane because I need no one. I worry that she’ll snap one day, and I won’t be there to pick up the pieces. I have to be there if and when that happens, but I wish I understood why. I know why she came tonight, and yes, it worked. Jacey Wrenn is very much back in the forefront of my mind.
So fucking tired. I yawn before moving away from the window and walking toward the sofa on the other side of the room. Tomorrow is soon enough to decide, but for tonight, I’ll have her in my dreams—just like many nights since I last held her in my arms.
3
Jacey
I’m sitting on the sofa sipping a cup of coffee when the house phone rings. Since it is only used to announce visitors, my heart leaps, and I shoot to my feet. Damn, it took him long enough. I grimace as I look at the plain pair of pajamas I’m wearing. 100% cotton—you siren. I think briefly of changing as I hurry to stop the insistent ringing. Knowing my luck, they’ll tell him I’m not home. “Yes,” I answer, sounding embarrassingly breathy.
“Mrs. Jacks is here to see you, ma’am.” And just like that, I deflate. Not only am I disappointed it’s not Tony, but I’m not looking forward to another awkward sisterly visit from Jade. I consider changing as I hurry to grab the phone. They have been known to turn people away if I don’t answer quickly enough. Although I really shouldn’t complain. I like living in an apartment where security calls to check if they can send someone up.
“Thanks, send her up,” I say before ending the call. Even though my past actions say otherwise, I do love my sister. More than she knows. And I absolutely worship little Victor. It’s Saturday, so she’s sure to have him with her. Yet as much as I cherish my nephew, the sight of him also guts me. How can someone that small stir so many emotions within me? The emptiness inside me is at its peak when he’s near because I long to be a mother. To be on the receiving end of those wet kisses and adoring looks he tosses so easily at my sister. I want to hate her for the life she has now. But how can I? I push the bitterness aside as soon as it comes because I made my choices long ago. Choices to keep her safe. Jade is innocent of the wheels set into motion with the death of our mother. Even before then. You didn’t have a choice. But as that thought enters my head, I know it’s not true. There are always choices. And maybe that’s true, but at what cost? How do you put yourself first and walk away from the carnage you leave behind? Only a monster would do that. Isn’t that exactly what people say you are? The sound of the buzzer drags me from the inner battle I fight every day. I know I’d choose the same path again to keep her safe, but I still wonder—what if?
I open the door without checking the peephole and instinctively check the hallway, looking for little Victor. But there is only Jade, which is for the best. You’re not strong enough today to cuddle that sweet boy knowing you’ll have to hand him back when he leaves.
Will I ever stop feeling this loss? This emptiness?
Jade’s smile is the same as always: a touch too big and bright. Forced.
I did that.
Even after nearly twelve months since I killed him, nothing has changed between us. There is love in her eyes, but there is also unease. And why would it be any different? She doesn’t know you. “Good morning,” she says softly before holding up a box with the name of the bagel shop down the street on it. This is serious; she brought food. After years of unsolicited criticism, for her to come bearing carbs suggests this isn’t her usual wellness check. She’s left herself wide open for one of my catty insults, but there’s no longer any reason for it. The further I kept her at arm’s length, the safer she was from our father’s radar. Theoretically. Not believing herself beautiful was a cruel result of my horrid taunts, but it ensured Jade’s unassertiveness toward Hunter Wrenn. But now it’s strange. She probably needs me to be nasty. She views the shift in my personality as depression, which is exactly what she needs to believe. To explain otherwise would mire her down in guilt. I know my sister—perhaps better than she knows herself—and it will destroy her if she finds out the truth. I will gladly carry it all to my grave. For her. My only regret is that we’ll never have the relationship we could have had if things were different. But lies build walls, and over time, those become impossible to scale. Even though I want to toss her a ladder, I can’t. Our reality was crafted so long ago and can never be undone. I must remain the ice princess—the callous bitch with no conscience or soul. How I hate my father for what he did to us. The only concession I have made to this image is that I refuse to torment her any longer. I will remain aloof, but I won’t verbally hurt her. She doesn’t deserve it. She never did. She never deserved the savage diatribe against her. Plus, there is also the issue of her husband. Any attack against Jade would bring the wrath of Lee Jacks, and I simply don’t need his attention focused my way any more than it already is. I know he watches over me—and Wrenn Corp. He’d intercede on his wife’s behalf should I be in any harm. I doubt that’s even possible because I suspect Tony watches over me as well. She clears her throat loudly and shifts uncomfortably. I realize I’ve been staring into space and have obviously missed something she said. She appears even more uncomfortable now—and concerned. Act normal. Be a bitch. She’ll expect it. I shake my head at this notion, which probably makes me look insane. Can’t hurt her anymore. I won’t. “Victor’s with Lee doing some male-bonding thing,” she tosses out as if she noticed me looking for him earlier.
I force a smile, attempting to put her at ease, and my heart aches at the answering one she throws my way. I love you, Jadie. I never stopped loving you. I yawn for her benefit before saying, “Sorry, I’m still half asleep. Let’s get a cup of coffee to go with the breakfast you brought. I’m starving.” She looks so fucking thrilled I’m not being ugly to her, and if my heart wasn’t already in tatters, it would shatter again. Over time, I became so used to playing my role that maybe I’ve lost sight of how horrible I was. You had no choice. I want to throw something as the voice in my head again attempts to placate me. To make excuses for the things I’ve said and done. She follows me to the kitchen, and I walk to the cabinet and grab a cup for her before refilling my own. I also get cream from the refrigerator, along with a small canister of sugar. Jade has always had a sweet tooth, and I know she prefers her coffee to be more like a latte. The awkwardness returns as we sit at the bar and she looks uncertainly at her cup and the items before her. She’s waiting for me to make a biting comment about the calories. But instead, I dump a
hefty amount of cream in my cup followed by a couple of heaping teaspoons of sugar. “I need something to get me going this morning.” I smile as I nudge the items toward her. She looks at me as if I’ve grown two heads but proceeds to mirror my movements, and soon we’re sipping the hot liquid with sighs of pleasure.
“I got you a cinnamon raisin bagel.” She nods toward the box. “You used to like that flavor.” Before I can comment, she adds quickly, “I know that was a long time ago, so you probably don’t eat them anymore.”
Again, she appears shocked when I pull a warm bagel from the bag and sniff appreciatively. “I love these things,” I mumble around the bite in my mouth. “Did you get cream cheese?” From the expression on her face, you’d think I asked for crack.
She opens her purse and hesitantly takes a bag from it and places it in front of me. “They only had the regular kind. No reduced fat.” When I simply look at her, she adds quickly, “I asked, though.”
I want to cry. As unreal as it seems, the desire to have a total meltdown is there, yet knowing that would likely send my sister into a trauma-induced panic attack stops me. A part of me almost wishes I could crawl back into the bitch bubble I’ve been living in for so many years. The night I killed my father, that ability had all but disappeared along with the blinders I’d been wearing. And the view now is ugly—so fucking ugly. Was it ever pretty? I take one of the containers and open it before slathering it on my bagel with the plastic knife they supplied. “I hate that other stuff anyway. It tastes like shit.”