Page 39

Enrico rolled his eyes.“He’s not a good guy, you idiot!He’s in the way of my expansion plans.”He leaned back again, the leather chair squeaking as his bulk shifted.“I want him gone.Figure out a way to get rid of him and I’ll make sure you get a good reward.”

Raffy’s eyes widened so much it looked like they might pop out of his thick skull.“Really, boss?”he asked, his deep voice a shade too eager, too slow.He even licked his lips, like a kid offered extra dessert.

“Really,” Enrico smirked.This was too easy.Muscles like that always came with a hollow head.“But we didn’t have this conversation.Get it?”

“Got it!”Raffy bobbed his head so hard it looked painful, then the idiot broke into a grin so goofy Enrico almost laughed out loud.“I’m on it, boss.I’ll come up with a real good plan.Just wait and see!”

He gave a half-salute that made him look like he’d learned it from a cartoon, then lumbered out of the office with heavy steps.

Enrico waited until the door closed before snickering.“Hell, what an idiot,” he muttered, shaking his head.“All brawn, no brains.Perfect.”He leaned back further, the chair groaning again, and smirked.“Matteo might be a pain in my ass, but at least he’s not that stupid.”

He pulled a Cuban cigar out of the box at the corner of his desk, savoring the smooth weight of it in his hand.“There’s gotta be another heir to my empire somewhere in this mess,” he muttered as he clipped the end, lit it, and puffed until the smoke caught.Circles drifted upward, blurring the chandelier’s light.

That was the thing about Enrico Bianchi—he didn’t need sharp men around him.Sharp men were dangerous.Sharp men challenged you.He preferred muscle that followed orders without thinking.And Raffy Lupo?That big, dumb ox looked like he could lift a car with his bare hands.A guy like that didn’t need a brain.Just muscles, loyalty, and the ability to scare the crap out of people on sight.

He puffed again, chuckling at the smoke rings.Enrico wasn’t like those other mafia bosses branching out into real estate or restaurants, trying to look respectable.Nah.Legit business bored him.Enrico liked the old ways—the brutal ways.Drugs.Guns.Whores.Protection.Sex, dreams, and retribution—that’s how a man built power.

The thought of the new shipment of drugs tugged at him.Back in the day, he’d try them himself.But too many of these designer drugs were addictive, even deadly.Now he let the customers test them first.If they liked the high, they’d come crawling back with cash in hand.If they dropped dead?He’d find another supplier.Capitalism at its most honest, he thought with a sneer.

“Damn, I miss the good old days,” he sighed, puffing again, remembering when he used to go door-to-door, breaking kneecaps, collecting money, grabbing a quick release at a strip club, then running trucks filled with illegal goods through the night.No subtlety.No pretending.Just fear, blood, and cash.

That was the kind of world Raffy Lupo fit into perfectly.

Chapter 20

Diane’shandstrembledasshe shoved another suitcase into the back seat of her old sedan.The trunk was already full, crammed with bags, blankets, and whatever she thought might give her three children a head start in their new lives.“It’s okay, honey.Just get in the car,” she urged, trying to make her voice sound steady, cheerful even, though her pulse hammered in her ears.“Timmy, can you grab Rachel’s bag?”

Timmy rolled his eyes, lanky arms crossed, but he did as asked.Diane’s throat tightened at the sight of him—already trying to act like a little man when he should still be climbing trees and playing baseball.Ten years old, and he carried more weight in his eyes than most grown men.As soon as we get somewhere safe,she promised silently,I’ll get him a haircut.Something normal.Something that makes him feel like a kid again.

“I don’t understand why we have to leave,” Catherine whined, her tiny voice piping up as she clutched her doll and scrambled into her booster seat.At five, she was bold and outspoken, the only one still innocent enough to complain out loud.

“It’s just a trip,” Rachel soothed, leaning over to clip Catherine’s seatbelt.Eight years old and already a caretaker, too old in ways Diane hated.Rachel’s hand lingered on her sister’s shoulder, as if silently promising protection.

Diane’s chest ached.Both Rachel and Timmy understood—maybe not the details, but enough.They’d seen too much, heard too much.The looks in their young eyes told her they knew exactly what they were running from.

For one weak, wavering moment, Diane considered stopping.Maybe she could leave the kids with her mother, take the money Enrico had given her, and go to Chicago to do what he’d demanded.Spy on Romano.Lure him.Sell her soul a little more but not have to be on the run.

But then she remembered the dozens of nights she’d been forced to her knees in Enrico’s office.Remembered Jimmy, her boss, yanking her into the back room like she was his personal toy.The stench of cigars, whiskey, and sweat.The way she’d learned to go numb just to survive.

No.She couldn’t.Not again.Not for Enrico.Not for anyone.

And Romano?From what she’d heard, Salvatore Romano didn’t tolerate betrayal.If she obeyed Enrico, she’d be walking into certain death.She couldn’t do that to her children.She wouldn’t.

Her pulse spiked, panic clawing at her throat.Shehadto get out.Now.Tonight.

Arizona, she thought wildly.Maybe Arizona.Warm winters.Cheap towns.Sunlight and wide skies where Enrico would never think to look.She could disappear there, blend in.She had five thousand dollars—Enrico’s money, meant for a trap.But she would use it to build something better.To buy her children a new life.She wouldn’t dance anymore.No more stripping.No more degradation.Maybe she’d wait tables.Maybe she’d work at a daycare.A normal job.Something honest.Something that let her be home when her kids got back from school.

She clung to the dream like it was oxygen.A rented little house with a yard.A fridge full of food.Quiet nights with her kids safe in their beds.

“Mom?”Timmy slid into the passenger seat, his jaw set, watching her with those too-old eyes.Waiting.Trusting her to make this decision.

Her hands shook as she shoved the key into the ignition.Her throat worked.“Maybe we should…” she started to falter.

But Rachel leaned forward, her small hand resting firm and steady on Diane’s shoulder.Diane met her daughter’s gaze in the rearview mirror.Rachel’s brown eyes were fierce.Determined.“We’re leaving, Mom,” she said, her little-girl voice carrying the weight of command.“This life…we’re going to find something better.”

Tears welled in Diane’s eyes.She looked at each of them—Timmy’s quiet strength, Rachel’s resolve, Catherine flipping open her book as if this were any other car ride.

“Yeah,” she whispered, her voice breaking.Then she nodded, firmer this time.“Yeah.Let’s do this.”