Page 4 of Birthright (Sinners of New Orleans #4)

THREE

Sam

A lot of emotions have swirled through my mind in the last eight months since I was arrested for a murder I never committed.

Anger. Hatred. Rage.

A desperate need for revenge has driven me to this point.

Planning this moment is how I got myself through the time I spent locked in a tiny cell.

I didn't dare let myself explore the feelings that simmered deep below the surface, pushed down by so much pressure.

If I let myself feel that grief — the weight of my father's death — for even just a second, I would’ve exploded.

So instead, I plotted all the ways I could kill the people who took him from me.

I know Damien wasn't working alone. And, if I had my way, I would have been the one to kill Marcus, but John already did that. So now, Damien is the only one left for me to take out all this rage on.

My so-called aunts aren't that innocent, but from a young age, my father drilled it into me that we don't kill women. So, while I won't be able to end their lives in retribution, I know the deaths of their son and husband will be enough.

The pizza shop my uncle owns isn't in any of the main hot spots in the quarter. Not near Jackson Square or Bourbon Street. Instead, it sits a few streets back from all the action. Still busy, as is everything in the quarter, but less crowded.

Damien never needed the place to make a profit, anyway; it's all a front to launder the family’s dirty money. I know I'll find him there, based on a text from one of the men still loyal to me.

It's the middle of the day, the sun shining brightly as I park John's car outside of the shop. Normally, I'd do this under the cover of night. I'd also wait for John to be available and have my back.

But I can't wait that long.

Even if I wanted to, I don't want to risk my uncle getting tipped off that I've been released. So instead, I'll take care of business now.

I park the car in the alley, which gives me a good view of the back door. My uncle has always had a nasty smoking habit, and it's only a matter of time until that door swings open and he exits, cigarette in hand.

When it finally does, he's not even paying attention.

Stupido.

He pulls the cigarette loose from its packaging and brings it to his lips before lighting it up. I watch as he sucks on the cancer stick before I get out of the car. The sound of the door shutting gets his attention, and his head spins to face me.

As shock coats his features, I revel in his surprise.

"Uncle," I greet coldly.

I can tell from the look on his face that he's weighing his options. His eyes flicker to the door and down the alley, trying to determine if he can make it to either one before I pull my gun on him.

He won't be able to, but it'd be more fun if he tried.

Damien has never been a physical man. He married into the Costello family through my Aunt Carlotta, and though he's a made man, he's always been in the position of running a crew, looking at things from a money-making angle rather than having to be on the streets.

He's only killed one man in his years. Part of his initiation, way back before I was born. And then my nonno let him have a coddled life in la famiglia. He washed our money, managed the legal businesses, and if he needed dirty work done, he had someone else to do it.

So even if he wanted to, I'm not sure he has the balls or the skill to kill me himself. That's why he needed Adrian. Too bad, I got the lawyer on my side instead.

"Sam," he says, blowing out a puff of smoke and straightening his shoulders. I wouldn't expect my uncle to die like a weak man, begging for his life. But I think I'd like to see him on his knees, pleading with me for forgiveness.

We both know that would never happen. Not willingly , at least.

Damien sucks on his teeth as his eyes drift from the gun to me as he puts the pieces together. "Was it Adrian?" he asks.

I smile. Marcus had the lawyer working for him, unaware that the man had suffered a great loss at his father’s fingertips.

Big Al was known for killing anyone who he thought might rat him out, and Adrian's father was picked up with Big Al's drugs.

Instead of helping him get the charges dropped, Al had him murdered before he even had his day in court.

It was easy enough for me to figure out; Marcus and Damien just never took the time.

Marcus welcomed Adrian to join their ranks without hesitation, going so far as to offer him his younger sister, Madi's, hand in marriage. And after Marcus was killed, Damien still forced Madi to marry the man, all without checking into his background. Rookie mistake.

I admit, I did have the lawyer kidnapped and threatened in order to get him to switch sides, but semantics. I'll work on making that right after I handle my uncle.

"I knew I couldn't trust that bastard," Damien hisses. He sucks in another hit of cigarette smoke before dropping the bud and stomping it into the pavement. “You’re a little late, though.” A smug smile replaces his fury. “I already sent a man to the studio. John’s girl will be dead any second now.”

I shrug, acting nonchalant, even if inside I’m hoping that John doesn’t lose the only piece of happiness he’s ever had. "Answer one thing for me." I cock my gun, and Damien swallows, knowing his end is imminent. "Why'd ya do it?"

My uncle swallows and shifts his weight from one foot to the other. I wait patiently for him to spit out the answer, my gun still pointed at him.

"Your father wanted to run things differently," he finally says.

Anger boils in my blood. There's no grieving behind bars, not when you need to stay on your toes. And now, what should be sadness for my father’s murder has morphed into something ugly.

I swing my arm with rage, connecting the butt of my gun with his head. The collision creates a sickening smack that rings out in the alley, and my uncle drops to his knees, holding his head in the palms of his hands.

Something stirs in my chest. It feels good seeing him on his knees. Knowing that he's going to die and his last moments are going to be feeling my wrath.

My father wanted this family to be more than low-life criminals smuggling drugs and girls. He wanted to build up our legitimate businesses, create an empire.

And my uncles and aunts wanted to have girls coked up and dancing in strip clubs, where they could sell them to the highest bidders.

"And so he had to die?" I ask with a snarl.

Damien winces, looking up at me with bloody teeth. "He never would have listened to us."

"You're right," I say. "And now you'll die because of it."

Damien raises his hands, and I think he's about to plead his case, to tell me why his vision for this family is better than my father’s, but I decide I don't want to hear it.

I wish I could elongate his suffering, make him spend eight months in a cell like I had to, but I have business to attend to, and I need to make sure Zoe and Madi are okay.

So instead, I press the trigger on the gun, the sound muffled by the attached silencer.

The bullet speeds from the barrel and pierces my uncle right between his two bushy eyebrows.

A dot of red forms in the spot and his body falls back from the force.

He hits the concrete with a thud, his last breath whooshing from his chest.

Adrenaline courses through me from retribution served at my fingertips.

And vengeance feels good . Knowing that the men responsible for my father’s death will never breathe again feels right.

A squeak pulls me out of my thoughts, my eyes darting up to the dumpster, where a dark-haired girl stands, lips parted and a bag of trash at her feet.

Spinning around, she leaves the bag she dropped behind and begins to run, her sneakers smacking against the concrete as she goes.

She slips into the back door of one of the businesses, slamming it behind her.

"Shit," I mutter, pocketing my gun.

I'm about to go after her—I can't have any witnesses after all—when my phone rings with a call from John.

"Yeah?" I answer.

"Sam, we have a problem."