Page 5

Present

It’s a straightforward job, but I can’t shake the unease creeping up my spine. Lorenzo, Roberto’s father and head of the Leonetti family, was always nice to me. He knew not to cross the invisible line and never treated me like a dumb woman. He was respectful in a way most mobsters weren’t.

Which is probably only thanks to his mother.

His father definitely didn’t inspire any morals.

But I’ve been raised better than that. My father once told me, “You can’t let emotion cloud your judgment.

” And as much as I hated to admit it, he was right.

I need to distance myself from the situation.

This isn’t personal, it’s just business, no more, no less.

In the end, I’m a Testa, and Testa’s don’t back down—ever.

I’m dressed to kill in my little black dress and heels clicking on the casino floor of Danza’s Casino, a glass of expensive vodka in my hand. The blonde wig irritates my scalp, and the sunglasses feel like overkill inside. But I fit right in with the other patrons.

Roberto has a suite on the top floor, which means he feels untouchable here in his own empire.

It only makes him an easier target—overconfidence is what gets you killed in this line of work.

Viggo was my first real test; if I screw this one up, it’s over for me and I’ve worked and sacrificed too much in the last four years only to fail now.

This hit will hurt. It’s not a maiming like Viggo—it’s a kill.

Fake ID in hand, I flash it at the burly bouncer outside the elevator.

“I’m here to see Mr. Leonetti, he’s expecting me,” I purr. Sex sells in Vegas and I’m here to deliver him a ticket to his grave. The man leers at my cleavage, his eyes nearly popping out of his head before he waves me through.

The elevator doors open on the penthouse floor to reveal him lounging on a plush leather couch, watching The Godfather. How cliche. The particular scene, the horse head in the bed, has me momentarily flashing back six years. I shake the memory away.

Focus .

“You’re early,” he snaps, thinking I’m the call girl he hired for the night. I pull my sunglasses off my face.

“I think I’m right on time,” I say. His eyes snap to mine. A ripple of emotion—maybe shock flits across his face then disappears. He smirks as if he already knows what’s coming for him.

As if he’s daring me to do it.

“Evany,” He says my name like a caress as he rises smoothly to his feet. “What an unexpected surprise. Who let you up here? I’ll have to make sure they’re taken care of.”

“Roberto,” I say, slipping my right hand inside my clutch purse to grip the Beretta .250 caliber hidden inside. “Uncle sends his regards,” I say, cocking the hammer back on the hidden gun as I raise it to aim at his chest.

He chuckles darkly, resignation flickers in his eyes for a moment, replaced by an emotionless mask before he turns away from me.

“So, it’s come to this. Go ahead, make your move.” He stares out the window, down at the neon strip below, his back to me.

I hesitate for the slightest second, remembering the man who always treated me decently, but duty comes first. I swallow thickly.

“I’m sorry,” I say even though I’m not as I pull the trigger three times in rapid succession.

He is Roberto Scarfo’s son, he would have, eventually, taken the Boss position. Yet he is also the same man who was directly involved in the murder of my cousins.

The room is silent save for the click of my heels as I exit, my part completed. I wipe the gun down and drop it in the trash can as I leave, just another hired hit man in a sea of assassins.

Blood may be thicker than water, but loyalty to the Testa family is thicker than both. At least that’s what they want you to believe. In the elevator, I slip on my sunglasses and steady my racing heart. Popping a piece of gum in my mouth, the doors slide open.

“He didn’t want me, can you believe it?” I gesture to my body and blow a giant bubble.

The guard bites his bottom lip, drags a hand over his face, then shakes his head. “I’m off in an hour.” He gives me one of those ridiculous male nods.

I laugh wholeheartedly. “You can’t afford me,” I say and walk away.

Climbing into my waiting car I slam the door behind me.

“Drive,” I say through gritted teeth, my heart pounding in my chest. The driver gives a small nod, and within seconds, we’re speeding away from Danza’s Casino into the night.

All I can see is the road I didn’t choose in life. These moments always throw me for a loop, and I’m thankful that mostly, I’m alone when they happen.

I pull out my burner phone and dial by memory.

We aren’t born with hate. That’s something I had to learn.

Just because something’s temporary doesn’t mean it isn’t real either.

This is all far more real than I thought it would be.

This justice I seek requires sacrifice. Sometimes, we need lies to survive.

I’m trying to convince myself out of this even though I want it, when he answers.

“Hey.” He sounds sleepy. “Are you okay?”

“Yes. Did I wake you?” He grunts in confirmation. “Sorry, I didn’t look at the time.”

“It’s okay. It’s always ok,” he breathes. I can almost picture him now, groggy, in bed, sleep—swollen lips and mused hair. I long to be there with him.

I smile. “I miss you,” I breathe out.

“Don’t,” he says. The Vegas lights stream past the car window causing a little vertigo. I never did get over my motion sickness.

I grimace. “I need you. I need to see you.”

I am bitter and resentful. Overwhelmed and feeling heavy. So heavy. The world is a dumpster fire that rages day and night around me, and all I can do is cover my mouth to try and keep the fumes out and he is my only solace.

He groans. I imagine a pained look on his face. Barely concealed heartbreak and disappointment. Because of me. Always because of me.

“We’ve been over this. I just… can’t,” he says finally.

I swallow thickly. “You’re the only thing that keeps me… myself. Grounded. Please,” I whine. “Please, say yes.”

Another groan followed by steady breathing and silence.

“Fine. I’ll text when I’m available.”

The line goes dead as I breathe a sigh of relief. The kind of hope that kills the tiny shred of unease in my gut and leads me straight to trouble. They say history is told by its survivors, but what would you trade for the truth ? Your soul? Your freedom? Your chance at true love?