Page 29 of Love At the Gates of Hell (The Seven Sinners Trilogy #1)

eighteen

Benny

They drove through the night, alone on the highway, mist clinging to the windows of the car as moisture seemed to hover in the air around them.

It was nearly three and a half hours to Hudson, to the home where Benny spent most of her childhood.

She was curled up in the backseat, her legs tucked underneath her body, her head resting on her palm as she stared out the window.

What would they be walking into? Would her father have Christian there? Would he be somewhere else?

Would the interrogation have already begun?

Benny had known who her father was for a long time.

What he was.

Her mother’s death had made it sort of impossible for him to keep his secret, because her murder consumed him, like an unclaimed vengeance that would have eaten him alive had she not stepped in. Had Benny not reminded him that he wasn’t alone. She was there too.

And she missed her mom just as much as he did.

Her father hadn’t kept secrets from her after that. He wanted her to be aware of the dangers that lurked, the burden her kind had to bear in return for the power they were gifted.

But her actual abilities weren’t his focus.

He resented her power. Though he was never explicit, she could feel it.

She could see it whenever she was pouring over the grimoire, doing what she could to teach herself in her mother’s absence.

His grief created an aversion to magic, and especially to what Benny was capable of.

How he managed to continue his own work in the field, she had no idea.

It hardened him.

It made him almost fanatical in instructing Benny on the business.

Her father wanted to make sure she understood the inner workings of the Caruso family, of the way goods passed through their hands, how they decided what to move and what to keep. He wanted her to know where all of their privilege had come from, the work that went into keeping it alive.

She hated to admit it, but she had found herself intrigued by it.

And that was exactly why she dove into academia. To separate herself from that world. To focus on her magic and her schooling and to find a community in which she could thrive away from that darkness.

She knew who her father was.

She just didn’t know exactly who she was yet. What version of her would come out.

But when the car turned down the long gravel drive, the path softly lit by oil lanterns, and the main house came into view, all she felt was a yearning for her home.

The old Tudor manor, with ivy creeping along its brick, was dark save for a light on in the room she knew to be her father’s study.

The sun was barely beginning to rise, and the sky was burning into shades of orange and pink.

She couldn’t remember the last time she’d properly visited, so much of her focus on school and her thesis and teaching.

The car pulled into park and Benny felt Gideon’s focus shift toward her.

He looked at her through the rearview mirror, his brow a little wrinkled, concern in his eyes.

There was a depth to them more recently, a softness that made her feel a little tingling of hope deep in her belly.

Like there could be something more. God, she wanted more.

Even if that felt insane to want. Even if she knew their circumstances made those wants feel insignificant.

She still wanted it. She wanted him.

But he had been quiet on the drive, letting Luke pick the music, hardly saying a word to either of them.

She couldn’t understand the shift. They had been training on the roof when her father had called, Gideon intent on helping her harness her power, working with her so closely these last few days it was as if they had found new ground with each other. And now…

“You ready?” Luke asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She nodded.

The light above the front door turned on, and by the time Benny had crossed the driveway, her father had met her in the front yard.

It was strange to see him dressed so casually.

But she couldn’t help the swell of emotion she felt when she saw the UPenn sweatshirt he was wearing. He seemed anxious, though. Restless.

No. Uneasy.

As if he was waiting to be chastised. As if this was somehow his fault. Neither of them said anything at first, only wrapped their arms around each other. She knew deep down this was on her. She had made a reckless choice with Christian and now she was paying for it.

That wasn’t on him.

Benny hugged him tightly, smelling his familiar cologne, the hint of a cigar. Bourbon.

“You doing okay, kid?” her dad asked, his broad hands wrapped around her shoulders as he held her back a step and took a solid look at her. His one hand moved to lift her chin. “You look good. A little thin, though. Jesus, Benedetta, are these boys feeding you? Are you sleeping?”

“Babbo, please,” Benny replied, flustered, waving her hands. “I’m okay. They’re taking good care of me, considering the circumstances, and we’ve made a lot of progress. We haven’t been attacked in what?” She glanced back at the Crawford brothers and offered them a rueful smile. “A couple of days?”

Angelo narrowed his eyes. “Attacked?”

“Babbo—”

“So you found this Moran guy?” Angelo turned his attention to the brothers.

“Yeah, about that,” Luke said, his hands tucked into his suit pants. “We should talk.”

“Inside,” Gideon said, gesturing to the brightening sky.

“Right, yeah, come on.” Angelo gestured for them to follow.

But Benny lingered in the drive, letting her head tilt back toward the approaching sunrise.

Her father used to joke that she was a little solar light when she was a child, the way she would lay in the grass and soak up the sun.

She would close her eyes and let its heat sink into her skin.

Much like she was doing now. No matter how many years passed, how many thousands of mornings, she still felt humbled when she stepped into the daylight.

She had been so close to losing this.

She could feel her skin prickle with fury.

Would she be able to remain calm when she saw Christian? Would she be able to control herself?

Should she?

A gentle touch brushed across her shoulders, a tingling fluttering down her spine. She felt her breath catch when she opened her eyes to find Gideon beside her. A warmth that could rival the sun seemed to linger in his gaze. There it was. There was that softness.

She wondered if he had any idea the effect he had on her.

“Hey,” she said. “I just needed a minute.”

“A recharge?” he said, seemingly amused at his own little joke, the quiet chuckle that followed diffusing the fury lingering inside her. Like he knew she needed a break. “So, how many embarrassing childhood photos will I find when we go inside?”

Benny rolled her eyes as she turned to follow him toward the house.

“You know I went to Catholic school,” she said casually.

“Did you wear a uniform?”

She smiled.

“I also had braces for, like, five years,” she conceded.

“Jackpot.”

The house felt so quiet.

When her mother died, friends and family and wives of his men came calling, filling the refrigerator with lasagna and stuffed shells and homemade key lime pies (Benny’s favorite).

There were weekly cookouts over the summer, jam-packed Thanksgivings and Christmases.

Angelo created a pseudo-family for Benny, and the house was always bustling.

But now it felt empty. She wondered briefly if her father had sent everyone home for her arrival, if he was still unsure of who he could trust. Which brought an ache to her chest. To think of her father struggling with who he could turn to while Benny was gone.

Their relationship had grown so complicated after her mother’s death, neither of them knowing how to be together without her there to make them whole.

But she couldn’t fight the guilt that hit her, knowing how alone he had been these last few weeks.

But after granting Luke an invitation into the Torretta home and stepping through the threshold into the foyer, she could hear the creak of the old hardwood floors and faint footsteps coming from the study.

“There she is!”

The relief she felt was palpable and a wide smile appeared on her face when she saw her godfather come around the corner.

Jimmy Antonella was her father’s cousin and his right-hand man.

His underboss, to get technical. He reminded her a lot of her father.

Except he was a little leaner, a little taller, and had these incredibly kind green eyes.

He had always been sweet to Benny, teaching her how to ride a bike when she was a kid and how to tell the difference between a good fake and the real deal when she was a little bit older.

“Hey, Jimmy,” she greeted, giving the older man a kiss on the cheek.

“Hey, Pat,” he yelled, his head turned toward the living room. “Benny’s home.”

She noticed that his knuckles were a little raw, a little bruised.

There was a quiet curse and a thud before another man came from the living room.

He had clearly just woken up, his eyes tired and his movements a little slow.

Pasquale De Vito, her father’s most trusted advisor and consigliere, was the kind of man who was all gruff.

He was stern and dry and an old friend of the family whose children had grown up with Benny.

They shared nearly every holiday together.

He was on the shorter side, with thinning hair, and, despite scowling being his preferred facial emotion, deep smile lines.

And of all the men who worked for her father, he had the worst reputation of them all.

Which was hard to imagine as a wide yawn stretched across his face.

“Piccola,” Pasquale said, a term of endearment she hadn’t heard since she was actually a little girl. He pulled her into a giant bear hug. “You have no idea how happy we are to see you.”