Page 8 of Love At the Gates of Hell (The Seven Sinners Trilogy #1)

five

Luke

“What are you doing?”

Luke’s fingers hovered at the dial of the car’s radio as he craned his neck to look at his brother in the driver’s seat.

Few things were consistent from score to score—they wouldn’t be nearly as successful as they were if they couldn’t adapt.

But in their world, one thing always remained true: Gideon was the driver.

It didn’t matter what the circumstances were.

Not even a bullet wound had stopped him that one time in Las Vegas.

Except that wasn’t the case the other night.

Gideon slid into the backseat, a passed-out Benedetta Russo cradled in his arms, and let Cleo navigate the ride back to the loft, not even yelling at her as she almost stalled out on the manual transmission of the 1970 Mustang Fastback he cherished so much.

A situation both intriguing and amusing.

Although it didn’t stop Gideon from tearing into Luke the entire drive home.

“Dude, we are not playing this easy listening crap the entire ride,” Luke said, his eyes nearly rolling to the back of his head.

“What do you know about music?” Gideon argued, smacking at Luke’s hand.

“Jesus, you’re testy,” he said, sinking back into his seat.

“Am I?” Gideon asked. “You think there might be a reason, Lucas?”

“You said you wouldn’t be mad anymore—”

“Mad about what? You’re getting paid for this little rescue, aren’t you?”

Luke shifted in his seat, his eyes catching Benny’s in the rearview mirror, the bright afternoon sun flickering across her features.

Rescue didn’t seem like the right word, considering she nearly knocked Gideon’s head off before either of them could see it coming.

Really made him question his vampire senses.

He had no doubt she would have figured out a way to break free from her chains whether or not they showed up. He had seen the hints of her power.

The blow-up-a-guy’s-face kind of power.

They didn’t write about that in the magic books.

They didn’t write much about Stregas at all, to be honest. He hadn’t been kidding when he called her a fantasy.

He had only heard about the witches they called “day bringers” in passing, in the wistful kind of way one would talk about winning the lottery or meeting a celebrity.

The book he swiped from Harker’s library didn’t offer much, either.

Just enough to give him confirmation, enough to trick her into admitting what she was.

But he had to admit, he wasn’t so sure he’d have passed on Angelo Torretta’s offer if he had known exactly what—no, who —they were supposed to find.

Understanding the magic that lived in the world had been one of the more pleasant surprises of his second life.

The past year had been a whirlwind.

Learning the truth about vampires while becoming one was a real mind fuck.

In the throes of his human death, bleeding out on the marble floors of the bank, Luke had wondered aloud if he was going to come out of the transformation looking like Nosferatu.

But Tefi, the dangerous yet alluring woman who had tricked them all into taking the job in the first place, had merely laughed and told him that keeping his beauty was one of the blessings of vampirism, that it would be preserved in perpetuity.

That he would be exposed to all sorts of delicious things once he turned.

Not that it would have mattered. Tefi had ensured he would say yes whether he wanted to or not.

Regardless of the blessings. Because Gideon was on his own, in the middle of a shoot-out with a gang of the undead, and Luke was the only one who could help him.

The stab wound to his stomach didn’t leave him much of a shot at survival without Tefi’s help.

But Gideon would never know that. He couldn’t know the choice Luke had made. He couldn’t know that leaving with Tefi had been the one thing he could do to ensure his brother’s safety.

So here he was, twenty-eight years old plus one and some change.

“Believe it or not, princess, not everything is about money.”

Benny let out a snort of laughter.

“That’s cute coming from a bank robber.”

“You know banks are only a small part of the business,” Luke offered. “Most don’t even keep cash in their vaults, anymore—”

“Operating a job with only half the details is dangerous,” Gideon interrupted briskly, his eyes staring into the rearview mirror. “Your father risked our lives. He lied to us. We’re lucky it only ended up with some vampire guts and a few broken light bulbs.”

The back seat was quiet for a moment.

“Wouldn’t you do the same for someone you love?”

The question felt like an accusation.

Gideon didn’t respond but Luke knew exactly what he was thinking about.

How hard it was to let what happened in Chicago go.

His brother had always been steadfast about the rules, about what it would take to get the job done with the least interference.

The least risk. Losing Luke in Chicago had intensified that, ten fold.

“Where are we going?” Benny asked after a moment.

“A truck stop off the highway,” Luke said. “Another thirty miles.”

They had worked out a halfway point between them both.

Something smack-dab in the middle of their loft in Fishtown and Angelo Torretta’s compound in upstate New York.

It was out of the way enough to help with any eyes that might be lingering on Benny’s whereabouts.

But it wasn’t the most economical route out of Philly; in fact, it took them further out into the state than necessary, and the tension that filled the car was enough to make Luke go a little nutty with cabin fever.

One of the “blessings” he was gifted with upon his transformation was enhanced hearing.

Which meant a long car ride with two sets of heartbeats belonging to two cranky individuals.

He should have brought headphones.

“Great,” she said, the word clipped. “Think we can drive faster than my grandmother? She’s dead and I still think she’d manage to get us over sixty-five miles per hour.”

“Relax, princess,” Gideon said. “Pretty soon we’ll drop you off with Daddy, and you’ll never have to see us again.”

Luke could have sworn he could hear Benny’s eyes roll.

A moment later, the radio switched stations of its own accord.

The volume turned up as the dial moved toward another station.

Static filled the car as the pointer cruised along the slider picking up bits and pieces of other channels until it settled on one playing an old 80’s power ballad.

Luke turned in his seat to find Benny’s fingers moving in a gentle pattern, a small smirk on the woman’s mouth.

“If we’ve got another thirty miles, I’m picking the station.”

Gideon’s grip on the steering wheel tightened and Luke couldn’t help but sink back into his seat, an amused grin settling on his features. This was going to be fun.

Whiskey Winnie’s was an I-84 institution, hardly just a truck stop.

The three-story neon pin-up girl that welcomed customers inside could be seen from miles off the interstate, and it tended to attract curious tourists just as much as the bikers and truckers who stopped off for an overcooked burger and a break from their routes.

The beer was watered down. The floors were sticky.

The bar stools were replaced regularly thanks to rowdy weekend nights.

And there was always some jerkoff with a guitar singing for tips.

But it was discreet in the way a piece-of-shit bar could be.

And the bartender knew the Crawfords enough to give them the back room when they arrived.

Which was for the best because their pristine black suits stood out like a sore thumb in a bar filled with flannel and denim.

He wasn’t surprised to see that Torretta was already there when they arrived.

The head of the Caruso crime family was a massive man.

Although he wasn’t much taller than Luke, he was denser, broader— like he could stop a guy cold, full cartoon-style.

He was dressed in an expertly tailored gray suit.

Black dress shirt and matching tie. Signet ring on his pinky finger.

He didn’t look much like his daughter at all, except for their eyes.

They shared the same deep brown eyes, wide and steady and clear.

Even in the confusion of the shipping container, Benny’s gaze was always clear.

But Torretta’s weathered skin and slicked back salt-and-pepper hair made him look like an old crooner on stage at a Las Vegas casino.

He was old school, through and through.

Luke was man enough to admit he was a little scared of him. A respectable amount considering the man’s influence and power. Being a vampire didn’t make Luke entirely invincible.

Not to a man like Angelo Torretta.

He was almost surprised to see the old man soften when Benny walked in behind them.

“Hey, kid,” Torretta greeted softly.

Benny hovered in the doorway, her hands wringing against each other.

Luke remembered what she said in the shipping container, the blasé response she had to alerting her father that she was awake.

There was something there. A tension he recognized.

He knew what it was like to have a father work in the underground but he had no idea what it was like to have a father this powerful.

A long moment passed and then, “Hi, babbo.”

She rushed past them in a blur, wrapping her arms around his massive shoulders.