Page 93 of My Dark Ever After

Raffa’s crew had always enjoyed me, cared for me, but I had not been a part of their group, merely a visitor passing through. After this, I felt officially cemented.

It should have alarmed me, and in a way it did.

Raffa had made it clear you became a member of their crew by vows written in blood, and once you were inducted, there was no turning back.

But I had erased the tracks behind me in the dark woods a long time ago and had no desire to find my way back down the path I’d traveled, even if I could find it again.

When Ginevra reappeared with a middle-aged man who had survived the attack, she introduced him as her bodyguard and friend, Raul.

“So I suppose the question now is what to do with us?” Ginevra asked wearily as she took a seat near the wooden coffee table the rest of us were arrayed around.

“That is one of the issues we have at hand,” Raffa agreed.

Dad had taken a love seat and pulled me down beside him so I couldn’t sit with Raffa, but my capo had taken the chair perpendicular to mine and dragged it even closer so the toe of his shoe, stained with blood, kissed my socked foot. He had pressed Ginevra into sharing some of her clothes so I didn’t catch a chill, and even when I was wrapped in a cashmere sweater, soft lounge pants, and socks, he had still given me the jacket from the back of his car.

I tipped my nose into the collar to enjoy the fragrance of woodsmoke and cedar.

“Part of me thinks it would be best to raze the entire family to the ground,” Raffa continued casually, as if talking about mass murder was normal. “But you are lucky to be related to mycacciatrice, so I will spare you that.”

“Thank you,” Ginevra said with a nasty smile.

He ignored her. “The optics are not ideal, though. People know you worked with the Grecos and the Venetian against me—”

“Because we thought you had Guin—”

“Regardless,” he interrupted with a cool look. “Killing Gaetano was not enough.”

Ginevra didn’t flinch, but she did look at her hands in her lap for a moment. “He was not a good man. You would not understand, butyou should not hold his actions against myself, my children, or the men who were loyal to the family but unhappy with his leadership.”

“You will make a list of the ones who were loyal to you,” Raffa instructed, leaning back in his chair and crossing one ankle over his knee. He looked like a jungle cat trapped indoors, too wild to be tamed but pretending at it. “And I know about unworthy fathers, Ginevra Pietra. Be grateful John Stone is not one of them. If Guinevere had been any more the worse for wear, we would not be talking at all.”

The threat was clear, sending a tiny thrill down my spine.

I would kill for you again until the streets of Florence ran red with the blood of your enemies,Raffa had told me, but it was only now I could see how truly he meant it.

How much I liked that he did.

“What do you propose, then?” Raul asked from his spot standing beside her chair.

“Reparations, to begin with,” Raffa replied, nodding at Renzo, who said, “Sixty percent of any take for the first year, with ten percent off every year after that until you reach the original twenty.”

Raul scowled. “That’s highway robbery.”

Raffa cocked his head to the side, considering the other man with lowered lids, an almost lazy insolence. “Would you rather have robbery or death?”

“And?” Ginevra prompted with a tired sigh.

“We need a public display of support,” Martina explained. “Something profound. The Pietras are one of the oldest, most respected families in the Camorra. If we are going to fight off the Venetian’s insurrection, we need visible support.”

“Would you like us to take out an ad in the paper?” my aunt drawled, and despite myself, I grinned at her drollness.

“She could attend public functions as your date?” Raul suggested.

The air went flat like stale pop.

“No,” I said, sitting forward for the first time. “That is not an acceptable option.”

“Guinevere,” Dad said, taking my hand. “Be reasonable.”