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Arosso

“The old captain finally has his day,” I mutter to myself while unlocking the door to my house.

Once I’m inside, I put down my groceries and carefully remove my loafers on the center of the welcome mat so the frost doesn’t melt and swell the perfect wood floors.

I have to keep this damn place pristine if I’m to stay once in a while.

Fucking Hollywood and their movie sets. I’m like a nomad in a tailored suit at this point.

Ah. I’m just pissed.

I grab the grocery bag and head into the lavish wide-open kitchen with a swirling black-grey granite island. I’m on autopilot, putting food away for the week while my mind wanders about all I just saw.

Silent sirens, cops in the Dall household—can only mean one thing. Captain Patrick Dall’s reputation finally caught up to him. And I swear I saw their mark on the side of the house. Two sides of the eight-pointed Russian star. The cops would never notice—but I would.

My brow furrows as I stare at the peach in my hand, mind wandering.

The young woman with an unzipped coat in the dead of winter.

The captain’s daughter. Her eyes were dark from across the street, nothing that should’ve caught my attention, but there was fire in them.

My mind wanders to her full lips a shade of light pink from the cold. So young…

I shake my head free from the daydream.

The fuck are you thinking? Your daughter would be approaching her age had she—

I punch the granite, hearing a crack from the wood holding it up.

You’re losing it, Aros. Retirement doesn’t suit you.

Once all the perishables are in the fridge, I find myself pacing out of the kitchen and into the open living room with three black leather couches and a collection of rooster statues lined up over the TV unit.

None of this is me. I’m a ghost haunting house after house, moving with laundered money like the wind.

Stanzo the Glove was nice enough to set up this little operation before the big C got him.

He was a good man, for a Jersey prick. What’s more, it’s rare as hell to see an old fire dog like him live long enough to be killed by nature.

Figured it’d be smart to listen to his advice and get out the game after the incident…

Can’t think about that right now.

After an hour of going through my finances for the third time—old habit from my racketeering days—there’s still something gnawing at the back of my head. The symbol on the house across the way. I shouldn’t involve myself, yet I feel compelled.

Heading toward the foyer, I crouch near one of my duffle bags and dig through to find a set of binoculars.

My heart stammers when I feel the cool metal, like I’m doing something against my code.

It’s not to spy on the captain’s daughter.

It’s not . Just want to know if it’s the Russians making plays near one of my homes.

That’s all this is.

I shouldn’t, though. I’m lucky Don Valentino let’s this little operation slide in the first place. Nobody gets out of the game. I mean nobody. Even Leandro the Hook gets called back from time to time. If I were smart, I’d let sleeping dogs lie.

Then… why am I heading toward the window?

Old habits kick in fast. I’m careful not to disturb the shades, and to peek through with the lights off so there’s no shadowing movement.

She’s not outside anymore. Through the snow flurries on the first floor, I spot a uniformed officer leaning over the kitchen counter, scrolling through his phone.

Rookie on guard duty, without a doubt. I then shift toward the other windows, secretly wanting another glimpse of the captain’s daughter.

I’m not sure why, but I’m drawn. As instincts tug me to go upstairs to better inspect the top floor, I snap myself out of it and shift focus to the side of the house—to the symbol I thought I saw now covered in a snow patch.

Dammit.

If it’s the Russians, the family should know about it.

Stay out of this, Aros.

You still got people to lose. Your little cousin, Nico… Nah, Donny’s kid’s more protected than the Pentagon.

I grit my teeth.

Think of your little niece, then, on the other side. Lessia never did anything to anyone. Don’t make her a target.

Anxiety boils up like a storm in my chest, then simmers just as fast.

I’m overreacting.

Relaying information is nothing.

I place the binoculars on the ledge and head to the front door, slipping into my loafers before I’m out again. A quick glance across the way still shows the shape of the rookie unmoved. It’s like he’s a zombie stuck on that social media nonsense. Like every other kid I see these days.

Easier for me to make my move.

My loafers’ clack across the heated walkway outside the mansion, and again as I make way past the gate to cross the street. There’re a few people shoveling out their cars down the block, and another few neighbors crowded near the police car—nosy pricks—so my presence should go unnoticed.

Instead of walking straight ahead to the soundless flashing sirens, I hang a left and slow my gait, scanning the grey shingles up and down to recall exactly where I saw the mark.

The captain’s daughter manifests on the steps in my mind’s eye, which makes me linger a moment too long, then I raise my gaze to the exact spot she turned.

I walk up to the house and wipe away the snow.

There it is, the clear shaded points of the Russian mob star.

It’s only half-filled, which is their sign.

One hundred percent . They’re crossing hard lines, those Russkies.

Hitting a cop in his own home? It’s like they forgot they’re not in the mother country.

“ Hey! ” a low voice startles me from above.

It’s her, hanging out her window.

My eyes lock on her perfectly shaped face.

Small nose with a rounded tip turns pink from the cold.

Those thick eyebrows taunt me, and her shoulder-length light brown hair flows down like a waterfall.

I was right too, her eyes are dark, but there’s something about them.

A fire. Something that draws me in like a portal to hell.

I take a step back and go to be on my way.

“ Wait a second. ” She slaps the side of her house.

“Relax, kid. I was just seeing what type of shingles these were,” I say.

“Like hell.” She points to my house, which is all marble. “I wasn’t born yesterday, neighbor .”

I scoff and continue walking.

“ Hey. Stay right there or your house will be under investigation before you can say Italia .”

Again, I was right about that fire in her. I’m hiding a smirk as I stuff my hands in my pockets and continue on my way around the corner, past her front door. I could’ve easily gone the other way and she’d never see me again, but a part of me wants her to chase… Does that make me sick?

Bwoof!

The front door swings open.

“ Where are you going? ” the rookie cop demands.

“ Bite me, ” she snaps back, running out the house with one arm in her jacket as she struggles to get the other in. Her breasts jiggle under her sweater, and the invisible strings holding my cock make it move.

“ Yo. Mister Silver.” She jumps down the last of the steps as I strut away with my back to her.

Is she referring to my hair? Calling me old? Bitch .

“What were you looking at over there? You stared once with your groceries, and then came back ? To look at the side of a house? C’mon. ”

She catches up to me, and her scent of sleep mixed with honey intoxicates me. Thank God the cold washes it away as fast as it comes.

“Forget it, kid. I’m not known for being a Good Samaritan.”

She leaps in front of me and points an angry finger at my chest. “They have my father. If you know something—”

“I don’t .” Leaning into her finger and looming to show I’m nearly a foot taller than her, she doesn’t cower. Instead, she pushes me, sending herself a step back.

“I already fucked up once today,” she says. “What do you know? I swear I’ll make a scene, Silver. Swear .”

In a split-second, I grab both of her hands in my one and hold them close to my face, pulling her against her will to my side. “Don’t drag me into your mess. Go back to your rookie cop and let them do their job.”

She scrunches her face as I let go and keep walking. “How did you—who are you?”

“Nobody. A ghost .”

I shut my eyes when I hear her footsteps pattering to catch up again. Her forceful demeanor flees, and something else crosses me.

“The detectives think it’s the cartel. But I don’t,” her voice is solemn.

I sigh. There’s no way I’m helping the cops. It’s against everything I stand for in this life and the next. No fucking shot. I’m Arosso the Ghost Valentino. Even if I’m retired, the family is still my creed.

Her eyes linger, I can feel them in my periphery.

“Go home, kid. Can’t you see that cop is about to call in back-up?” I shrug one shoulder for her to turn around.

“ Shit. ” She looks over her shoulder, then spins completely with her arms wide. “ I’m fine, you dick! He’s just a neighbor! ” She points at me like we’re old friends.

“Quite a mouth on you.” I uncover one of my ears.

“You haven’t heard anything yet, Silver. So, you better start talking.”

“Threatening your neighbor? Tsk. Tsk. Time to run back to school before I call—”

Her face tightens. “Didn’t think that one through, did you? Call who, huh? Daddy?”

I tighten my jaw.

“Are you a straight sociopath, or what?” she asks.

I am.

“Help me,” she begs.

“If I help you, will you get the fuck out of my face? Damn snow-gnat, I swear to God, if there ever was a fucking thing.”

“Yes, I promise.” She grabs onto my sleeve with both hands.

My entire arm goes numb like I’ve been struck by a taser. There’s no skin on skin, just the mere need for me makes me react. What the hell is this?

Doesn’t matter. I’ve overstayed my welcome in this dark fantasy. Time to exit.

“The cops… their trail is cold.”