Queen of Hearts, page 3
When I finally managed to claw my way to the top and move us away from all the needless bloodshed, Rosie reminded me exactly of all those cracks in my armor. She dug her nails into all of my flaws and wormed her fingers in deeper until I bled. Miss Gambino was gaining a reputation since she’s the embodiment of the ‘old ways’, where force and violence equate to strength according to my Captains, and that’s why she was growing a following. People want bloodthirsty, they want power and if she looks anything like she did ten years ago, I’m willing to bet that being beautiful doesn’t hurt her campaign.
That night haunts me, I still dream about it sometimes. Those nights are the worst because when I wake, sweaty, heart beating so hard it hurts, I swear I can still smell her mother’s roses. The look of utter betrayal on her face is burned into my mind, those big blue eyes hurt as she connects the dots and brands me a traitor. I rub my thumb over the scar on my hand absent-mindedly. They say that the road to hell is paved with good intentions, and they’re right. I tried to save her from the mess, to distract her, to keep her safe from my father and outside with me away from the gunfire. But it backfired.
It was a massacre that night, one that’s gone down in the history of this city as Newtown’s most violent homicide. Rosie should have been amongst the dead. She was supposed to be. Her death was intended to mark the end of the Gambino line but somehow, she emerged, covered in blood and has been a thorn in my side since then.
My father did everything he could to extinguish her in the following years, but the Gambino family still had powerful friends in rich circles. Her survival seemed to rally some of the others, and they saw her as an avenging angel. Furious, Felix did the only thing he could, he took away her money. Her home. He made the Gambino’s traitors and then he made her persona non grata. He thought this would make her crawl back and beg for forgiveness. He was wrong. It was a trick that’s coming back to bite me in the ass now that I can’t track her down and her name is nothing more than a whisper amongst my peers and my men. She’s a ghost Queen, a legend, tearing out hearts and hiding in the shadows as she rallies an army against me.
Creed comes back into the room, a card in his hand. He hands it to me with a pointed look, he wants to torture her. To break her into a million little pieces and scatter them off the nearest bridge for the problems she’s caused. A part of me wants that too, and the other part feels guilt. I turn the card over in my hands, knowing we won’t find any fingerprints or evidence on it. She’s too good for that. It’s white, and perfectly clean apart from one corner where blood has started to seep through the paper. It must have been in contact with the contents of the box at some point. I run my fingers over her neat calligraphy.
Jay,
I hope my gift finds you safely.
Enjoy.
Love, R x
I didn’t want to kill her, but if she didn’t stop with these attacks on The Family, then she’d leave me with no other choice. My Captains were already calling for her head on a platter as one of my Captains, Lawrence liked to remind me. Daily. Repeatedly. Like I was some naive little child, and not the head of a powerful organization, a billionaire, a businessman, a lawyer and an advocate for Newtown. To leave her unpunished showed weakness, and as the head of The Family, I couldn’t show any hesitation.
Even if Rosie Gambino was once almost my wife.
Even if I ruined her life.
Chapter Two
ROSIE
“Did he get the gift?” I ask down the phone as I stretch out on my bed for the evening. The naked man next to me snoring away, oblivious to my conversation and the fact I drugged him. Poison was my forte, I guess you could say it was something I’d shown talent for from a young age. My tio Alessio had made sure I could protect myself, even after my parents died. It was also less messy than a gun or a knife, and I typically hated getting my hands dirty.
Julian Asaro, however, was the exception to that rule. For him I wanted to get more than just my hands dirty. I wanted to bathe in his blood. I wanted it to congeal on my skin, until it itched and flaked away, leaving me to emerge like an avenging butterfly. I wanted it under my nails, making everything feel dirty and grimy. I was owed a messy painful death.
The man beside me snorts in his sleep. Tonight, I wasn’t in the mood to be groped and molested by a man who claimed to have a solid nine inches but actually only had four. Still, he was useful for a place to sleep instead of crashing back at Lola’s tiny cramped apartment again, not that I wasn’t grateful to my best friend. She was the only person I trusted in the world, but she was having troubles of her own in the form of a handsome bald stalker with serious ‘Daddy’ vibes.
Rolling my eyes, I push the guy whose name I can’t remember further to the edge of the bed with my foot. I’d picked him up at The Top Hat, the gentlemen’s club downtown where Lola worked. It was a gaudy, over the top club with red lighting and pink neon signs run by The Family. Risky, but sometimes the best hiding places are the most obvious ones. It was the main reason Julian hadn’t been able to catch-up with me so far and it made our little cat and mouse game that much more thrilling.
Really, The Top Hat was a brothel, but over the years Julian had brought in more regulations, better safety measures for the girls who worked there and it had improved the joint a little. The ‘Flowers’ were still whores, but at least now they had the option to refuse their clients. Besides, May the eighth is exclusively for Jay Asaro. He owns this date every year and it’s almost like it’s become special in its own twisted way and not just because it’s the anniversary of my parents’ death.
The soft voice on the other end of the line hesitates, “Yes.”
I grin. I bet he was pissed when he read the card even though I’d used my best handwriting. “Good.”
“I really think he’s going to kill you soon.” The voice trembles and it gives me goosebumps as I imagine his hands around my throat, choking the life out of me. As if Julian could kill me. Flicking through the magazine on the nightstand, I pause when I come across an article about the great Julian himself, arriving at a swanky charity dinner with some glamour model. She’s beautiful, with dark hair and big hazel eyes but there’s no chemistry between them. He’s a perfect gentleman, his hand never dipping below her waist and almost hovering inches away from her skin as if he’s afraid touching her might burn. There’s never been anyone serious, not since our supposed engagement and I don’t have to wonder why that is. He’s afraid. He’s afraid that if he falls in love, I’ll take that away from him too just like I’m slowly stealing away The Family and his precious WunderLnd Corporation. If I have to be alone in this world, then so does he. It’s only fair.
“I’d like to see him try.” Tracing my finger over his strong jawline and sharp nose, I smile. “In fact, we may be overdue a catch-up.”
Silence. Followed with a soft begging, “Please don’t do anything stupid…”
I groan, “Don’t whine. I have no patience for that.”
More silence. I wait, patiently, which is not admittedly one of my finer qualities.
Finally the voice offers, “He’s got another charity ball next week. At Newtown Plaza Hotel.”
I look at the image of Julian in a tux once again, and a heat unfurls in my stomach at the thought of seeing him in person for the first time in years. “And you can get me tickets?”
“Of course. But are you sure? There’ll be lots of security, and Creed will be there with him.” Elijah Creed. Julian’s ‘Left Hand’, his most loyal supporter and his best friend. He was on my list, near the very top but I was saving him for last. Well, Jay was last, so Creed would have to be the penultimate kill.
“Good job,” I praise, even though it frustrates me that he’s second guessing me. I can handle the security issues. Everyone has a price, it’s just a matter of finding it. “Check your phone, I’ll send you something as a reward.”
Hanging up without waiting for his response, I take a picture as a little sweetener to offer up. I make sure that only part of my face and hair is visible, not enough to identify me, but enough to verify that it’s me while the rest of the shot focuses over my shoulder. I look over the image, the dim lighting flattering the curves of my body, my ass and toned legs, looking almost sinful as I lay on my stomach amongst the black bedding, my bed partner just out of shot. I send it and turn the phone off without another thought of the person on the other end.
Some relationships were forged through shared hardships, through blood, others through an alignment of goals and ones like this…they were made under delusions of love. He worshipped me, and if my father had taught me anything, it was to use every tool in your arsenal. I flick on the TV and catch up on my favorite baking shows before drifting off for a few hours of uninterrupted sleep, a grin plastered on my face at the thought of Julian Asaro bleeding in his tux.
The shots are so loud they reverberate around my house. It’s like a sensory overload as my brain struggles to process what’s happening. There are people everywhere, pushing and shoving desperate to escape. They move like an angry swarm, swelling and pulsing around me.
Screams.
Shouts.
More screams.
I tear through the kitchen calling for my parents. Someone tries to grab me, but I thrust my blade into their side. I don’t even check to see who I’ve hurt. No one can get in my way; I need my parents. I shout so much that my throat burns. It feels raw, like I’ve swallowed glass as I call for my mother. How could I have let myself get distracted by a pretty face? I should have known better. I was taught better. Warm blood trickles down my arm as I duck into our dining room where most of the guests had been gathered. I’m not sure if it’s my blood or someone else’s. It doesn’t matter. My parents should be here. But I can’t see them. Panic rises in my chest and I suck in big gulps of air. Calm, Rosie. Calm. It doesn’t work. There are dead bodies on our floor, bleeding all over my mother’s favorite rug. Crimson soaking into the threads, tainting everything. Ruining everything. Don’t be dead, I plead silently as I check their clothing and faces. Not my parents. They were someone’s parents, but they weren’t mine. Don’t be dead. My father was going to be furious when he saw the mess. Please, don’t be dead.
I don’t know who opened fire. I don’t even know who is firing. I can’t tell who is on what side but this family has been torn apart. I see my uncles, Captains and men I smiled at only hours ago, killing one another. Blasting holes in the walls of my home. Destroying the house my mother decorated so lovingly. My grandmother’s body sits slumped, still in her chair in the corner, half her skull missing and I swallow painfully. Please. Please. Don’t let my parents be dead, I beg the god I no longer believe in. The Family was fractured and I don’t understand why. Where is my father?
I hear voices above my head and with my blade still clutched in my hand I take the stairs two at a time. A hulking figure with a scarred face steps out of one of the rooms. I recognize him as one of Frank’s men, and I vaguely remember my father praising him for being one of the best fighters at The Gryphon, the underground fighting ring. As he stands before me, blocking my way, I can see why. He’s huge, all muscle and unrestrained anger. It radiates off him in waves, turning my stomach, and setting off alarm bells in my head. This is a man who enjoys pain, who lives for the destruction The Family offers.
He scoffs when he sees me. Face twisted into a nasty snarl that I’ll never forget.
“Come here pretty princess,” he hisses and with a growl he lunges at me. If I let him catch me, I don’t even want to imagine what will happen. But it won’t come to that because like the others, he underestimates me. Quickly, I stomp on his foot with my heel and when he bows into the unexpected pain, I ram my thin blade into his eye socket, forcing my weight behind it just like my father showed me. There’s a sickening squelching noise as I destroy his eye. It’s more than enough of a distraction as he howls and yanking the knife back out, I push him down the stairs hard with my foot. When I peer over the rail, his body lies at the bottom, bent and broken, head cracked open like a coconut with one glassy eye staring up at me, the other a pulpy socket.
Heading towards my father’s office I stop in my tracks. The door is partially open and I can see them on their knees. My parents. Tears streamed down my mother’s face as my father held her hand. Her blonde hair is a mess, the artful chignon she wore earlier in the evening gone. A dark purple blossom forms around her eye, and her lip is split, ruby red and swollen with blood. His expression is stoically blank. A gash along his cheek and cut to his eyebrow are the only obvious wounds, but the way he holds himself carefully on one side makes me think he’s nursing a few broken ribs. But they’re alive.
Men tear apart the room, throwing papers and books everywhere as they look for something. Sheafs of paper rain down like snow as the thud of books landing on the hardwood floors make me flinch.
More screams and guttural howls from downstairs distract me for a moment and when I look back my father’s gaze locks with mine. He’s seen me. He looks away quickly, at whoever is holding a gun on them. They’re standing out of view but I can see the gun, and large masculine hands. My gut instinct said it was Felix, but unless I pushed the door open fully, I had no way of telling. Creeping closer, I try to get a better look but my father’s head nods slightly, a sign telling me to leave. I can’t go. Not now. I have to do something. I can see hands now, a fancy silver cufflink in the shape of a snake catches in the light and the edge of a tattoo. I need more. I need help. I count three different voices in the room besides the one with a gun on my parents. If I had any hope of getting them out of there, I needed to draw them out to divide and conquer. I couldn’t just charge in there with my tiny little blade, not against their guns, even if I did have the element of surprise on my side.
I need to create a distraction that will get some of them out of the room. I can do this. I shake my head at my father, I am not leaving. I won’t. I can see his shoulders deflate as he realizes that I’m going to be my usual stubborn self. He nods his head again, knowing that it’s inevitable now that I’m here. My mother sobs harder, but as her head turns, I know she’s spotted me too.
Her eyes widen, and I know seconds before she opens her mouth what she’s going to do. Throwing herself at the gun, she screams, “Run, Rosie! Run!”
Bang.
Bang.
Thud.
I watch her body fall to the ground and it’s like my world moves in slow motion. Her eyes close as her head hits the rug and I know without a doubt that she’ll never open them again. She’s gone.
“Rosie!” my father screams and there’s something about the desperation in his voice that snaps me out of my stupor. I need to get away. If I survive, I can make them pay for this. I can come back for him… I can try… I can fight… I can…
Bang.
I’ve never moved so fast in my life. I run. I run until I don’t know where I am. Until my feet bleed. Until I can’t move another step.
I never even saw his body land on the floor beside my mother’s.
I never even said goodbye.
Please.
Don’t be dead, I sob.
Even though I know he is.
Chapter Three
JULIAN
“Remind me why I have to come to this stupid gala?” Eli grumbles as he tugs at his bow tie with a grunt. Once he’s loosened that, he goes back to adjusting his black and silver masquerade mask. He hated wearing formal attire, and only wore a suit in the office because I’d insisted. Usually he wore boots, jeans and a worn T-shirt that wasn’t even legible anymore but that wasn’t going to cut it here at the Newtown Plaza hotel, one of the most exclusive venues in the city.
The ostentatious marble floors and huge black pillars made this the perfect place for a charity dinner. The theme had clearly been Venetian inspired, as decadent centerpieces with feathers and gold adorned every table. Opulent gift bags were placed at each seat, and a large orchestra played, filling the hall with beautiful music. The masquerade gala dinner was nothing more than an excuse for the rich and famous to peacock and preen, flaunting their wealth under the guise of doing good for the city. I shouldn’t be so bitter, since my firm and my family were benefactors, but sometimes I didn’t understand why donations couldn’t be made without all the pomp and showboating. I mean, I wasn’t any less generous out of a white mask with gold edge embellishments, so what was the point of it all?
Chuckling, I tilt my glass towards him. “Because not only are you my friend, but I also pay your salary. And as my bodyguard, you should be here. Protecting my body.”
Snorting, Eli narrows his eyes at me through the mask’s holes. “Did you get hit on the head when I wasn’t looking?”
“No,” I sigh. “I’m just not in the mood for all of this tonight. And my date is like an octopus.”
I’d brought along an actress I’d met a few weeks ago, at the opening of a new bar called The Blue Caterpillar. I wasn’t looking for a date when I met her, I’d been there scouting out the bar and getting to know the owners, the Volkov twins. Their father, Lev, was a weapons supplier for us, importing goods from Russia as part of his role in the Bratva. Lev however had been quiet recently, and we hadn’t met in person for almost two years now and so I hoped I might run into him at the quaint new cocktail bar. No such luck, but Alexi Volkov did manage to introduce me to tonight’s date, Madison Miller. What I hadn’t realized was that she was determined to make herself the next Mrs. Asaro, viewing my bachelor status as a challenge. She was hell-bent on getting her claws into me, and in the car on the way over I barely managed to keep my dick in my pants, not for lack of trying.
