Page 7 of Veil of Vengeance

“Hell no. They all act like having their pants sagging like a diaper looks good.” Nikki huffs out an amused laugh, her ocean-colored eyes twinkling.

My nose wrinkles at the image, and I can’t help but say, “Don’t worry, Nikki, I’ve seen some of the men in Chicago do the same exact thing.” She pushes a curl out of her face, her tan skin lighter this time of year.

“Don’t act like the little French boys you date are any better, Mia.” Lottie gives Mia a blank stare before she stares at her baby pink nails. Mia’s lips curl as she sends Violette a condescending smile.

“Drop the superiority act, Violette. No one fucking buys it or cares for it.” Mia doesn’t wait for Violette to answer her as she loops her right arm through my left one. She drags me toward the tables that are set to face the stage, where Dad will be giving a speech. Nicolette stays behind with Violette, and I try to look back to catch a glimpse of them, but make out nothing, since everyone is trying to get to their seats as my dad walks onto the stage.

Mia and I settle into our seats, when finally, both Lottie and Nikki sit opposite ours. The table only holds four people, so Monica is sat with Mom and Aunt Belinda. Dad taps the mic placed on the stage. The chandelier light dims, and the room falls into shadows as the lights on the stage remain the brightest. His face breaks out into his signature hyena smile before he begins.

“We all know why we are here today, I’m sure.” Some people in the crowd clap, while some of the others whistle. “For that reason, I’ll make this short and sweet. Today is not only to celebrate the thirtieth year of me being Capo of the Outfit, but today is also a very special day for one of my daughters.” Everyone holds their breath, and so do I, a lead ball forming in my stomach.

I can make out some people whispering, wondering who he is talking about. “Today, we have decided to announce the engagement of my eldest daughter, Valentina, to Nicholas Guerrero, from the Guerrero clan.” Dad has a broad, pleased smile as he stares at me.

Mia’s hand encircles my forearm as she whispers, “What the fuck did he just say?”

Cheers and howls break out from the men, and I continue to stare ahead at my Dad, even as he surveys the cheering crowd. Bile rises and I have to push it down. Once Dad has finished the rest of his speech, he moves away from the stage and toward his business partners, Marcello trailing behind him as the lights turn back on. Mia and Nicolette both exchange looks before Mia looks at me.

“Did you know about this?” she asks, and I nod, my lips set in a grim line. “What the fuck? How could he just give you away to a man known to have killed for the first time before he could even form a memory?” She sounds exasperated. I shrug, staring at the now empty stage.

“Val! Say something. You can’t seriously just accept that,” Mia demands, and I turn my head sharply, facing her.

“What the fuck do you want me to do? Mia, you know I can’t do anything. Dad won’t tolerate disobedience,” I say in a rush before I throw my clutch on the table.

“I’m going to the ladies’ room,” I mutter, then storm toward one of the waitstaff.

“Excuse me, do you know where the restrooms are?” I ask a young man who’s in uniform, and he tells me that it’s outside, in a corridor off to the receptionist’s desk. I thank him before making my way up the stairs and out the doors. There is only one corridor near the receptionist’s desk, and it has low lighting, creating an intimate mood. Entering the restroom, the floors were black-and-white marble and there were mirrors lining the right wall with toilets opposite. At least the restroom is well lit, unlike the corridor.

I walk up to the mirrors to look at how well my makeup has held up. It seems fine. My red lipstick is still perfectly done, and the light coral blush hasn’t faded. I just need to touch up the powder around my nose and forehead. Opening my clutch, I take out the Dior powder, dabbing it all over my face. I check my hair next, still in natural waves and hasn’t started frizzing. As I run both my palms down my black dress, I look like the perfect image of the woman I’ve curated over the years, but I feel tired. Exhausted even.

I turn to leave the restroom, but the door opens before I reach it and a large man in a suit steps inside. He’s tall and fills the space with his large frame, his dark hair pushed back. My neck arches as I look up to maintain eye contact with him as he steps in farther.

“Um…sir, this is the women's restroom. The men’s is down the corridor,” I explain to him, but he looks at me like I am the one in the wrong place. I raise an eyebrow as his razor-sharp blue eyes assess me, cold and calculated, some malice glinting in them. When his full lips twist into a humorless smile, two dimples wink at me from his slightly stubbled cheeks. He is death personified and the devil in disguise. I’m frozen in place as his tattooed hand slips into his suit jacket, pulling out a phone before he brings it up to his ear. The dark ink swirls peek through the top of his black dress shirt, a constellation of stars donning his neck.

Swallowing past my unease, I scowl at him and say, “If you’re one of my dad’s bodyguards, you need to wait outside, not in here.” He doesn’t reply, only gives me a twisted smile.

I’m nervous, but I won’t let him see that. I can see that both his hands are also littered with tattoos, an anchor on his middle finger with the chains wrapping upwards and two scorpions on both sides of a snake's head. “Target secured.” His voice is like whiskey and sin. The daunting realization prickles my skin, and my chest constricts with panic. All of a sudden, the light in the restroom goes out, and dread and realization seeps into my bones. He’s not one of Dad’s bodyguards. He’s the enemy.

CHAPTER 3

EMILIANO

We’re in a meeting with four out of the ten underbosses. “I just don’t see the use of paying off the cops in my ci-” My eyes narrow at Vincent Colombo, the underboss of Baltimore as I cut him off with a warning.

“It’s the Camorra’s city, not yours, Colombo, and paying off the fucking feds is part of it. You need to make sure they keep sniffing out of our business, or this could end badly for you and them.”

“Emiliano, how are the plans for our retaliation on the Outfit going?” My uncle, Guliani asks me to try to distract from the fact that Vincent is showing blatant disrespect due to my Pop's death.

My uncle clears his throat.

I turn to him and say, “The plans are going well. We’re going to make our way to Chicago after this meeting. Our inside intel has told me that we have the building under our control.” I’m being vague on purpose. This plan is between my team and me. No one else. This is my revenge. I stand and button my suit jacket.

“This meeting is over. For now,” I declare as I look around at the four underbosses, then Romiro and Lucio. Colombo, being an idiot and not knowing when to shut his mouth, speaks up.

“We still haven’t discussed the cocaine shipment that’s meant to go through Baltimore. But, of course, you wouldn’t remember that since you’re still a-”

He doesn’t finish his sentence and he never will. Romiro jumps up from his seat and swears under his breath as he tries to avoid getting blood on his suit, running his hand down his tie. I stride toward the door and walk into the corridor, steps echoing as I make my way to the exit.

“Jesus, what the fuck, Emiliano? He’s the underboss of one of the Camorra’s most important cities, you can’t just shoot him like that,” Romiro says with a huff as he trails behind me, Lucio at his side. I stuff my gun back into its holster.

---