Page 59 of Mafia Princess

“People leave their wives all the time.”

“I’m not one of those people,” he says. “When I make a promise, I mean it. Okay?”

I nod. “Then you’re already a hero in my eyes.”

“Hey,” he says, kissing me lightly on the nose. “Anyone would have to be crazy to walk away from this.”

“And that’s why you’re a hero,” I say, twisting to press my lips against his palm. “You save me a little bit each day just by staying.”

“Then get ready to be rescued, my little mafia princess,” he says, pressing his lips to mine. “Because you’re never getting rid of me.”

“Good,” I say. “Somehow I don’t think I could find someone else to love me even when I’m unlovable.”

“You’re not unlovable,” he says, pulling back to gaze into my eyes. “You are worthy of love, Eliza Dolce.”

“I know,” I whisper. “I must be, or you wouldn’t love me. You don’t love just anyone.”

“I’ve never loved anyone,” he corrects. “You’re the only one, Eliza. There was only ever you.”

I look away, my throat tight. “I just don’t know what I did to earn it,” I admit.

“You don’t have to do anything to earn it,” he says. “You’re worthy just by being here.”

I lean in to kiss him, and I don’t pull back. I run my hands over his chest, his abs, his thighs. I love that he’s so liberal with his body, that he lets me have all the access I want, as if it’s my body as much as it is his. I love touching him, exploring every inch of his skin.

I just wish I could give him the same in return. Someday, somehow, I’m going to do it. I don’t know how yet, but I vow right here and now that I’m going to make it happen. I will be worthy of him. He may think I am now, but I’m going to prove it to myself, and I won’t stop until I believe it, too. If I have to see a therapist, or tell my father, or make a fucking pilgrimage to the top of Mt. Everest, I’ll do it. I will do it to bring this man the gift he gives me every day, the gift he deserves—me.

twenty-one

King

“It’s time,” Il Diavolo says, nodding for me to get out of the car. We’re parked under a bridge with nothing but warehouses behind us. The river crawls sluggishly by in the other direction. I climb out of the car, pocket the keys, and join the others. The night is windy and crisp, and as I cross the lot, lit only by security lights, I scan the building ahead for signs of life.

As quietly as we can, the four of us creep toward one of the darkened warehouses. Al may have promised this one to me, but he’s not taking any chances. A guy with enough balls to make an attempt on a don needs to be taken out—now. We’ve spent the last month searching for the bastard, and we’re not going to lose him again.

We pull up short at the front of the warehouse, and I look to Joey One-Eye, who gives the signal for two of us to go ahead while he waits outside in case we flush Little Al out. Il Diavolo heads around the corner to watch the back door. I step inside with Arthur, one of Valenti’s other guys.

Any chance at stealth disappears when we find the door locked and have to crack it with a crowbar. After that little delay, we open the door and peer into the darkness. Little Al will be armed, and one of us has to take the first step inside. Since I’m the new guy, it falls to me.

I fight the urge to cross myself before stepping into the darkness. Silence greets me, and I gesture the okay for Arthur to come in. He swings his rifle in an arc, aiming the mounted light around the cavernous space. Around us, light pine boxes sit in giant stacks, with shelves containing boards in the same color along the walls.

A coffin warehouse.

If this isn’t the perfect place to die, I don’t know what is.

Arthur gestures for me to go right, and he goes left. His light bounces off the pale coffins, and shadows stretch across the room. I edge along a towering stack of the body-sized boxes, wondering how the hell we’re going to flush Little Al out of a place like this. I think about everything I know about him, everything he’s told me. A coward runs out the back. Only a desperate man, or a stupid one, fights when he knows he won’t win.

Little Al’s obviously got balls to set up a plan like that against the head of one of the most powerful crime families in New York. He’s no coward. He’s not stupid, either. But he is cocky. Again, no one else would orchestrate a plan like that. As far as how desperate his is, I’m guessing he’s gotta be pretty fucking close to the edge by now. He’s been on the run for a month, but he hasn’t gone far. He must be sticking around for a reason. Either he’s out of money, or he’s stayed for someone he cares about.

I creep along the wall, waiting for a sound, a sign that he’s here. Maybe he saw the car arrive and slipped out. He was feeding the Luciani’s information, and if that family’s leadership hadn’t changed hands and made fast alliances with us, I’d think they were protecting him. But he doesn’t have anyone in his corner now. He’s alone, and that’s a bad place to be when you’ve pissed off a criminal organization.

Suddenly, I see a shadow move. I spin that way, my finger steady on the trigger. At first, I don’t see anything. But then I see what caused the flicker in the corner of my eye. It wasn’t a person. It was a stack of coffins.

I shout a warning to Arthur, but it’s lost in the enormous crash. Coffins tumble and cascade, bouncing off each other and splintering as they smash against the concrete floor. The roar is so loud I don’t hear Arthur, so I don’t know if he screamed. I only know that I see a dark shadow streak for a small door in the side of the building, a fire exit that’s unguarded outside. Joey is at the front entrance, where the workers come and go, and Il Diavolo is at the back, where the shipments go in and out.

Unless one of them is prowling and happens to be on that side, Al’s going to have a good head start. I’m lucky to have been against the wall, unharmed by the toppling coffins, but I have to scramble over the debris to get to the fire exit door. By the time I shove through, I see his figure retreating toward the bridge. I take off at a dead sprint after him.

He’s almost to the supports on the bridge when I see that he’s got nowhere to go except into the river. I imagine him plunging into the polluted water, disappearing under the scummy surface. I pull up short, take careful aim, and get off one shot before he disappears behind the pillars supporting the bridge. I hear cursing behind me and know that at least one of the lookout guys saw him run, and they’re after me.

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