Storm Inside Us

Part #1. 

Assessing Her

FBI

    They sat around the oval table, gazing at one another. Their hard, dark eyes not quite seeing what it was they were staring so intently at. Outside, far above their heads, the moon shown a brilliant yellowish-white. Though no one paid any mind to that, for they were two stories underground on a critical mission, at three o'clock in the morning.

    The smell of tobacco was strong in the dimly lit room, everyone having had too many cigars, to count. Pictures and reports lay scattered over the wooden table, some gazing at them lazily, others looking as though they were trying to understand a complex equation.

     Around the long, rounded table, sat twenty four gentlemen. Twenty three wore dark trench coats, and some had, what seemed to be night vision goggles, balanced on the top of their head. 

    Except for the one dark haired man in a crisp business suit, sitting at the head of the table, the flag draped proudly behind him. A throaty man, he usually boomed when he talked. Not now though, now he sat in complete silence, listening to his second best agent, Tonner tell the execution of his plan. 

   "Mr. President, with all due respect, we are getting nowhere with the New York Mafia. Shaffer has been inside the family now for almost two years, and in that time he has collected only two hundred pages of information. Do not mistake my meaning, that is very valuable information, but not enough and in too much time. The NYPD have more murders every night, and parents are afraid to let their children out alone. This needs to end. We need someone who can get closer to Lucchesse, without raising suspicion."

     "What do you propose?" The president's voice was quiet, almost dangerous in a way that made most of his rivals jealous. 

    Tonner took a deep breath, and shot a glance around the table at his fellow 23 agents before relaying the plan to the president, "We use Foreman's daughter, Lavinia Paris, to get information out of Lucchese." 

    "No." The president said it with such a finality, that there was no room for discussion. 

    Tonner sprang up, shoving his chair backwards with the force. "Sir there is no other way! Lucchese is-"

    "I don't give a damn! I am not using my best man's daughter to get into the damn Mafia!" The president stood now as well, giving Tonner a look that was mixed with fury and pain. 

    “He is dead!" Tonner's voice rang through the air, settling upon them, as dust does to rugs. 

    "I know he is dead, Tonner. I know." The president's voice came out small, differing from the usual boom. 

   "Sir, if I may speak?" A greying man with almost black eyes, spoke up lazily. 

  The president glared at the man for a moment before sighing and giving in. "There's nothing stopping you, Peters."

    "No I suppose not," The man called Peters began. "Well sir, we are losing our brave men left and right, day and night, to the Lucchese family. They are outsmarting us. They may be criminals, but they are criminals that don't go without brains… or guns. If we were to throw someone into the line of action who's… more vulnerable, but able to get our information, we save many important lives, and bring down the Lucchese Mafia.' Peters finished, looking just as uninterested as when he began. 

    The president thought in silence for a moment, thinking this over. "Must it be Lavinia?" The president asked carefully, and slowly.

    "She is the best fit for the job, sir. She was with Foreman the most while he worked with us. Even went with him on some of his assignments." Another voice spoke up from the far end of the table. 

   "Well what about Lystratia, Lasha or Leticia?" The president muttered, darkly to himself. A thought suddenly struck him. "She is in college, is she not?" 

    "Yes sir, she is. You see Ace Lucchese has had a sudden interest in women. We believe this may be his father's doing, as he is pressuring his son into a marriage he doesn't want." Wilcox explained, dully. 

     "And so Lavinia… you want her to play Lucchese's girlfriend?" The high and mighty president asked, skeptically raising one eyebrow. 

     "That is the plan, sir." A man called Greyson, spoke up, leaning back in his chair. 

     "He would kill her. The moment he realized she was working against him." The president snapped. 

     "Yes sir, he would. Ace Lucchese is not a force to be reckoned with. But we feel this is our only chance to bring down the Mafia of New York City once and for all. If we have to sacrifice a few lives along the way, so be it." 

     "You all truly disgust me. She is my Goddaughter for Christ's sake!" The president snarled, shaking his head. "What about her family? Her friends? What if she ends up having gotten married?"

    "She is not married, and has no boyfriend, lover, or friend with benefits. She prefers to spend her days sitting in a Café on the corner of fourth and fifth, reading. We think she aspires to become a forensic specialist for the NYPD. Her family, she has not been in contact with for some time, so there is no need to worry about either of these." Tonner said, flipping through a file.

    The president's face formed an ugly scowl. "You already made a report on her? Without consulting me, first?" 

    "Sir with all due respect, time is of the utmost importance as of now. If the Lucchese Family get their filthy hands on another of the city's casinos, or bribe another one of our police officers, our beloved New York City might not be able to be saved." A short bearded man, surnamed Baxter squeaked.

     "Alright, show me her file." The president sighed, exasperated. 

    Tonner slid the file under the president's nose. "She is twenty-two, in her last year of college, an undergraduate, planning to graduate from Fordham University, majoring in Forensics. She lives with her roommates, outside of campus. She gets along with all of the girls, but doesn't seem to particularly be close with most of them, being reluctant to attend parties or go on outings. She only really talks to one of her roommates…" Tonner paused, leafing through the file for a moment. "Ah! Here it is! Noella Stettler, and her cat, Oreo. On the weekends she will go out for a small drink, to Ace's Dark 49 club, on the west side.

    "We couldn't find much on Adalene except that after Foreman's death seven years ago, she took the girls and went to live in Paris, near her parents. And she continued her business in fashion. Lavinia doesn't seem to be extremely close with her mother. When Adalene comes to New York, she and Lavinia usually go out together, though. So if Lavinia doesn't… succeed, then her mother wont worry if she didn't call.' Tonner paused to catch his breath but before he could continue, the president spoke up. 

    "Adalene… she won't allow this. She loves her daughters more than anybody in the world. She isn't going to let Lavinia risk her life to take down the Mafia." The president had a triumphant look on his face, thinking he had won this argument, and Lavinia would not be used. 

    Tonner merely raised his eyebrows and continued, "Adalene won't be able to do anything once Lavinia signs the contract." 

    The president let out a growl of a sound, “Well what makes you think she will sign the damn contract?” 

    "Oh, don't worry about that. She will sign the contract." Tonner seemed so smug, it left no doubt in the president's mind that Lavinia would sign the contract, if only for her late father.

   "May I continue, sir?" Tonner had an edge in his voice that wasn't previously there before. The president only glared. "She interns for the NYPD. She doesn't actually do anything in the field of science though, just the paperwork. She hates her job, and wants to be doing real, life changing things. Lavinia has been and still is a bubbly, energetic, happy, stupid girl. She would be the perfect asset to Ace's collection. He can use her, then when he realizes we are also using her, he will kill her. And we will honor her of course… just cheaply.' Tonner paused, then added, 'He shouldn't kill her straight away. She's like a lost puppy. Too dumb to know she's walking into death head on. Ace should take pity on her, if he has a shred of pity left in him." 

    "Yeah, cause he's definitely proven that." The president muttered darkly, lighting a cigar. He puffed on it a few moments, thinking. Then suddenly sat upright. "What about Teegan? If he was here with us, do you think he would allow this." The president demanded, cigar ashes falling from his mouth. 

    The room went dead silent. You could have heard a pin drop. Then a light haired young man spoke up. Probably only 25. "I didn't know Foreman very well, I only went on one assignment with him, when I was an intern, myself. After the assignment though, he asked if it was alright if he could pick Lavinia up from her high school. I told him I didn't mind at all.

   "When we got Lavinia, and Teegan asked her about her day, she told him that she had trashed-talked a boy on the football team. I remember the look on Teegan's face, it was a cross between amusement and pride. He didn't even scold her, all he said to her was, 'That's my girl.'

   "If Teegan Foreman was here, I think he would say his daughter is more than ready for this position, and that she would be able to pull it off better than any of the trained agents in this room could.  

   "So sir, I do believe that Teegan would applaud her if she took this assignment." The young man had a somber, grieving look on his face, at the loss of his previous mentor. And from the pain and joy the story brought to him. 

    The twenty two other agents, including the president, bowed their heads as they remembered their fallen hero, taken by the Mafia. 

    "She was there, Mr. President. Lavinia was there when Teegan was murdered. She was hiding behind the couch, while Angelo Lucchesse was torturing Teegan Foreman. She witnessed the whole thing. I believe she would jump at a chance to get revenge." Tonner said quietly. 

     The president was silent. He was thinking of Teegan, and how his agents were all correct in saying that Teegan would say Lavinia was ready for this mission. Teegan would want her to go. Not so much that he would pressure Lavinia into going, but enough that he knew she would go. And the president knew it too. He knew Lavinia would want this chance to get back at her father's killer. She would be hesitant at first, after six years of trying to forget about all of it. About everything and nothing. But in the end she would take the assignment. 

    The president sighed a defeated sigh, before lifting his tired gaze to Tonner's and agreeing, but with his own terms. 'I want Lavinia to come back home. I don't want to hear anymore of this 'honored shit', is that clear?" 

    There were murmurs of agreement around the table, and the quick jerk of heads. Then the president continued, "In order to have Lavinia come out of the family unscathed, she must have the best security. I want eyes on her at all times. Not just Shaffer's eyes." 

    Tonner nodded, more to himself than anyone else, and spoke up. "This won't be a problem, sir. Even with our security, if Ace truly ends up caring for Lavinia, she would be under better protection than even our agents could ever give her. He will have people around her, following her, and cameras on her at all times of the day. We can also use this for our own needs. If things aren't  happening fast enough, we can take Lavinia, and hold her hostage until Ace comes up with the information he knows we want." 

    The president paled slightly at this thought, the safety of Lavinia, yet the cruelty of the act of holding her hostage, battling in his mind. "Yes," The president began carefully, "Yes, that is what we'll do. Use Lavinia. Someone go find her, and convince her. Offer her any amount of money. Do anything. Drag her down here. Whatever it takes to convince her. Is that understood?!" Though the president had begun cool and calm, he had soon become loud and aggressive, by the end of his short speech. He was a man with a plan, and no one would stop him. Especially not guilt for what he was about to throw Lavinia into.

    After everyone in the room had agreed, twenty-two agents began trickling out the door, to face the next few months of grueling work that lay ahead. Only one agent stayed back. Staying seated, staring at the wall in front of him, five seats down from the president. 

    The president was quiet as well, as he stood up and sat down beside Tonner. "You're second guessing?" The president asked. 

    "It just- it seems so cruel, ya know? We were friends with Teegan all through high school and college, up until he died. Now we are sending one of his daughters into the mix? One of the girl's he cherished and cared about? Probably, in all honesty, his favorite daughter at that?" Tonner sighed, running his hand over his tired face. 

    The president didn't answer, for something had caught his attention. 'Do you have a picture of her, Tonner?" 

    "Of Lavinia?" Tonner mumbled, from behind his hands. 

    "No of Maya Rudolph. Yes of course, Lavinia."

   Tonner simply glared at him. "Yes I do," he confirmed. 

   "Could I see it?" The president's eyes were trained on the sun tan part of the picture peeking out from Tonner's file. 

    Tonner hesitated, something the president caught. "A problem, Tonner?" He asked, coyly. 

    "No, not at all Mr. President." Tonner reassured him, sucking in a breath, then pulling the picture out. What the president saw nearly made his eyes roll out of his head. She was beautiful. No, not beautiful. Gorgeous. Words on this planet couldn't even describe how beautiful she was. She had straight blond hair, falling over her chest in a yellow waterfall. Her eyes, a cold, icy blue, seemed to see through you, to your secrets. Her full lips were naturally a brilliant, old fashioned red. The high cheek bones she showed off, could have been those of a model. She was the picture of beauty, and the president wondered if this was what she looked like on camera, how truly beautiful was she in person? 

    "Jesus Christ." The president choked, still trying to drink in every detail of this wonder that sat in front of him. "She has certainly grown up, since that day." He muttered.

    "Yeah, she has." Tonner trailed off, staring at the picture as well.

    "So… that's our Lavinia Foreman." 

Part #2

Dons In Italy

Ace & Angelo Lucchese

    The faint light from the dying fireplace, made shadows dance across the faces of the two men. They sat across from each other, each with a cigar in hand. Their snake-like eyes were trained on the other, both distrusting and cold. There seemed to be an unspoken standing to prove each of their dominance over the other man. Like wolves in a pack. 

    Eventually the older gentleman sighed and ran a hand over his face. He averted his eyes from the man across the desk and glanced out the floor to ceiling window, at the dark night. 

    "I called you here-" He began to say, before the younger man interrupted him. 

   "To ask for a favor? I think you should start repaying your debts before you add more, wouldn't you agree, Padre?" The son sneered in sarcasm. 

   "Do not speak to me with such disrespect, Ace." The father snapped at his son.

   "Don't speak to me of disrespect." Ace snarled back, lifting his cigar to his lips and drawing in a breath. 

   "I could have a bullet through your head, right now, right here. Hell, I already would have if your mother wasn't so damn intent on caring about you." 

   "I could do the same. You would be the one lying in a pool of your own blood, Angelo." The son said lazily. 

   "Is that a threat?" Angelo sat up straighter. 

   "No… that's a promise." Ace smirked, blowing cigar smoke in his fathers face. 

  The father and son stared at each other across the table once again, the hate in their eyes more evident than ever before. The want to kill the opposing man as strong as ever. It was Ace this time who gave in first. He stood up from his chair in front of his fathers desk, and went to get another cigar from the coffee table in front of the fireplace. 

   "What is it you want so badly Angelo? So much so, you made me fly out to Italy to speak with you about it?" 

   "Oh don't act so high and mighty." Now it was Angelo that snarled. "You wouldn't have come, if you didn't have business out here." 

   "Fair enough," Ace agreed, waving his cigar in Angelo's general direction. "So what is it that you want, then?"   

   "I'm giving the Italian Mafia, to-" Here Angelo winced as if the words hurt him to speak aloud, "you." 

  "Ah so it is a favor you need." Ace grinned. 

  Angelo wisely chose to ignore his son's attempt to get a rise out of him and continued on. "I will not lie and say that you haven't been successful in the family business. You have been. You've somehow managed to discreetly run the New York Mafia, the Chicago Mafia, the French Mafia and multiple drug cartels, without any major errors. So in ninety four days the Italian Mafia can be yours." 

  "What about Alesso?" Ace asked, numbly puffing on the end of a cigar as he thought of how his empire would expand in ninety four days 

   "Maybe he would have it, if I knew where the hell he was." 

  "You wouldn't give it to Alesso." Ace said, stating the obvious. They both knew that if Alesso were to be given a Mafia, the headquarters would be turned into a college striper club, with the best strippers and hookers. 

   "Hmm." Was all Angelo bothered replying with.

   Ace rolled his eyes at his father's stubbornness to agree. "You have no idea where Alesso is?" Ace asked.

  "No." Angelo mumbled, shrugging indifferently, not really caring where his youngest son is. 

   Ace scoffed, at his father's lack of care or his brother's idiocy, he didn't know. "How long has he been gone this time?" 

   Angelo gave his son an exasperated look. "Do I look like your mother? Why the hell would I care how long he has been gone?"

   Ace laughed, and his father let the smallest of a smile slide across his lips. For the first time in seven years Angelo and Ace Lucchese sat in comfortable silence. 

   Angelo looked at Ace, his eldest son, and his successor. Though Angelo hated both his sons, he could at least stand Ace, and he was impressed with how far he had brought the Mafia Family. 

   Angelo opened his mouth to ask, but Ace cut him off before he could begin. "No. I refuse to marry the Genovese's girl." 

   "Your empire could expand, tenfold!" Angelo was now on his feet, all traces of understanding gone, the icy cold of a father and son feud having seeped back into the room. 

   "I will not marry her, Angelo. Tatiana does not even wish me to marry her, so I will not." Then as an afterthought Ace also added, "I can't honestly stand her either. She wouldn't last very long with me." 

   Angelo fell back in his chair, glaring at his son. "I have lasted twenty-eight years with your Madré." 

    Ace just shrugged, before purposely changing the subject. "The moles have been breathing down my neck." He ran a tired hand over his face, though he still tried to hide his exhaustion from Angelo. It didn't work. 

    "FBI or CIA?" Angelo asked, without a hint of sympathy in his voice.

    Ace scoffed, "I have the CIA under control. More of my men are inside than outside. That damn FBI though, they keep finding ways to get around me. They're taking out our men in the NYPD too." 

   Angelo thought for a moment, then replied, "Ya know, back in '99 when I was just becoming Don, the FBI sent a female agent in. She was supposed to 'seduce' me or something." 

   "And did it work?" Ace was genuinely curious about how his father had handled this, Angelo being a man who didn't stand for traitors and had a temper shorter than a ruler. 

    Angelo let out a rueful laugh. "Of course it worked! She was fucking beautiful, a Goddess from Venus." 

    "Prettier than Madré?" 

    "Are you kidding? Half the world is prettier than Vera. But anyway, one day I caught her talking on the phone to an unknown number. I had my men record any phone calls she made, and that's how I found out she was against me." Angelo stopped, and thought for a moment. "I killed her. The very next day, I did it. I asked her how it felt to be a traitor. Made her try to talk even after I'd had her tongue cut out. I was merciless. I dont stand for traitors." Angelo sighed, looking ten years older than he really was. The memories and pain of the past weighing him down. Angelo covered his pain over nicely though, he was still in the presence of a man who could take everything from him with the snap of his fingers, Angelo's own son. 

    "I doubt the damn FBI would try that again though, I don't think they expected me to kill the girl. She was pretty nice company too... Though, if they do. Kill her. She doesn't deserve to live, no traitor does." 

    Ace didn't utter a word, he just stared at his father, sick of the sight of him, and all he had done. Taking no pity on the man. 

   "Well," Angelo began, "I didn't want this to turn into a personal visit, you know how I hate those. All I wanted was to inform you of your becoming Don over the Italian Mafia." Angelo stood up signaling the end of their discussion. He held his hand out to Ace, and they shook, slightly harder than necessary. 

  Ace turned to leave, but he barely got three feet before Angelo called him back. "You know there is one condition to your controlling the French Mafia…" 

   Ace stopped but didn't turn around. "Yes?"

   "I have a business proposal for you." Angelo said, spinning a silver bladed knife between his fingers.

   "Which is?" Ace prodded, impatiently turning around to face his father. 

   "I want heirs." Angelo stated simply. 

   "You want-" Ace gave him a disbelieving look. "You? A grandfather?" 

   "No. I want a foul proof plan for your Mafia… should you die. I couldn't care less about the brats." 

   "Alesso is that foul proof plan." Ace stated. 

   "You would like to leave an entire crime family to a boy who isn't sober 5 days out of the week?" 

   "Fair enough," Ace agreed. "So what, you want me to get married? Buy a cute little house in the suburbs? Drive a Corella to an office job? Yeah I don't think so, Pops." 

   "Just have a damn son. For God's sake I don't even care who it's with. But I don't want half my life's work to go to a moron. So, you find a girl and I'll give you the Mafia. Deal?" 

   "Alright, fine." The men shook, hatred filling both their eyes. 

   "We done here?" Ace asked. 

   Angelo gave a curt nod, not watching as his eldest son, stormed across the room and out the door. 

Chapter #1

Strangers In The Park

"Revenge is an act of passion; vengeance of justice. Injuries are avenged, crime is revenged. "

-Samuel Johnson

   My blood is pounding in my ears, and my hands are clammy. The darkness I am sitting in is the kind that swallows you, then keeps you trapped inside. My breathing is labored, as if I've run a hundred miles, even though I haven't moved an inch in God only knows how long. 

   I pull against the cuffs, the metal edges cutting into my already sore wrists. My arms are tired, from having been restrained behind my back for so long. I am exhausted, from being sleep deprived and tortured endlessly. 

    I cough, a feeble cough, and I feel the blood from my mouth run down my chin, dripping onto my thin, threadbare shirt. I want to cry, but I can't. I have to stay strong, for Papa. If he could stand this torture, I surely can. I refuse to give this monster the pleasure of seeing my pain. 

   Though that thought doesn't stop my chest from tightening in fear, when I hear heavy footsteps, splashing through water puddles… or blood puddles. The footsteps stop in front of me, a hand slides under my chin and forces my head up. I gaze up in the general direction of where I suppose he is. Even though I can't see him because of the dark blindfold covering half my face. 

   'Lavinia…' His slick voice begins, 'I could give you the world. I just want this tiny piece of information. I have been nice, and I have been mean. I know I terrify you, so why not give it up? You can go home, back to your mother. You want that don't you?' His voice stops, and I feel his long fingers under the blindfold, lifting it up. 

    Once the blindfold is completely off, I stare into his emotionless, midnight black eyes, refusing myself the fear I wanted to give into. He chuckles, and opens his mouth to say something, but I never get to hear it. 

   I am being dragged from the chair, from the room in which my pain has taken place. I feel a floating sensation about me, as I get higher and higher, until I hear another voice. This one is much more urgent, calling for me. Calling my name.

   'Lavinia!' It says. 'God, please wake up!' 

   Then it is over. The hell, and the pain, and the fear. I am pulled from the drugs that are forcing my eyes closed, and into a world of reality that is much, much more terrifying than anything my mind could think up in my sleep.

•  +     +

   I shoot straight up in bed, my whole body dosed in a cold sweat, my heart still racing, and the fear and disorientation from waking up from a nightmare present in my mind. 

    "Lavinia?" The sweet voice from before asks.

    I glanced around, my eyes still blurry with sleep. In my hazy vision, I spot a brunette girl sitting by my bedside, her hand on my shoulder. Concern and worry fills her eyes. Noella. 

    "Are you - Was it the same thing again?" She asks. 

    "Yes." I mutter, trying to recall the nightmare. As much as I wanted to forget it, my intuition told me I needed to remember that man's face. That he was important, or would become important. 

    "Lavinia," Noella began, and I knew what was coming. It always did.

    "What? What Ella? Should I stop screaming in my sleep? Well I can't. The damn drugs make it impossible to be able to do anything but relive the whole fucking thing. I watch my father die, then sometimes the story is twisted just slightly and I also watch my mother die. Or I'm tortured. Do you think I want to be dreaming of this every night? 

    "And don't you dare try to suggest a psychiatrist. I went. And all he did was subscribe me those damn pills!" I fell back into my pillows defeated, and tired, oh so tired. But I couldn't fall asleep, because when I do I see my father's face, bloodied and bruised. Then I see the monster who killed him, I hear his laugh, deep and dark. Then I hear the ring of a bullet being shot from a pistol. 

    "I just want to die. I want it to all end, Ella. I'm so tired and so sick. I'm sick of being sick. For God's sake I'm terrified to go to sleep! I can't go half of anywhere, because it makes me think of Daddy. I just want it to be over, all over." I close my eyes and try to bring good memories, happy memories into my head. I want to remember my father as a hero, not as the man who was slaughtered by a bastard. 

    Noella doesn't say anything about my outburst, she simply takes my hand and holds it, which was all I could have asked for at the moment. 

• +    +

    The house was chaos. It was a Monday morning, and Mondays are the hardest for everybody. It only made matters that much worse that Fleur had an internship interview, and she was reciting her resumé in the kitchen. 

     "Fleur, honey I am really late could you just maybe move…" I watched as Chantara gave Fleur a forceful push, almost knocking Fleur's dancer's body over, with her strong basketball player frame. 

     I chuckled into my Lucky Charms, and turned my attention back to Fleur as she recited her resumé like a Valedictorian speech, for the tenth million time. 

    Chantara must have seen my exasperation, because while she waited for her coffee to finish in the Keurig, she said, "You deserve it, considering your first class isn't until ten." 

     I rolled my eyes at Tara playfully, laughing along with her. Chantara was the type of person who could make you smile even when someone had died. Her chocolate shaded skin warmed you on the coldest of days, and her smile could brighten up any dark room. She was really the very person I wanted to be around after what had happened. 

     "So whatcha gonna-" Chantara began, but was cut off by the clicking of high heels announcing  Patience's entrance into the kitchen, sneering at Fleur, Tara and I. 

    I heard her muttering incoherently, 'bitches, and cunts,' under her breath as she passed the island, where I was currently stationed at. 

    "Good morning to you too, Patience!" I chipperly greeted her, knowing it would piss her off more than anything. 

    She spun around and glared at me a, 'You stupid ho!' perched on the tip of her tounge. She would have said it if she wasn't completely terrified of Chantara.

     The thing about Patience is, she wanted to be part of the Kapa Kapa Ja Sorority, but apparently she was turned down. So she came here to us, to what she classifies as a 'wannabe Sorority.' Which makes absolutely no sense because she is also a part of our house. Her father owns half the corporate companies on the west coast, so she believes she is entitled to every damn thing in the world. 

   That might explain why she is taking Chantara's coffee from the Keurig, and eating the rest of my diabetes in a bowl. 

    "Do you have class, Patience?" Fleur asked softly and carefully, always the peacekeeper. 

    "Of course I have class! I am taking an art class, that Daddy paid for." She sniffed, indefinitely deciding she was much better than all of us, not realizing you have to pay for most college classes you take. 

    I resigned to rolling my eyes, instead of making a snarky comment. I also went the extra mile to pick up the bowl that Patience had left, and drop it into the sink. 

    "Oh, yes thank you, maid." Patience said, clicking from the kitchen before I could grab her and strangle her. 

    "Hey, at least she said thank you." Chantara reminded me. 

    I had to bite my tongue until I tasted blood, to keep from retorting. "Who does she think she is? Half our parents make more than she does." 

   "Oh, you know you don't actually care, Lavinia." Fleur said, rolling her eyes at me.  

A timer sounded somewhere in the house, and I glanced at the clock, 7:46. Most of the girl's had fourteen minutes to get to campus. Good thing we resided in the Bronx. 

    Chantara glanced at the clock too, and after realizing she had forgotten her car was broken, she begged me for my keys, then flew out the door. Shortly followed by Patience, Fluer, Tilly and Samantha. Noella stopped before leaving and glanced at me. 

    "I know you don't want to, but I set up a psychiatrist appointment for you over in Manhattan, at 9. I'll text you the doctor and place. 

   This one is different, I promise. Just try to go." Noella was on the verge of begging me, and I almost felt bad for giving her my excuse. 

    "Chantara took my car, I can't." 

    "Run." She simply stated. I knew she wasn't going to back out of this, and she would insist I go until I agreed, so I let my shoulders drop in defeat. 

    "Alright I'll go, but if he tries to prescribe me -" 

    "She won't. I promise." Noella confirmed. 

    I only gave her a skeptical look, before turning around and climbing the stairs, to go crawl back in my bed for another half an hour, even though I know I won't sleep because I can't stand to see his face once more today. 

• +.    +

    Once I'm out of the house I feel infinitely better. It's as if I am more free, like I can breathe without choking or being restrained. Out in the open daylight, nothing bad can happen… at least that's what I tell myself. 

     I plop down in the front law, my butt becoming soaked from the early morning dew in mere seconds. Though I don't mind, I couldn't care less what people think, and if they want to think I pissed myself, they can. 

    My arms strain against the pain burning behind my kneecaps, as my hands try to grab my toes. I eventually just give up, and let my back fall into the soft, wet grass. I gaze up at the clouds, floating lazily over my head, through the perfect baby blue sky. 

   I close my eyes, thinking of a time when everything was alright. Where I wasn't waking up every night nearly pissing myself from fear, when Papa was still alive and smiling at me, at a time when Lystratia and I didn't hate each other. I miss it all, and I want to murder the damn bastard who killed him. 

   Sighing, I open my eyes to the real world, shutting out the bright past, and opening my mind to the dank future. My legs ache from half stretching, and I'm soaked. I don't mind though, trivial things like that don't seem to get to me anymore. 

    I drop my hands to my toes one more time, more for show than anything, before I cut across the slippery yard to the sidewalk, and begin my run to Manhattan. 

    My mind clears as I'm running, my breathing becomes labored, but in a good way. The cool spring air cuts through my throat, making my lungs burn. 

    Clearing my mind and closing my eyes, I am only left with myself and my rhythmic breathing. I pass people walking, and people running. People who look like serial killers, and people who look like babysitters. I love New York for all it's diversity, and opportunity. 

    The only problem is him. I see him everywhere I go. That bastard's son. The man who murdered my father, his son living in the same city as me. It takes me a few seconds to process, and when I do I want to throw everything I had eaten this morning up.  A 'CEO Executive' is what they call him. Fleur, Tilly and Patience are all in love with him and his dark eyes and chiseled jawline. 

    Shaking my head, I eliminated all thoughts of him, he fills my nightmares, why should he fill my days as well? My feet slapping the pavement and I find rhythm with the morning shadows coming from the trees. I am so lost in myself I don't hear my name being called until a hand grabs my forearm and I jerk around, ready to murder whoever is going to rape me in Central Park.

    I start swinging my fist wildly against the stranger's chest, until I hear my name come from his mouth. "Lavinia! Lavinia, it's me, Tonner!" 

   I abruptly stop hitting the man, and look up into his face for clarification, and upon truly seeing my father's best friend, I throw my arms around his neck. 

   There may be many things I would like to forget about my past, but Braxton Tonner was not one of them. 

   "Oh Tonner!" I mumbled into his shoulder. His arms snaked around my waist and held me tight. I had grown up with Tonner, he was like an uncle to me. I had missed him more than anyone the past few years. 

     "It's so good to see you." I said, smiling from ear to ear. 

    "You as well," He replied, looking into my piercing blue eyes.  

    I took a step back, and took him in. He looked older, much older than the last time I had seen him. Grey hairs were seeping into his blond ones. This time seeing him though, there was no sadness in his eyes, and the disoriented look had left his face. This time we weren't meeting under the pretense of my father's death. 

    He smiled gently at me,  and held on to my forearms, gazing at me as I had just done to him. 

   "You look good, you look happy." He said. I wanted to laugh and cry at the same time. Happy? That was not a word to describe me 99.8 percent of the time. But now, I was happy. Because I was with Tonner. 

   "How is everyone? Your wife, and Arabelle?" I asked, referring to his daughter. 

    "They're good, they're really good." I saw a distant look in Tonner's eyes, he was looking around wearily, as if we were being watched. 

    It made me look over my shoulder subconsciously. "Tonner," I began cautiously, "How did you find me?" 

   "I tracked your phone." He stated, simply. Most people would have been ecstatic, but I had grown up with my father in the FBI, so it was as simple as saying, 'I noticed you from across the room.'

    I nodded, but I don't think Tonner noticed because he was still giving every person who passed us, the nastiest look. 

    "Tonner it is really very good to see you… but do you have a reason to see me?" I let the sentence drop there, but the rest of it was clear, 'you haven't taken the time to come check on me in six years, why now?' 

    Tonner looked beyond guilty, "I wanted to come and see you, but I figured you'd want space. You understand, right?" 

   I didn't, I truly didn't understand. I had wanted no one more than Tonner to talk to when Papa had died. But I nodded and put up a fake front, I was good at doing that. 

   "So is there a reason for you visiting me?" I asked, already knowing it wasn't to exchange pleasantries. 

    "Yes." Tonner responded, not giving any clarification. He began to speak again, before he noticed a man in a dark coat, and sunglasses walking particularly slow past us. 

   "Would you maybe have some place quiet to speak?" Tonner asked, keeping his eyes trained on the man in the glasses.

   I opened my mouth to respond, before I remembered why I was running to Manhattan. It was either find out what Tonner so desperately needed to talk about, or go to a doctor who is just going to prescribe me pills that make me sick at night. 

   The decision was easy. "Yes, I have somewhere we could go." 

Chapter #2

Good From Bad

 

"Trust someone who can see three things in you: the sorrow behind your smile, the love behind your anger and the reason behind your silence."

-Unknown English Proverb 

   Tonner was looking at me, assessing my strengths. I knew he was, because my father used to do the same exact thing to me.

   The whizzing and clanking of coffee machines, next to the quiet buzz of college student voices was the only thing that could be heard in the little coffee house. The scent of coffee being brewed and french vanilla creamer filled the air, adding to the calm atmosphere in the café. 

    Tonner was gazing around the coffee house, glaring at anyone who dared to send a glance his way. 

   "Tonner?" I asked, cautiously. 

   "Hmm? Yes?" He was distant again, staring at an aging lady who probably could barely get out of bed this morning, let alone would stand a chance against Tonner's muscular and toned frame. 

   "That old lady isn't going to murder you." I hissed at him.

   Tonner glanced over at me, and queried a smile. "You may look like a duplicate of Adalene, but you have his humor." 

   I only raised my eyebrow, waiting for clarification. 

   "Teegan. He would have said something like that… if he were here." That tiny comment made my stomach drop, as though I were on a roller coaster. I avert my eyes from Tonner, and watch the people on the street pass by out the wide picture window in the front of the café.

   "There was something you wanted to discuss?" I reminded him, purposely changing the subject.

   He took a deep breath and looked at me, but didn't say anything. Tonner was not one to beat around the bush, so I knew it must be very detrimental. 

    "Tonner what is it? Is it Mamá? Is she alright?" My panic was coming fully induced. If anything happened to my mother- I stopped my train of thought before I made myself sick thinking of what could have happened to Mamá. 

    "No, no, no. It's not Adalene!" Tonner rushed to assure me. 

   "So what is it?" My tone came out more demanding,than questioning. 

   Tonner opened his mouth, then he asked the dumbest thing, "How's university?" 

    I wrinkled my brow, but answered him, "It's fine. Now Tonner what the hell is this about?!" 

   Entirely disregarding my last statement, Toner continued asking pointless questions, "Tell me about it. What are you majoring in?" 

   I gaped at him, "Tonner, I want to know what you are doing here. I demand to know!" I slammed my fist down on the wooden table, causing everyone in the café to involuntarily look over at me. I didn't even bat an eye.

    Tonner sank back into his chair, running his hand over his face. He eventually raised his eyes to meet mine, the murky green I had come to love, staring into my own eyes, studying me once again. I was losing my patience very quickly. 

    "You need to tell me what is going on, Tonner." I had a no nonsense edge to my voice. 

    "You're really not going to like it," he warned. 

    "Well you came all the way down here, I'm sure I can deal with it." I muttered dully, and montoned.

    Tonner took a deep breath before leaning across the wooden table, motioning for me to do the same. "We have an assignment for you." Tonner hissed in my ear. 

    "Who does?" I asked, before thinking it through. "The FBI." 

   Tonner only nodded in conformation, then he leaned toward me again, and continued. "It-it's about some… people who are causing some trouble in the city."

    "Like hoodlums?" I asked. 

    Tonner looked to be at a loss for words, "No… not like hoodlums. It's bigger than that, much bigger." Tonner's words were calculated and careful, which worried me. 

   He leaned back into his chair again away from me, but I stayed leaning over the table, my elbows resting on the corners. His eyes were looking at me with pity, a look I had gotten sick of seeing. So many people who were 'sorry' about my father's death. I never thought I'd see the expression dancing across Tonner's handsome features, though. 

    "Do you remember Angelo Lucchese?" He asked. 

    I almost choked on air. "What the hell do you mean, 'do I remember Angelo Lucchese?' He killed my damn father, Tonner! While I watched. You never ever forget the face of a man who murdered the person you care most deeply about. What the fuck does this have to do with Angelo Lucchese?" I was on my feet now, yelling at Tonner. He was looking around wearily, checking to see who was paying attention to our conversation.

    "Sit down, Lavinia." Tonner commanded with so much authority in his voice, it was almost subconsciously that I sat down on the hard wooden chair. 

    "Now I am going to tell you what is going on, and you are going to stay completely calm. Do you understand?" Tonner spoke to me like a child, but I was so desperate to find out what the hell was going on, that I simply gave a half hearted nod of my head. 

   Tonner closed his eyes, and blew a breath from his mouth, as though smoking an invisible cigar. 

    "The Lucchese mafia family has hit new highs with their crimes. The rate of crime in this city alone has skyrocketed, like never before. 

     "Now Ace Lucchese, Angelo's son, owns nearly all the mafias, but the Italian's. The biggest. Angelo still controls it. We have got word from one of our agents currently stationed inside the family, that in ninety four days Ace will gain this part of his inheritance as well. He will be the Don of one of the New York mafias, one of the Chicago mafias, the French mafia, a handful of mafias on the West coast, multiple drug cartels, and now the Italian mafia. 

    "The government wants to stop Ace. No. We need to stop Ace. He has too much power, and he needs to be thrown in jail. Granted, the death rate has been significantly lower ever since Ace took over from Angelo… but anyone connected, or with connections, to this type of lifestyle are in the wrong. Children are kidnapped in broad daylight, millionaires become indebt in mere seconds, men are slaughtered for offending even the lowest ranking members. This needs to end. 

     "That's where you come in, Lavinia. You will infiltrate the Lucchese crime family, starting with Ace. We have many agents inside the family now, but some of them have been woed into working loyally for Ace, and others are just so far down in the ranks it doesn't matter what information they can collect. The only man who has been able to give us valuable information is Shaffer, and only recently he has finally succeeded into Ace's inner circle. 

   "You could work so much faster. You must only convince Ace that you are there only for him, not against him. That you love him, and you would die for him. Loyalty is everything to the Luccheses'. To be a part of this family, even if you are at the bottom, you must be ready to die for anyone in the family. You, yourself would play Ace's girlfriend, and gather any information he tells you, or any you hear. Anything that goes on inside the house, you would tell us about.

     "We need you to do this, Lavinia. Your father would want you to do this, I'm sure of it. He would have thought you brave and strong to take this assignment. If you succeed, you will be a hero and you will help so many children and innocent people. Please Lavinia." 

      Tonner stopped speaking and looked at me expectantly. 

    I was so consumed with rage, that I couldn't even speak. I opened my mouth to tell Tonner off, but he beat me to it.

    "I know this is probably a lot to take in, but I want you to take into consideration what your father would have done, before you give me a solid answer." Tonner looked so hopeful, like he knew I would say yes. Too bad he'd always been overconfident. 

   I remembered my promise to him, that I wouldn't become angry. So I pulled a ten dollar bill from my sweatshirt pocket to leave for the coffee, I stood up, and said, "I don't know who the hell you think you are, but I lived with my father for fifteen years. I watched him die, for Christ's sake. There is no way in hell that he would openly want me to take a job spying for any mafia, let alone the Lucchese's." 

    I wanted to say something that would bite, so I added, "Next time you want a favor, maybe call first, and find a place to talk yourself. And here's the biggest tip, don't ask a girl to spy on the man's son who murdered her fucking father." I was entirely calm as I delivered him this miniature speech. Before I spun on my heel I added, "I do hope you have a pleasant day, don't let the damn mafia ruin it for you." 

    Then I weaved my way through the intrict set up of how the tables are laid out, and out the door. The instant my lungs take in fresh air, the tightening in my chest releases, and I am able to breath again.

    Tears burn in the corners of my eyes, but I refuse to give into sadness. Through everything I said to Tonner, my voice had stayed level, calm and quiet. Oh so quiet. I was and always have been a quiet girl, just like my mother. I prefer to blend in with the background, than to stand out in a crowd. 

   I don't know what to do with myself now that I've blown off the psychiatrist appointment, and I just received an unsettling proposition from someone who I once upon a time ago, thought of as a friend.

   I feel bile rising in my throat so I push through the throngs of people on the sidewalk, and puke everything up into a black trash can. Someone stops and pushes my hair out of my face for me, while I continue dry heaving. 

   When I turn around to thank the person, I see that it is a girl about my age. She has dark, shimmering hair, and dark eyes that look like tunnels to a whole new universe. She gives me a light smile, and I see kindness and sincerity in that smile. This girl is a person who looks like she actually cares about what happens to me. 

   I choke down the rest of my rising bile, but when I open my mouth to speak, ugly sobs erupt from my mouth instead of words. The girl gives me an understanding look, and only pulls me into her arms and holds me against her while I cry. 

  I should feel terrified, and I should be running as far from her as possible. Not most people are just going to take time out of their day to comfort a stranger (especially in New York), unless they want something. Though if she was trying to get to me in my vulnerable state, all she is going to gain is twenty dollars and an iPhone 8. 

  While my intuition knows that I should run in the opposite direction from her, it has been so long since anyone has just held and comforted me without a bargain on the other end, or empty words uttered to make me 'feel better.' So I take the reckless route, and I let her warmth envelope me, as I sob into her shoulder. 

   When I finally calm down enough to be able to speak, I rub the heels of my palms under my eyes to get rid of any excess tears. I look up at the beautiful girl who held me, a complete stranger, for at least ten minutes straight while I sobbed into her very nice looking jacket, now covered with snot and tears. 

   "I'm sorry about your jacket." I mumbled, still trying to clear my eyes. 

   "Eh, it's all good. I don't really like black leather anyways." She cracks a smile, that I give a feeble attempt at returning, but I'm sure it looked more like a grimace. 

   "I know this is a completely stupid question to ask, since you were just hanging over a garbage can, and you cried for at least fifteen minutes, but are you okay?" The girl reaches out and holds onto my arm, looking at me with concern filled eyes. I don't even flinch when she touches my arm, as I do with most people. 

    If I really think about it, I'm not. I'm not okay at all, and I haven't been for quite some time. So I simply shake my head, and mumble, "No." 

    The girl just nods, as though she understands, and maybe she really does, I don't know. While we may stand with silence between us, the sounds of the city continue on behind us.

   I cough once more, and when I'm sure my voice won't give out on me for sobs or bile, I finally officially thank the girl. "Thank you. Thank you so very much. This may seem like a weird thing to enlighten you on, considering we met about twenty minutes ago, but you're the very first person who hasn't tried to convince me everything would be okay. So thank you for that, too." 

    The brunette girl only smiled and shrugged like it was no big deal, and she stopped everyday to help strangers throw up, and hold them while they sob. 

   The girl had her head cocked slightly to the side as she studied me, I could practically see the wheels turning in her head. I was getting sick of everyone scrutinizing and sizing me up today. "You look very pale, would you maybe want to come back to my apartment?"

   My stomach dropped with what could have just been a helpful comment, but seeing as it was New York… She probably wanted to take me back to her apartment so she could kill me. 

   "I uh- actually have… This thing, that I'm really late for… so yeah. Maybe rain check it?" I was stuttering and telling a completely unconvincing lie. 

   "Uh-huh, so why were you bent over this garbage can?" The girl quirked an eyebrow, before continuing. "I'm not just taking you back to my apartment so I can kill you. You really do look pale, and I have some tiramisu that I made, left over. And of course chocolate fixes everything so… I thought you might like some." 

   "Does the cake have poison in it?" The sarcastic remark flew out of my mouth, before I could bite my tongue to stop it. 

   I winced, "Sorry, I uh- well I'm just weary around strangers." 

   "Hey that's alright. How about this, if I take you back to my apartment, and you feel threatened you can stab me with one of my own kitchen knives, okay?" The nonchalant calm in the girls' voice terrified me. As if she couldn't care less whether she dies or lives. Not suicidal… just careless. Completely careless and carefree. It was unnerving to say in the least. 

  "I'm not going to murder you. I am studying forensics, I don't want to be the person of investigation." My voice came out weary and tired, though I tried to keep it strong and steady.

  "Okay. Neither of us murder the other, seem fair?" It was terrifyingly entertaining how I had just had an entire conversation about death and murder with a girl I had met twenty five minutes ago. 

  "So what do you say? Come back to my apartment for some chocolate? Or stay out here," she wrinkled her nose, "in this absolutely lovely part of the city." 

   I giggled as I allowed my eye to drift around the part of the city we were standing in. It was actually quite nice, being only about a block down from the café where I spent my afternoons, and where Tonner and I had talked. 

  I felt my stomach drop for the third time today. Tonner. He was still somewhere near here, and he wasn't going to give up that easily. He would break me down until I agreed to carry out the assignment. I was not in the mood to be berated. 

   I had a choice to make once again, go with the stranger who showed me kindness, or wait for the asshole who only wants for me to do his dirty work, to find me.

    Once again I choose what will probably at a later time be the wrong decision, but that will be something for emotionally balanced Lavinia to worry about. 

   So against all better judgement, I give the girl who's name I don't even know, a small grateful smile, and I say, "I would love to have some tiramisu. Which way to your apartment?" 

   The girl smiled and placed her hand on my forearm, steering me through the crowds of people on the sidewalk. She was taking me away from one of my problems, but towards the start of another. I don't honestly believe I'm ready. 

 

Chapter #3

Wine And Cake 

"She Remembered Who She Was, And The Whole Game Changed." 

-Lalah Delia

   Our strides were in sync. That was all I knew as I continued walking uptown, the girl's hand never leaving my arm. I kept watching both our feet, so that I didn't have to look at the girl beside me, because truth be told I'm a little scared of her. She was pulling me through crowds, and cutting so many people off, I was sure we were going to be murdered. 

   We passed by The Plaza Hotel, and Central Park West, before she finally stopped to climb up wide flawless marble steps, leading to a skyscraper of a building. She nodded to a burly looking doorman who tipped his hat at us, before dragging me inside the most beautiful lobby I'd ever seen in New York. 

   She dragged me over to one of the four elevators, then jabbed  the gold 'up' button rather forcefully. 

   While we stood waiting for the elevator, I took the chance to glance around the lobby. What I saw amazed me. There was plush red carpet spanning the length of the floor, like a Hollywood premier. Three beautiful crystal chandeliers all hung from the ceiling, spaced evenly apart. There was abstract artwork hung on the walls, taking up more space than was necessary, I'm sure. I could just see the edge of the dining room through the glass French doors, at the far end of the lobby. The room had a terrace overlooking Central Park, and was really quite magnificent. 

  As I looked around, I could feel my jaw dropping, but made no attempt to close it. This building was truly wondrous. I had seen beautiful buildings before, since my mother was a fashion designer, a renowned one at that. Though I was usually with my father growing up, and the places he went were nothing like this. Not near as beautiful, or refined.

   I felt my arm being tugged into the elevator, and I allowed the rest of my body to comply and follow suit. The elevator had glass mirrors on all four sides. It made me feel self conscious and self righteous at the same time. 

  I finally turned to the girl, who was uninterestedly staring at her phone. I noticed the panel of buttons, with the top number having been the only pushed. I gaped at her. 

  "You live in the penthouse?!" I gasped out. 

  "No, I live in the attic." She joked darkly. 

  I looked at her face to find traces of lying, she glanced over at me and laughed.

  "I'm only joking, I promise."

  I nodded, then I asked a question that I instantly regret, "So are you loaded or something? What do you do to own a penthouse in a building like this?" 

  I slapped a hand over my mouth after the words were out, and immediately apologized. "I am so sorry. That was so incredibly rude of me. I don't even know your name and I'm asking how much you make and what your current occupation is. I am very sorry, I'm not sure what came over me." 

  The girl just smiled and held out her hand, "Concetta." 

  I looked at her hand and asked stupidly, "What?" 

  "My name. It's Concetta, or Connie. Whichever you prefer." She waved her hand a little, waiting for me to shake. 

  "Oh. Oh! I'm sorry, Lavinia-" I hesitated a moment, considering whether or not to tell her my last name. I decided against it, and chose instead to just shake her hand. 

  She gave me a pleasant smile, and said, "There. Now your question was not unspeakably rude, seeing as you know my name."

   I opened my mouth to protest, but she only held up her hand and continued. "I don't mind, really I don't. The bluntness of the question was refreshing, and the absence of fear when you asked was also nice." 

   Connie had just said two very questionable things, that made me question her sanity and fear her all the more.

   "As for your question, my father pays for the penthouse. You see I am his favorite child, so I get as I want. I'm an extremely spoiled girl, and if you see me acting accordingly I am exceedingly apologetic in advance. As for my occupation, I work… under my brother in a way." Connie left it at that, so I just nodded, processing the information she had told me. I knew I would be going through the millions of 'Concetta's' tonight on Instagram, instead of sleeping. 

   I began to speak again, though I'm not entirely sure what I would have said, when the chime on the elevator sounded, signaling the end of our ride. When the doors open, I instantly fall in love with this penthouse. 

   The elevator had opened into a white and grey color coordinated living room. As I stepped off and looked around, I noticed that the entire wall behind the couch is clear glass. It was absolutely beautiful, even more so than the lobby. 

  "You can close your mouth now." Connie said, glancing at me. 

   I could feel my face reddening, which confused me because around nearly everyone else I couldn't care less what they thought of me. For some reason this girl, who I had met not even an hour ago, her opinion of me did matter. 

   "I'm sorry, it's just so beautiful, ya know?" I gawked trying to take it all in.

  "Yes I do know, I live here." She laughed out. 

  "Very true." I smiled at her, wondering if I was making a friend. I could use some. I enjoyed the company of most the girl's I live with (excluding Patience), but Noella was the only person I had felt I had a true friend in, since I came to New York. 

  Connie turned toward a hallway, lined with black and white canvas photographs of cats. It was a bit unnerving, having all those cats, staring at me from the wall. I hurried my pace to match Connie's. 

  The narrow hallway ended, bringing us into a kitchen, just as modern and beautiful as the living room. 

   "I love your contrast of white's and grays. It makes me feel like I'm in a 1950s sitcom." I told her, smiled lightly, running my finger over the off-white marble counter. 

  "You have an eye for color?" Connie asked, or observed. 

   "Yes, I do. My mother is a fashion designer, so I have always been around colors that coordinate. Mamá cannot stand any colors that don't 'flow' as she puts it." I thought about that, how Mamá would always give me a look of approval when I kept my room clean and made sure everything was colored just the perfect way. It was such a nice memory, from a much nicer time. 

   I looked up at Connie, and saw her watching me with interest. "Your mother is a designer?" 

   "Mm-hmm." I nod, answering her. 

   "Who is she? I love designer's, I might've bought her." 

   "Ada L. She is mostly based out of France." I watched her as she closed her eyes thinking. Then her face lit up, and she nodded vigorously. 

   "Yeah, I've bought her. I absolutely adore her shoes, especially the stilloete's. They are so comfortable, unlike most heels. She has to be one of my favorite designer's." Connie had a sincere look on her face, and I had a feeling she wasn't someone who would throw words around meaninglessly, so this was probably a very high compliment. 

   "Well that's very nice, I'll tell her the next time I see her." 

   Connie smiled, "If you see her soon, you should bring her around here. I'd love to meet her." 

   I smile, and play along, pretending like I'll actually be seeing my mother soon, or that I will come back to Connie's apartment. Pretending was sometimes easier than facing reality. 

   "So what about you?" I leaned back into the white marvel of the bar, and raised a single eyebrow at Connie. "What do your parents do?" 

    Connie glanced at me, then at the floor, worrying her lip in between her teeth, and thinking about something, but I wasn't sure what. A moment of silence began to stretch so long, dangerously becoming awkward, that I almost told her to forget it, and that it wasn't that important of a question. But then she eventually did speak up, giving me an answer that confused me more than life itself.

   "My father is a… businessman, of sorts. He mainly deals in business from Italy, our family home is in Vatican City." She stopped talking, so I tried to fill the silence.

   "Oh that's cool, so like a family business?" I asked.

   "Yes," Connie laughed. "Exactly like a family business." 

   I don't see the irony, or the need to laugh, but I just shrugged and smiled. "So you're originally Italian?" I asked, through gritted teeth.

   "I am! Yes, I am. Sorta explains the name doesn't it?" She gave a light laugh. 

  Mine was a forced laugh. "That's so cool." 

   It wasn't though, it wasn't cool. The man who murdered my father was Italian. It took everything in me, not to lunge across the kitchen and rip her eyes out, but I had to remind myself that not all Italian's are horrible people, just the Lucchese's. 

  So I forced a smile, because it's what I'm good at. I allowed the pain in my stomach to cease. And I took a few deep breaths, so that my anger would subside, and I would be able to think clearly and not hate all Italian's. 

   The silence was thick for a few minutes, while Connie gave me an odd look, which made me worry that I hadn't been discreet enough about my unreasonable anger at everyone of her ethnicity. 

  I understood the reason for her staring though, after she asked a dreaded question. "So, what about your father? Or is he not in the picture?" 

   She was blunt with her question, and usually I would appreciate bluntness from anyone, but this time it was like taking a hammer to the gut. I had to swallow the lump rising in my throat, and the tears threatening to spill from my eyes, before I could answer her. 

   "My father is- um… dead." I ended the horrible sentence with a whisper, thinking that if I heard the words quieter it might lessen the blow they brought. It didn't. I glanced away from Connie, not wanting a girl I met on the street to see me upset twice. 

  The quiet through the apartment, was deafening in a way that noise could also be. Eventually Connie spoke up, I could feel her eyes boring into the side of my head as she spoke. "Is that why you were crying out… ya know, there?" 

   I nodded, still not allowing myself to look at her, as I felt a tear drop, and make a trail through my concealer on my cheek. 

   "I was meeting with an old friend. He was my Dad's friend, and I thought he would just want to check up on me, see how I was doing. He hadn't talked to me in six years, so I was ecstatic." I paused here in my explanation, willing my voice to stay strong, and not crack. "But all he wanted was for me to fulfill an assignment for him." I glanced back at Connie, my eyes full of unshed tears, blurring my vision, and making her face disoriented. 

   Connie studied me for a moment, making me feel like something on display. She finally stopped, and brought her eyes to mine, saying something to make me laugh. "Men are asshole's."

   I couldn't help but to giggle because the only other option was to cry, and I refused to do that more than once a day. I swallowed my emotions the rest of the time. 

   "So how about that tiramisu?" Connie asked, her voice gentle as though she were speaking to a young child, instead of someone her age or older. At the moment I didn't mind though, I almost wanted to be coddled, because I was sick of having to do things someone twice my age should do. 

   Connie began moving around the kitchen, opening and closing white cabinets and grabbing utensils. She moved over to a glass cupboard against the wall, and pulled out the darkest bottle of wine, if ever seen.

   "Do you drink wine?" Connie asked, as she stretches her arm, reaching for a second wine glass on the top of the cabinet, waiting for me to answer. 

   "I do." I nodded. 

   "Good, because I have the best in Italy. Aged since 1954." She grinned over her shoulder at me. 

   "Wine is a very serious topic in my family, even though both my brothers and my father prefer whiskey." She wrinkled her nose at the word 'whiskey', making me laugh. 

  She went back to pouring 'the best wine in Italy', and cutting slices of the thickest chocolate cake I had ever seen. I felt my stomach rumble, just looking at it. 

  Connie handed me a plate heaping with chocolate cake, topped with what looked like whipped icing, and a fudge layer. My mouth watered, and I wanted to sit down on the floor, right here and eat it. 

   She laughed at my reaction to the food and said, "See didn't I tell you I made the best tiramisu? You haven't even tried it yet, and you look like you're ready to eat the whole thing, plate included."

   I laughed yet again. It must be some sort of record for having laughed so much since my father died. "I won't lie, it does look fairly good." I told her, trying to kill her ego. 

   She gawked at me, before forcefully shoving a glass of half full wine at me, and leading me back through the hallway of cat photographs, back into the bright living room.

  "Fairly good?" She asks, giving me an 'are you for real look'? "My family has the best recipe in all of Italy! No scratch that, in all of Europe!" 

   "But not in all of the world?" I teased, holding back laughter. 

   She plopped down on the pure white couch, and I winced as her wine came dangerously close to splashing over the rim and onto the perfectly white and clean couch. 

   "Okay and also the best in the whole world." She paused watching my face, then glanced at the wine splashing around in her glass. 

   "And you are a neat freak." She observed, laughing. 

   I made a huffing noise, before sitting down carefully on the couch, taking care not to spill my wine. 

  "Well it seems like your family has the best everything." I shot back at her. "The best wine, the best cake, the best-" I paused as I thought of another thing that she had bragged about so far. 

   When nothing came to me she helped me out, "The best looks?" 

   I snorted dramatically, rolling my eyes. "Yeah, no." Even though I was telling a lie, Connie is gorgeous. Her dark hair is sleek and shiny, and her dark eyes seemed to be holding millions of secrets. She had full lips, high cheekbones, and a defined jawline. She was the picture of beauty. 

   I decided to poke at her a little more though, "The biggest egos probably." 

   "Probably?" She shook her head, in mock seriousness. "No, that one is for certain. My family and I have the biggest egos in all of the universe." 

  I laugh, sinking back into the soft upholstery cushions on the couch, turning to look at her. 

  "Thank you. Sincerely, thank you. I really, really needed someone like you. This is the most I have laughed in six years." I smiled at the thought of laughter, something I had missed doing was laughing, I hadn't realized until now. I took a deep breath and continued with my monologue, "And even though I was a little worried you were going to bring me to a dark alleyway and kill me," I paused as Connie chuckled, rolling her eyes playfully. "I'm glad I came with you. Thank you for sharing your amazing apartment, wine, tiramisu and your slight ego problem, with me. I really do appreciate it." 

   She laughed at my small joke, then smiled and placed her hand on my forearm. "Of course, Lavinia. I wouldn't just stop to let just any stranger cry on my shoulder, but I don't know. You just seemed different, like even though you're blonde, you're not a complete bimbo, ya know?" 

  I laughed with her and nodded. "Thanks." 

  She just smiled and said, "Do you have anywhere to be for the rest of the day?" 

   "Oh yes. So many places that I have to go. I already blew off a psychiatrist appointment, and I have class. But," I shrugged, "I'm a good student, so playing hooky one day, won't hurt." 

   She nodded, taking an excessively big bite out of her tiramisu, before mumbling, "You know you must be special, cause there's no way in hell I'd share my precious tiramisu with just anyone." 

   I laughed, before following her actions, and taking a heaping bite of the cake for myself. The minute the chocolate touches my tongue, I knew that I would never do anything to jeopardize my friendship with Connie, if I could have cake and wine like this. 

  While the late morning sun shone through the wide glass window behind us, high in the sky, I realized that for the first time in six years, everything was okay in my life. I wasn't worried about a paper, a person or a date and time. I was just... living, and I finally realized where the happiness in sharing company with someone is. 

   I smiled until my cheeks hurt, because I knew all too well how quickly anything and everything that I love can be ripped out from under my feet, as easily as a rug. 

• +    +

  Later that night, I wake up doused in sweat from a nightmare that had been not about me, but about Concetta. She had been tortured and murdered, all while I watched from afar, powerless and only able to plead and scream. Her killer was no one other than Ace. 

   I forced my eyes apart, and patted the bed a few times, making sure I was still in bed and not in a dark cell somewhere far underground.

  After that nightmare, I yanked my phone from it's charger, and dialed the number Tonner had given me. He picked up on the second ring. I could hear the music and chatter of a bar in the background of the call, and frankly it disgusted me. 

  "What's up, darlin'?" The slur in Tonner's voice was evident, making me question what I was about to do. 

  "I'm in. I'll do it. I won't let anyone else die at his hands." With that I hung up the phone, not allowing him any words, because I didn't want to hear them. Then I fell back into my pillows, completely drained and exhausted. 

   This time when I fell asleep, it was soundly and dreamless. It was the first time in six years I didn't have so much as a glimpse of a nightmare of Ace. He might be able to control my dreams, but he won't be able to control my reality. 

Chapter #4

“You never really understand a person until you consider things from their point of view.”

-Atticus Finch

  Apparently, Tonner wasn't drunk enough last night to forget my promise. He was banging on our door early the next morning, looking beat and hungover, but happy and hopeful at the same time. 

   After I opened the door, still trying to rub sleep from my eyes, Tonner barged through and began to list the things I would have to do in order to pull this off. Then he started speaking wiring, and something about a contract. I stopped listening at, "Answer every call." 

  I mumble some incoherent words, before dragging myself into the kitchen to make coffee. I glance at the clock on the stove, and realize it is only 5:30 in the morning. I groan, dropping my head onto the marble counter, and wait for my coffee to finish brewing so that I can have the strength to murder Tonner for waking me up this early in the morning.

   The man himself waltzes into the kitchen, an iPad balanced on his arm and a stylus in his right hand. He looks like a man on a mission. Too bad the mission would have to wait until after six or seven AM. 

   Tonner began to speak again, informing me of the dangers of not having a blade on me at all times, when he was interrupted by the creak of footsteps coming down the stairs above us. Tonner glances over at me, and I see him shove the iPad under his windbreaker jacket. 

  Samantha shuffled into the kitchen, rubbing sleep from her eyes. 

  "Lavinia? Why are you-" Once Samantha noticed Tonner leaning against the island, she gulped and glanced down at his FBI badge. 

  "Vina? What's wrong?" Sam's voice was calm. She has always been able to keep a calm head, even when she's worried or stressed. It's one of the things I envy of her. 

  "Nothing is wrong." I mumbled, running a hand over my tired face. "This is my… friend, Tonner." 

  She shot me a weary look, but took even steps toward him and held out her hand, "Samantha Avery Pullman. It’s a pleasure to meet you… Tonner was it?” 

  “Yes, Tonner. Braxton Tonner.” He replied, while returning her handshake. He was giving Sam a look that mixed with distrust and curiosity. A look that concerned me. I wasn’t sure whether he was planning to kill her or sit her down to talk about her hobbies.

   “Well, Tonner and I were just going to…” I trailed off, trying to think of just what Tonner and I were to do. 

   “Go for a drive.” Tonner ‘helpfully’ filled in, keeping his eyes on Sam. 

  “Yes, go for a drive.” I agreed, nodding profusely, even though I didn’t have a clue in hell as to where we would be driving to. Then again, it doesn’t matter where you go in New York, so long as you don’t get shot. 

   “Let me go get changed, then I’ll be ready.” Tonner nodded absentmindedly, his eyes still on Sam. It was starting to creep me out a bit, even though he wasn’t staring at me, so I recruited Sam to help with my ‘fashion choices’. 

   “Sammie,” I began. She nodded, glancing over at me. “Would you mind helping me to pick out an outfit? You know how I am this early in the morning.” 

  “Oh yeah, of course.” Sam rushed to move towards me. She moved so quickly, that I knew I wasn’t the only person in this room Tonner was making uncomfortable.

  I grabbed my coffee out of the Keurig, splashing some of the dark liquid onto the counter in my exhausted haste. Bringing my lips up to the edge of the mug, I inhale the scent of black coffee, sweet and bitter all at the same time. The first sip I take almost makes me gag. But then after the scalding liquid makes it down my throat, I instantly feel more awake and aware, and the bitter taste fades into the background. 

   When I open my eyes from sipping the stimulating beverage, I realize that Tonner and Sam are both staring at me. I just roll my eyes, unfazed, and walk out of the kitchen toward the stairs to the upper level. I can hear Sam’s soft dancer feet padding up the stairs behind me, making the boards creak. 

   We turn left instead of right at the landing, and she follows me into my neatly decorated room. Just another way for me to try and forget things, by having too many pictures of people I don’t actually know very well hanging on my walls. And to have zero pictures of the people I knew once upon a time, on display. 

  Sam stands unsurely for a few seconds in the middle of my room, before awkwardly perching on the end of my full size bed, covered by a purple comforter and an assortment of matching pillows. 

  “Thank you for helping me out down there.” Sam says, getting straight to the point.

  “No problem,” I mumble, trying to shove gold earrings into my rapidly closing lower ear piercings. 

   “Who is he?” She asks bluntly. That’s just Sam’s way. To be blunt and frank. It is one of the things I admire most about her. For all the time I have avoided getting to know these girls, I regret not trying to spend some time with Sam. She was fun, but not to the point of obnoxiousness. Sam would tell you how it is, no matter should your feelings get hurt. I don’t think she actually knows what emotions are. She is a genius, and spends her time in a science lab with beakers and chemicals to befriend, so that might be the reason behind her ways. 

   “He is my father’s old friend.” I told her.

  “Isn’t your father dead?” While I usually appreciated her frankness, having to relay the death of my father for the third time in the past twenty four hours, was taking its toll on me. I felt bile rising in my throat, as I thought of what she had said. I choked it down, and turned from Sam, looking out the window at the quiet, early morning street below. 

  “Yes, he is dead.” I nodded vigorously, brushing unshod tears from under my eyelids.

  “So your father is his late friend, right?” Sam continues to pry, unintentionally I’m sure, because other peoples business rarely interests her. 

   “Yes, he is.” I said shortly, my patience waning. 

   “Oh okay…” Sam trailed off thinking for a minute. She opened her mouth to say something, but then closed it, and just shook her head. Stretching, she stands up from my bed. 

  “You didn’t actually want my help with you clothes, right?” Sam asks, yawning.

  “No I didn’t.” I respond my voice icy, as I am still irritated at her. 

  Sam nods, then mutters something about sleeping another hour, before she leaves to go crawl back in bed. 

  When Sam leaves, I realize that I have never ever wished to be in someone’s position more than right now. The emotion attached to this thought was fear, something I had trained myself to become immune to over the past few years.

  But now, with the assignment to destroy Ace’s business while being in the thick of a mafia, I realize that I am scared. So very scared, that I want to be like Samantha and have the option to be able to crawl back into bed for another hour. 

  I don’t though, so I grab a pair of black leggings and throw a Fordham sweatshirt over the bra I slept in. Then I grab my phone from its charger, I pull the wristband attached to my clutch purse from my door handle, and I walk down the stairs as quietly as possible, to the waiting snake. 

•  +     +

   

   I quietly shut the front door, trying not to let the hinges squeak too loudly, as not to wake anybody else and to avoid having to do more explaining. Tonner is impatiently huffing and mumbling incoherent curses under his breath. Once I finally finish my ‘lengthy process of shutting the door’, Tonner grabs my forearm and drags me toward his car. My Ugg boots skid on the early morning rain slick front walkway, while he pulls me. 

   Tonner continues dragging me toward his black Ford Mustang, a car he was extremely proud of.  I considered acting ill, since there was no way Tonner would risk his leather seats should I throw up. That way I could get out of going wherever the hell he was going to take me, but then I felt the hold he had on my arm, and I decided against trying to piss him off, just yet.

   It turns out Tonner had not been joking about going for a drive, though to where our destination will be I cannot say, seeing as I don’t know myself. It scared me a little, that Tonner was taking me somewhere. I couldn’t help but think it was like something on a Dateline episode. I gulp, reconsidering faking an illness, while Tonner fished for his keys in his pockets. 

   The ‘beep’ of the car unlocking pulls me from my thoughts, somewhere I spent far too much time in, and back into reality and the prospect of being kidnapped by a man I once would have laid my life down for. Tonner opens the passenger side door for me, and I shoot him a weary look before ducking my head to slide in. 

   Tonner jogs around to the driver’s side, and gets in himself. He turns the heat up, rubbing his hands together to fight off the mid-spring morning chill. His eyes find mine, through a sideways glance, before he fully turns to look at me. 

  “Yes?” He asks, raising an eyebrow at the look I was giving him. 

  “Are you taking me somewhere to kill me?” I asked, boredom and exasperation, seeping into my voice as I spoke. 

   “God, you really haven’t changed, have you?” Tonner laughed, almost a bark of a laugh. Fake. Strained. 

   He pulled out of the driveway, taking a left down Cleartile Avenue, in the direction of the exit to the city.

   “Not much.” I mumble, running a lock of hair through my lips, trying to give my hands something to do. 

   “You never answered my question.” I say, shooting him a suspicious glance. 

    He laughed. A laugh that sounded lighter, less worrisome and preoccupied, closer to his genuine laugh.

   “Your right, I didn’t. Well I’m not going to tell you just yet, because if I did you would probably try to jump out of this car.” He paused, flicking on his turning signal, to get on the ramp toward the highway, then merged in between two cars, a bit precariously. I realize he probably waited to tell me that bit, until we were on the highway, so that I felt less encouraged to try to jump out of a moving vehicle.

   “So in short, you are probably taking me somewhere that you are going to murder me at?” I ask yawning, and taking a sip of my third cup of coffee this morning. 

   “Sure Vinnie, I’m taking you somewhere to kill you.” He rolled his eyes at my nonchalant sarcasm. 

   Though, I was still stuck on the nickname he called me. “Vinnie.” I hadn’t been called that since my father died. Daddy and Tonner, and nearly all the agents my father worked with, called me Vinnie. I don’t know why. I guess once they heard Daddy and Tonner say it, it was just set in stone. Mama refused to call me that though, her thinking was that it was too ‘tomboyish’ for me. So for the past six years, I’ve been ‘Lavinia’ and on occasion ‘Vina.’ 

   I can’t understand what emotion is connected to hearing the nickname. It isn’t sadness or anger. It is deeper than that. It is the feeling of homesickness, but with a longing. A longing to have what I can never have again. I know the feeling all too well by now. 

  I hear a snapping sound, near my face. I shake my head from my daze, to find Tonner snapping his fingers in front my eyes, looking at me with concern. 

   “I’ve been saying your name for two minutes straight.” He began. “Where’d you go?”

   “In my head. It happens a lot since… well you know.” I explain, but still not able to say the words that describe what happened back when. 

   “Yeah, I do know.” Tonner said gravely, sadly. The temperature in the car seemed to drop by 15 degrees, after I said that. We both sit in uncomfortable silence, the hum of the car the only noise filling the quiet. 

  “So… how’s school?” Tonner asked, trying to restart the conversation. 

  “You already asked that.” I muttered, my lips on the top of my travel mug, my eyes staring ahead as the sun begins to come above the city skyline. 

   “I know, but this time I genuinely mean it. How’s school?” He repeated. 

  “It’s good, I guess.” I shrugged my shoulders up and down, keeping my eyes trained on the orange sunshine. 

   “You guess?” Tonner asked, appalled. Out of the corner of my eye, I see him shoot me an incredulous look.

   “Your dad and I used to have a grand old time on campus at Fordham. We were the life of the party. Best beer pongers this side of the Mississippi.”

   “Yes, I guess. The professor’s and everyone are fine, but I’m ready to be doing what I set out to do. And ‘a grand old time?’ Are you sixty-four?” I asked sarcastically, rolling my eyes at his choice of language. 

   Tonner throws his head back and laughs, wrapping his arm around my shoulder and pulling me toward him, ruffling my hair a bit. I was grinning, and I realize that I don’t mind his awkward side hug. This was familiar, this was Tonner. 

   It was quiet again, for a period of time. But this silence was okay. There was understanding in the silence, and pain as well, but pain that was mutual because I wasn’t the only one feeling it. I liked this quiet. This was peaceful, thought provoking silence. 

  Tonner spoke again, “You said about, ‘Finally starting what you set out to do.’ What do you mean?” 

  I sighed, this was a question I got a lot. I always give a slightly different answer every time I’m asked. No one really ever seems to understand my reasoning though. 

  “I just mean that, I want to be out there. Not an intern, filing paperwork or answering phones. That’s a secretary’s job. I’m a detective. A forensic detective. Or at least soon to be, in two months. I want to be on the field, answering calls getting to the bottom of innocent and unjustifiable murders. I want to be the best.” I stop my rambling, glancing over at Tonner to gauge his reaction. 

   He has his eyebrows creased in a way that suggests he is thinking of something long and hard. 

   “Then why- Why wouldn’t you immediately want to take the Lucchese assignment?” Tonner looks genuinely confused, which made me conflicted on whether to hate him or enlighten him. I chose the latter, trying to remain as level headed as my boiling blood would allow.

    “Tonner,” I begin patiently, “How is it fair for you to ask me to do anything that may be involved with the Lucchese’s, when I watched Angelo Lucchese murder my father in front of my eyes?” There was the silence again, the uncomfortable one. 

   After some hesitation, I was the one who broke it this time. “Ace was there too. He was standing beside his father, watching. He said something in Italian to Daddy, and I think Dad spat in his face. That was when Angelo really began to torture Dad.” 

   “Ace was there?” Tonner asked, glancing at me. 

  “Yes.” I mumble, watching the dim yellow road line flash by out the window shield, so I don’t have to look at Tonner. 

   “Hmm.” Is all Tonner says, also keeping his eyes on the road. 

   “I still don’t see why you wouldn’t want to take the assignment right away, I mean you could be fucking famous. You will be the world renowned detective, that you said you wanted to become.” Tonner was giving me a look that said he couldn’t, for the life of him, understand me. 

   And that was just it, I realized. It was that. No one understands me anymore. Daddy used to, when he was alive. He would have understood now that what I want isn’t to be famous through trophies and medals. It’s to be known through being reliable and efficient, through messing up and solving problems. I want to be a detective who finds the wrong and fixes it to make it right. I want to be the kind of person my father was. 

   That is why Tonner can’t wrap his head around what I want. Why I don’t just want it for the fame and shiny rewards. How I want it for the experience and lifetime of vertitues. 

   I don’t believe anyone will ever understand again, so I curl up into the fetal position, burying my head in between my knees and mumble to Tonner to tell me when we get there. Then I let the silent tears fall from my eyes, until I have no more tears to cry and I allow myself to fall into the terrifying land that is sleep. 

• +    +

   A hand on my shoulder is trying to shake me awake, saying that dreaded nickname over and over again, “Vinnie. Vinnie. Vinnie!” 

   For a moment I feel a rush go through me, believing I am back in middle school and Daddy is coming to kiss me goodbye before he leaves for the day. That hope soon vanishes once I hear the tone of the voice, lighter, higher, than Daddy’s. 

   I sit up, my back cramped from sleeping in an upright seat. I yawn and stretch, my hands knocking into the ceiling of the car. Through my sleepy vision, I can see Tonner giving the car ceiling a sympathetic gaze. 

   “What?” I mumble, still tired from waking up at 5:30 this morning. I glance at the car clock and register that it says seven AM. We have been driving for one hour, which has to mean we are well out of the city. 

   “I knew it!” I yell, pointing at Tonner. “You were taking me somewhere to kill me. Where even are-” I cut my question mid sentence, my stomach dropping as my eyes travel around the woodsy area Tonner has taken us to. The trees stand tall and proud, nature's own miniature skyscrapers. High pitched bird calls can be heard, each answering and calling to one another. The sky is an absolutely incredible shade of blue, whisks of clouds streaking across the wide mass, like a painting. It would all be so very beautiful and majestic, if Tonner wasn’t planning on killing me somewhere near here. 

   “You dirty-” I began to say, before Tonner clamped his hand over my mouth. I tried to scream or bite his hand, but Tonner wouldn’t budge. 

   “Lavinia,” He begins slowly, as if talking to a child, “I am going to explain what is going on. If you scream, I have a sedative, and I remember how much you hate needles, so let’s make this easy, hmm?” 

   I narrowed my eyes in distrust, but nodded nonetheless. The moment he lifted his hand from my mouth I began to scream at the top of my lungs. Tonner’s hand was back over my mouth in an instant. 

   “Are you insane?” Tonner hissed. “Are you trying to get us killed?” 

   “You’re going to kill me!” I said, but it came out mumbled from behind Tonner’s hand. 

   Tonner ignored my incomprehensible words, instead trying to reason with me again, “Lavinia, I’m going to move my hand again. I promise I’m going to explain what’s going on, just don’t scream.” 

   I decide to comply this time, already coming up with a plan as to how to get Tonner out of the car in case he does plan to murder me. I just had to find the syringe… 

   “Okay now. I want you to look at something.” Tonner said, his hand poised, ready to smack over my mouth should he need to. 

   “Do you see that fence post, way up there?” Tonner asked. 

   I gave him a look that said I thought he was insane. We were parked on the side of a road where the trees reached at least 120 feet, all around us. The only spot to see the sky was directly above the road. There was no way I’d see a fence through any of this.

   “Tonner there isn’t really any way to see anything, besides for green leaves and tree bark.” I said, stating the obvious. 

   “Just look.” He pointed to a place where the leaves broke a bit, “See there? If you squint you can just see the black of a fence beam.”

   I squinted my eyes, and I could just make out a part of the fence, a thin black post. In my mind, I could see the post rising into the sky, seventy-five feet, keeping out bad and evil, and keeping in good and pure. 

   “That is only a part of the fence, we are on the west side of the estate. The fence encircles the entire property, while the mansion is centered in the middle, so there’s no chance of seeing it from here.” Tonner had binoculars in his hands trying to see something more clearly through the window shield. 

   “Tonner, who’s estate is this?” I ask, hoping it isn’t who I think it is. 

   “Ace Lucchese’s. He has many different properties in New York City, but he seems to like this one the most, so I thought you might like to see where you’ll be staying. It also is-”

   Tonner’s voice begins to fade into faint white noise, as I think of how close I am to the man whose father murdered my own.

   I can feel my heartbeat beginning to pick up, my breathing is coming in labored breaths. I can faintly feel Tonner shaking my shoulder, asking if I’m alright. I don’t even try to answer him, because I know I would just lie. 

  Memories and past thoughts of Ace, Angelo and my father are racing through my mind, making me want to throw up, cry and laugh all at the same time. It’s terrifying what I am feeling right now, as if I have no control over my thoughts, or my body. 

  It’s all too much, and so I shut my eyes to silence the screams of unknown people, who sound suspiciously like me, the choked gasps of my fathers final breaths and the cold, deep voice of Angelo and Ace Lucchese taunting me, torturing me. Doing things beyond my control. 

  I shut my eyes until I can’t feel anything. I am empty. I am drained. The storm inside me has died, and I feel nothing. The silence rings in my ears. I try to open my eyes, but it feels like lifting a hundred weights using only my eyelids. I see black spots coming into my half opened eyes, before they over take my vision, allowing me to fall into a place where harm can’t reach me. 

  

Chapter #5

Killer Smiles 

"You never know how strong you are, until being strong is the only choice left.”

-Peter Bone

  A warm breeze is coming in through the open window, lightly blowing over my face. The warmth wraps around me like a blanket would, making me smile. I slowly open my eyes, trying not to give into the pounding headache that makes an appearance, just as I crack my eyes open. The pounding only worsens once my eyes find the morning sun, shining high in the sky. In fear of being in more pain, I squeeze my eyes shut trying to fend off the growing headache. 

  I bring my hand up to the bridge of my nose, and pinch it with my pointer finger and thumb. It helps to dull the pain slightly. I’ve been using that trick since Daddy died, an awful thing for my nasal passages, but efficient for warding off headaches.

    I slowly lift my head from the back of the headrest, as I glance around at my surroundings. I am still sitting in Tonner’s Ford Mustang, but now I am all alone. I begin to panick, thinking Tonner left me for dead out here where I can’t get any reception, much less any help. I make myself calm down though, because the only way I know Tonner didn’t leave me is the fact that I’m sitting in his extremely expensive car. There is not a chance in hell that Tonner would leave his Mustang alone with anyone, especially me. 

   So I calm down, and I try to recall the events leading up to now. I remember this morning clearly, Tonner coming over, then staring Sam down. He took me for a drive to… I have trouble thinking of where we went, then it hit me. Ace’s estate. We were right outside Ace’s estate. I sit up so fast, my head pounds. But I have to make sure I’m not still anywhere near that bastard’s house. After furiously checking to see if the fence post can still be seen through the break in the trees, I sighed in relief at not being able to find a single man made structure beyond the trees. I let my head fall back into the headrest, and I think about just how close, in distance, I was to Ace a short time ago. I have a hard time processing this. We were right there, and then I passed out. From fear or from shock, I don’t know.

   I only know that I now am having conflicted emotions. I hate Ace so much, with every fiber in my being. But for some reason there is a need, a need for me to find answers. Like why Ace would murder someone’s father, a man who was loved. Why Ace didn’t stop his father from murdering my own. How Ace could dare to stand there and watch, that vacant look in his dark eyes, as Angelo shot a bullet through my father’s head.

  I force myself to stop reliving that moment. I close my eyes again, and I try to list all the things going well in my life, like how one of my therapists taught me. So I begin, I start to list the good things in life, and all I can come up with is that I have my senior thesis completed. 

   Sighing, I decide listing fake accomplishments to make me feel better isn’t going to do anything, so I decide to go in search of Tonner in the fairy tale like woods. I’ve barley stepped from the car, when I spot him. He is leaning against the tail end of the car, a cigarette poised on his lips, his eyes trained on the overlook we are parked at. 

   Shutting the car door quietly, I take noiseless steps through the gravel toward him. His gaze doesn’t waver when I stand next to him, which means he has to be deep in thought. I cough a little trying to gain his attention, and he jumps like a kid caught stealing candy. 

  “Sorry.” I say, sheepishly. 

  Tonner shook his head, clutching his chest. “Your fine. Just don’t sneak up on me like that.” He gives me a lopsided grin, but it has lost it’s boyish perk and his eyes are vacant of their usual teasing glint. 

  I turn toward the vista, and my breath is immediately taken from me. It is a beautiful sight. The trees drop away, leaving a window like space to see the wide landscape of mountains stretching as far as an ocean. Luscious green leaves cover the mountain sides, the sunshine breaking through in all the right places. A river snakes through the valley between the mountains, a darker blue than the sky, almost a shade of black. On occasion a bird will fly across the landscape, an animal free from worry or doubt, allowed to go wherever they please. I envy them. The sky they fly in, is a painting worthy sight, fluffy clouds float lazily through the wide blue stretch. In the far distance, as far as I can see, the sky, mountains, and the river all seem to merge and blend together, making a beautiful masterpiece. 

   “Beautifully breathtaking, isn’t it?” Tonner asks me, gauging my reaction. 

  “That it is.” I agree, ironically breathlessly. I keep my eyes trained on the sight for a few minutes longer before I turn to Tonner. He has gone back to puffing on a cigarette, and watching the view. 

  “I think someone should come out here and paint this, then hang it in The Louvre.” I mumble, turning my eyes back to the dark river and light trees. 

   “Yeah?”  Tonner asks, laughing a little. 

   I only nod. 

   “You spend a lot of time there?” Tonner asks. Whether he is genuinely curious or just trying to be polite, I can’t tell. 

   “I do. It’s quiet, peaceful. And as long as you either go to the café and buy something, or you keep walking around looking at abstract works of art, the guards don’t bother you and you can stay there until closing time.” I pause for a moment, before continuing. 

   “I used to want to go and live in The Louvre, like the children did in From The Mixed Up Files Of Mrs. Basil E. Frankweiler. I would sleep in the gift shop and take coins from the fountain. It would be an amazing adventure.” I smile lightly, at the memory of going to France when I was little and always begging to go to The Louvre. My mother loved it just as much as I did, so that was our little trip. Just her and I. It became my safe haven after Daddy died. A place I could go to stare at complicated pieces of artwork, with hidden meanings and forget about all my troubles, to invest in someone else’s problems, usually a painter who had been dead hundreds of years. 

   Tonner looked at me with conflicted emotions dancing across his features and he sighed, running his hands over his face, before he opened his mouth to say something. I had a feeling I didn’t want to hear it though, so I stopped him. 

  “Do you have another cigarette?” I ask, yawning. 

  “You smoke?” Tonner asks, surprise evident in his voice. 

  “On occasion.” I shrug, trying to play nonchalant. 

   “Uh… Yeah, I do. Hold on.” Tonner fished around in his pocket, before he pulled out a Winston’s pack.

   Tonner hands me a cigarette, then holds my hand steady while he lights it. I lift the cigarette up to my lips and inhale, immediately choking after the smoke reaches my lungs. 

   “On occasion?” Tonner says, mocking me. 

   “On occasion, during high school.” I clarify, still coughing from all the smoke I had inhaled. 

   Tonner laughs rolling his eyes. He looks out at the overlook for a while, before he moves toward the guardrail lining the edge of the pull off we are parked at. He stops walking once he is up to the very edge of the rail, his thighs pressed against the shiny metal. I follow him, leaning up against the guardrail, my stomach pressed into it. 

   “What is it, Tonner?” I ask quietly, dreading what he has to say. He had been so much like the old Tonner lately. The one who laughed and pulled my ponytails. The one who drank with my dad, then had to crash on our couch. The one who flirted with my Mamá, but it was always in good nature. The Tonner who was here before Dad died. He is the Tonner I see now, and I don’t want anything to change that. 

   “I can’t ask you to do this Lavinia. It’s not right, with what you’ve gone through. I thought- I thought maybe since you had a personal vendetta against Ace, you would be more willing to help destroy him. But now I realize, it’s not fair. It’s not fair to you. I should never have even considered using you for this. For Christ’s sake, you passed out from just seeing a part of his property! You were out for three hours, Lavinia. From seven AM to ten AM. What would you do if you saw him? No. I won’t make you do this. The choice is entirely yours. Just know that I highly advise you to deny this proposition, but you have freedom to make your own choice.” Tonner stops, and looks at me expectantly. 

  I take a minute to process what he is saying. Then it hits me. I can walk away, free of consequence or guilt. I won’t have to go anywhere near Ace. I can finish university, and pursue what I want to do with my life. 

   The word “No” is perched on my tongue. I can’t bring myself to say it though. I want to, I desperately want to, but when I look down into the cold metal of the guardrail that I am leaning into, I see my face. Though slowly my features become more masculine, my eyes misty blue instead of icy, my lips thin instead of full. And then I see him, my father. He is staring back at me, that smart smile poised on his lips, the twinkle of kindness still shining in his eye. 

   That is when I know there is absolutely no way I can ever deny the opportunity Tonner is offering me. The opportunity to make Ace suffer, as I have every day since my father’s death. So I know I have to take it. 

   “Yes.” I say quietly, oh so very quietly.

   I know Tonner heard it, for the dread on his face, and the fear sparked in his eyes. 

•   +      +

  

   The drive back into the city is quiet. Almost too quiet, there was a sense of foreboding in the air, like something was just destined to go wrong. 

  Tonner hasn’t said anything since I told him I would go through with the assignment, as planned. I don’t think he was expecting me to agree to continuing. 

   I watch out my window as we enter the city from our two hour drive, since Tonner drove another hour into New Jersey after I passed out. Glancing at the clock, I realize I’ve missed all of my morning classes, since it’s already noon. I groan and drop my head into the cushioned headrest. Two days of missing class. I never do that, I’m a good student. 

   “What’s up?” Tonner asks, speaking for the first time in two hours. 

   “It’s nothing. I just missed all my morning classes.” Tonner looked at me like I was stupid.

   “That’s what you are worrying about?” He says incredulously. “You really are Teegan’s daughter.” 

  “School is very important, Tonner. Don’t you know that-” 

   “Okay stop.” Tonner says, cutting me off. “Now you are beginning to sound like your mother.” He gave a fake shiver, acting fearful.

   “Haha.” I laugh out sarcastically. “You’re so gosh darn funny.” 

   “I think so,” Tonner says, agreeing to his own compliment. 

   “Oh boy.” I mumble, rolling my eyes at a stop sign. 

   Tonner takes a left onto Cleartile Avenue, signaling to me that we are almost back. In almost no time, we are pulling into the driveway to my brownstone townhouse. I don’t immediately get out. I sit for a minute, just enjoying Tonner’s presence, before he turns into an asshole again, because I know that he will.  

  “Look,” I begin. Tonner turns to me, giving me his full attention. “I’ll be okay. I’m a big girl now, not the fearful teenager who hid behind a couch while her father was murdered. I’ve grown up, Tonner. I can take care of myself. And if that fails, I am after all, Teegan Foreman’s daughter.” 

  Tonner nods, but doesn’t seem convinced. I just sigh, knowing that I’ve done all I can. Stepping out of his car, phone and clutch purse in hand, I give him a small smile through the windshield. I try to convey so many emotions in that smile, reassurance, hope, courage, determination and hate toward anyone who has somehow made my life hell. I keep the smile on my lips as I watch him drive away, and while I walk up the front walk, into the quiet of an empty house. 

   The smile is still on my face when I go into the kitchen to get a glass of wine, so I can drown my sorrows. That damn smile is still across my lips, as I read the label on the wine, “Made In Italy”. And then the smile is wiped away, and I know exactly what I am going to do. 

•   +      +

  I cut the ignition in my car, and quietly I get out, trying desperately not to make any noise. The gravel on the side of the road crunches under my feet. I tip toe until I reach the guardrail, swinging my legs over the barrier between the road and the woodlands. Once my feet hit the soft ground of the forest floor, I notice it is covered by wildflowers and pine needles, a perfect combination. 

  I have no idea why I decided to do this. It seemed smart at the time, but now I’m not so sure. There are so many things that could go wrong. I might not fit through the fence bars, I might be caught and tortured. Just that single thought makes me want to run back to the safety of my car and drive as fast as I can, far away from here, where a person who brings death upon hundreds of people, resides. 

   I don’t though, I keep going. I keep walking toward Ace, toward his fence and his estate. Toward his mansion and all the guards that surround it. What justifies my irrational behavior? The reassuring thought that I have my fathers blood in me, and the fact that I can throw a knife dead on target. 

   So I continue walking through the woods toward Ace. I don’t even want to see him. I just want to see the house and to get a feel for the place. I want to find anything and everything, I want to uncover Ace’s darkest secrets. The thought brings a maniacal smirk to my lips. 

   I finally come upon the black fence, right at the edge of the woods. Each post rises at least eighty feet into the air, way over my head. The only plan I came up with was to squeeze between the bars, so that’s just what I’ll do. I pull my white boyfriend style jacket off, shoving it through the bars. Then I strip off my grey tee shirt, leaving me only in a black bra. I take my shoes off, pushing them through the bars as well. I consider taking my skinny jeans off, but then I decide against it, afraid of being caught by a guard in only my bra and underwear. 

   I suck in my stomach and try my hardest to make my body as tiny as I am built. I manage to get my body through, but my head I have to twist a few times before it eventually gets through the spiraled black bars. My easy attempt and successful endeavor at getting through the fence, makes it evident it was to keep wild animals and burly men out. Not petite girls. Too bad petite girls can be just as terrifying as wild animals and dangerous men. 

  Once I am on the other side of the fence, I feel an adrenaline rush go through me, as well as a dose of fear. I close my eyes to calm my rising panick, refusing to give in again today. 

   So I stand up, I throw my clothes back on, and I begin my trek in search of a big ass mansion. I find it as soon as I crest the hill. Built with a lot of glass and too many stones, it reminds me all too well of my mother’s home in Paris. 

  I turn my thoughts back to getting into the house, as I assess my options. My route toward the house is across a wide open expanse of yard. That isn’t viable, since I can visibly see at least four guards milling around. So the only other option I can see, is to go through a garden around the back side of the house. 

   Dipping down low, I run on the edge of the green yard, with the cover of the hill, and the trees protecting me from the eyes of the guards. I can only hope there aren’t any men milling around near a fountain on this gorgeous day. I doubt a beautiful sky and a perfect temperature, is something the mafia really concern themselves with though. 

   I stop at the edge of the garden, a beautiful plot of land spanning as far as I can see. The garden has an open stretch, lined with Greek statues, like a runway. Behind the statues are pine saplings that look at least ten years old. To my left is a square pond with a fountain in the middle, making a peaceful splash every time the water hits the clear water of the pond. 

   Just as I’ve decided to make a break across the open stretch of the garden to the patio, which is  lined with chaise beach chairs in front of a crystal clear pool, a voice purrs in my ear. 

  “Well hello, Principessa (princess).”

   Upon hearing a male voice, a rich Italian accent hidden behind his English, my blood runs cold. I’ve been caught. “I unfortunately don’t believe you are supposed to be here. So I will just have to-”

   The guard is running his finger over my back, and I decide that I never want to find out what he is going to have to do, so I slam my heel down on his, making him howl in pain, and I make a break for it. 

   I hear shouting behind me, something along the lines of, “Prendi quello, cagna!” (Get that, bitch!) I have never spoken a word of Italian a day in my life, but whatever he said I’m nearly positive was something that wouldn’t be smiled upon by most of society, so I run until I feel like I am going to die. And even then I continue running.

   I am almost within spitting distance of the patio, my feet slapping the pavement surrounding the pool. I pass the pool house and the chaise chairs, and I am so close to making it under the patio of the house, when right at that moment a hand latches onto my arm and yanks me backwards.

   I stumble, and let out a cry of pain, my arm feeling like it’s being ripped from its socket. The hand’s grip loosens, but not enough for me to get away. I don’t know where I would go anyways. I’m stuck here. 

   Out of the corner of my eye I can make out three more guards coming toward the guard who is holding me. One of them is limping, so I know it has to be the one I slammed my foot into. As soon as he is within distance of me, the man I injured tries to grab at me, but the guard holding me shoves me out of the way. 

 “No. You know what the Don said. Are you trying to get us all killed? Idiota. (Idiot.)” 

   “You dare.” Snarled the man whose foot I stepped on. 

   The man holding me and the man I injured, stare into each other’s eyes, a stiff air between them. As was I. The man holding me had his hands holding mine behind my back, and the man I had injured was standing in front of me, breathing like an ox, staring into the man who was holding me, his eyes. 

  I cough, a feeble cough, really not wanting to die today. Which was kind of a dumb thing considering I was the one who put myself in this situation. 

  Just as I was about to try and cough a little louder, another one of the guards who had come up, grabbed the injured man’s shoulder and shook his head at him. “It’s not worth it, Luca.” 

  Luca stared at the man who was holding me a second longer, before averting his eyes, and narrowing them at me. I gulped and tried to melt into the man holding my hands. Luca eventually turned his eyes back to the man behind me, and nodded. 

  “Take this, cagna up to the boss, now!” Luca barked. 

   The man holding me spun me around, and took me away from the patio and the man called Luca. We walked toward the main door to the house, a beautiful mahogany wood. One of the two other men, who had followed us, opened one of the French doors for the man who was holding me, to shove me through. I stumbled a bit, but none of the men taking me to see their boss, showed any signs of caring in the least. 

  Once I was in the foyer, the house really began to look beautiful. A chandelier hung from the roof, reflecting light through the skylights. The room was shaded in greys and whites, uncannily like Connie’s apartment. While I was enjoying the perfectly toned colors, one of the guards stopped. 

  “Gavino!” The guard called. The man holding me turned impatiently. 

  “Shouldn’t we blindfold her?” The man asked hurriedly. 

   “Did you bring a blindfold, Amos?” Gavino asked.

   “No.” Amos answered sheepishly. 

   “Well then what am I supposed to blind fold her with?” Gavino pressed, obviously becoming annoyed with Amos. 

   “Uh…” Amos thought for a second before his whole face lit up, and he slapped his hand over my eyes.

   “Mi stai prendendo in giro, Amos? (Are you kidding me, Amos?)” Gavino snapped. The third guard started snorting. 

   “Stai zitto, Nario! (Shut the hell up, Nario!)” Gavino snarled, the Italian accent prominent in his voice. 

   “Alright, Amos. You want to blindfold her like that?” Gavino confirmed.

   “Yes.” Amos replied, chirpy.

   “Oh what the hell.” Gavino muttered under his breath, giving up and saying a few other explicit choices of words. 

    We begin our climb up the stairs, but since I have a sweaty hand over my eyes, I can’t very well see the stairs. Our pace is slow, and I can feel Gavino getting frustrated. 

   “Amos, move your damn hand from her face!” Amos took his hand from my face, so quickly you’d think he’d been burned. 

   I heard Nario snicker from somewhere behind us. 

   Gavino marchs me up the rest of the stairs, moving so quickly down the hall I can’t take a second to see anything, let alone find out secrets. Maybe I’ll become another secret, hidden and buried. Who knew whether I’d ever make it off this estate alive. 

   Gavino finally stops dragging me, and spins me around to face another set of french doors guarded by two men. 

  “Gavino!” One of the men barked. “You are to be stationed outside in the garden. Che diavolo ci fai qui? Perché Nario e Amos sono con te? (What the hell are you doing here? Why are Nario and Amos with you?)”

   “Sir, this girl was caught trespassing.” Nario explains, shoving me forward. I stumble again, and I wince at the pain in my arm. 

   Both the guards at the door narrow their eyes at Gavino. “You hurt her?” The same guard asks. 

   “I-uh… I grabbed her a bit forcefully.” Gavino said, trying to keep the fear out of his voice, but the quiver was still there. 

   “You know the boss’s rules.” The man guarding the door said. 

   “Amos,” the guard said, “Take Gavino to the bottom level.” 

   “Yes sir,” said chirpy Amos, grabbing Gavino and dragging him to the cellar. 

  “Nario.” The man at the door began, “Go with them. Make sure Gavino doesn’t murder Amos.” 

  “Yes, sir.” Nario says, before jogging off in the direction of Gavino and Amos. 

   I realize that this is my chance. My chance to escape, and not have to face Ace, who I am sure is just behind that door. I can feel my pulse beating in my ears, but I force myself to gulp down my anxiety. 

   I look at the guards at the door, who both have their eyes trained on me. I narrow mine in distrust. “Should we take her to see him?” The first guard asks the second. 

   “I don’t know, Booker. He’s going to be extremely pissed.” The second guard said.

   Booker ran a hand over his face and mumbled something in Italian. “Okay. Let’s go. What’s the worst he’ll do?” 

  “Well last time he said-” 

  “The question was rhetorical, Sebastian.”

  Booker looked at me. Then gently grabbed my arm, and lead me into the room. Everyone shut up the instant Booker, Sebastian and I entered the room. 

   And there he was, the man who brought about death himself. He sat at the head of the table, to announce how he was a king and in control, wherever he went. Currently he was on his feet, his face a terrifying twist of fury and vacancy. 

  “Booker! Cosa significa "nessuna interruzione" per te? (What does ‘no interruptions’ mean to you?)”

   Just his voice made me want to throw up. I swallowed my bile, and forced myself to keep my eyes open. I surveyed the rest of the table of murders, business men, and con artists, before I allowed my eyes to dart to him. The glance was oh so quick, but in that glance I saw him staring right back at me. It made my stomach drop. 

   “Who is she, Booker?” Ace asked. 

   “A girl, Gavino found in the garden.” Booker answered, not missing a beat. 

   “Well then where the hell is Gavino.” Ace snapped, but calmly. The type of calm before a storm. 

   “He is down in the bottom level.” When I glanced up, I saw Ace had fury burning in his dark eyes, though his facial features stayed neutral. 

   “He hurt her?” Ace asks. 

   “Yes, sir.” Sebastian replied this time.

    Ace nods, “Take her to my office, and someone go start on Gavino. Is that clear?” 

   I could never express the relief of leaving that room in words. Now just the dreaded talk with Ace, where I can’t black out and I can’t throw up.

   “Yes.” Booker nods. 

   “And Booker,” Booker spun around. “Don’t ever interrupt me again.” Booker nodded, then led me out of the room. 

   Even after I had been led to Ace’s study, I could still feel his eyes on me. The fury in his eyes that Gavino had hurt me, I hadn’t expected that. 

   Nonetheless, he was still a monster, and when the door creaked open announcing his arrival, my stomach still dropped in horror. Here goes my interrogation with Death, himself. 

Part #3

Who She Is

Ace Lucchese

  Light hits my face the minute I open my eyes. I groan, reaching behind my head and smash a pillow into my face. I curse Mrs. Alby for opening the curtains before I awoke. I lie still for a few moments before I convince myself that I must get up, because today is that day. 

  The day I murder Valentino Gambino… I wish. The meeting with him will be full of snide remarks, and dark comments. And I know by the end of it I’ll be wishing to God, that I could drag his ass down to the bottom levels. 

   I yawn, sit up, and run a hand over my tired face. The heavy footfalls of men running around my house can be heard from all floors. Everyone is frantic. The house is in chaos. Though, it won’t be that way when the Gambino’s and their men are here. If any of my men so much as put one toe out of line, or act nervous, they will be shot on the spot, evading torture, but still meeting death. 

   I groan, dropping my head into my hands, preparing myself for the asshole that is Valentino Gambino. I begin to list all the fun ways I would torture him, that is if I could kill him without losing 26% of my business contacts. It’s fun to imagine. 

  Standing up from my bed, covered by a grey duvet, I yawn for the third time this morning, and proceed to make my way toward the bathroom, turning on CNN news on my way. 

   Splashing my face with ice cold water, so I’ll wake up, I try to listen to the television playing in my bedroom. I don’t hear anything valuable coming from the female reporter. No loss of stocks, contacts, valuable men or any threat of exposure. I am safe to roam freely for another day. 

  Stalking back into my bedroom I begin to dig through my closet, trying to find my darkest suit so as to be the most intimidating man in the room. Even more intimidating than Valentino Gambino. 

   My entire childhood had been a competition against Valentino. Sports, academics, women and now business. I nearly always came out on top, I was just better than him. But there were those rare occasions when Val would somehow work his way around me, and beat me at whatever twisted game he had thought of. Every loss to him was like a knife to the gut, plunged a little deeper each time. So now, I stay on my toes, calm on the surface, yet ready to pounce if need be, on the inside. 

  Angelo Luchesse and Giovanni Gambino were the best of friends, and business partners, always having each other’s backs in family matters, so naturally it was expected that Valentino and I, their eldest sons, would be the same. But we weren’t. I refuse to associate myself with a person as low as him, and he thinks I’m too uptight and too business minded, just as Alessio did. 

  Finding the correct white business shirt to match my suit jacket, I begin to put everything on. The amount of weapons I carry on me, during a normal day, would make even an army general’s jaw drop. One dagger in my back pocket, two shotguns against my chest on the inside of my jacket, a grenade in a secret compartment inside my suit jacket, for just in case. And finally, a bit of snake venom in my pointer finger ring, twisting the gold ring to release a needle which injects whichever person is trying to murder me. I’ve used it four times, and each time the results are more satisfying than the last. If only I could do it to Val.

  I sigh, pushing cuff links into my jacket edges, and bending down to slip on my black Oxford shoes. Finally, I tighten a solid black tie, which had previously hung uselessly around my neck. After dressing, I stare into my closet mirror for a moment, studying myself. I have dark hair, not quite black, but more of a dark chocolate color. My eyes are dark as well, foreboding and mysterious, and most importantly dangerous. I smirk at this thought.

   I am dangerous. I can destroy cities and governments with the snap of my fingers. I am powerful. Something I have wanted my entire life, to hold so much power over so many people. And now I have it. 

   Satisfied, I walk out of my closet and back into the light of day. Flicking the television off, I wait a few seconds before opening my bedroom doors and entering the chaos of Val’s arrival. 

   I walk down my hallways, avoiding men who are hiding valuable merchandise, illegal drugs and any type of weapon, because Valentino has sticky hands, and he is a maniac. So everything of importance gets hidden in the house, where Val and his men can’t find it. 

  Walking into the dining room, I see Danté, Bas and Booker already eating breakfast at the sixteen seat table. I sit down at the head of the table, per usual, with Booker on my immediate right and Danté on my immediate left, Sebastian beside him. Danté barely raises his eyes to greet me, he is so intent on his newspaper. Booker gives me a polite, ‘Good morning’, and Sebastian looks uninterested. 

   Early morning sunlight is streaming in from the glass wall behind me, casting a shadow over my face. Making me look even more terrifying, I would hope. 

  I reach for my cup of coffee, taking a sip and waiting for the familiar buzz of caffeine to run through my system. It feels even better than illegal drugs. 

  “Valentino will be here at half past ten.” Danté informs me, continuing to stare at his paper. I don’t spare him a glance, instead I spin my wrist over to check the time on my Rollux.

   9:45 AM. Forty five minutes for my men to get in order and on the grounds in their positions before Val makes his appearance. 

   “Where is Luca?” I ask, inquiring about one of my Captains. 

   “He is out over seeing the men.” Sebastian mumbled through eating a piece of bacon. 

   “Go find him.” Then as an afterthought I add, “Now. You have fifteen minutes. Or else.” 

   That got Bas moving. “Yes, sir. Right away, Don.” And he was out of the dining room in record time, the rest of his bacon untouched. 

   “What does Val want?” Danté asks, finally folding his newspaper, and looking over at me. 

   “How the hell would I know? We’re not Facebook friends, Danté.” I snap, sarcasm dripping from my voice. 

   “You’re on Facebook?” Booker asks me, his interest quipped. 

  I just shot him a look, and said, “No, Booker.” 

  Booker looked hella confused when I said that, so I just decided to give up on him. 

   Footsteps came into the dining room quickly, revealing Luca and Bas, both panting and red faced. 

  “I- brought him- Don.” Bas informed me, between gasps. 

   “Yes, in 14:53, with seven seconds to spare. Seven seconds to close.” I said, watching fear overtake Bas’s expression. I would feel bad, if I didn’t enjoy messing with the kid’s head so much. 

   I turn my attention to Luca. “Luca.” 

   “Yes boss, sir?” He answers, keeping his eyes trained in my face as all men are instructed to do, so I will know whether they ever tell a lie. 

   “Valentino Gambino will be here in half an hour, you will get the men to their respective posts in twenty minutes, and someone will be waiting at the door to greet Mr. Gambino. Is that clear?” 

   “Crystal, sir.” Luca confirmed, looking ticked off about the short time frame, but afraid of showing such an emotion as anger toward me. 

   “You may go,” I told Luca, nodding to the door. He wasted no time in leaving, I’m sure he will be cursing my name while he does what I told him. 

   I lean back into my chair, the wooden back pressing into my own. “Ci risiamo. (Here we go again.)” I mumble under my breath, eyes closed.

  “At least it isn’t a teenage girl your father wants you to marry.” Danté said, sipping his coffee. 

   “Well I can at least get rid of them, pushing them from my car, Marco...” Danté and Booker snorted, and Bas just continued wolfing down bacon. 

   “Sir,” A feminine voice says. I open my eyes to see Delia, my best Captain, staring at me impatiently.

   “Yes?” I respond, annoyed by her expression.

   “Mr. Gambino’s car was spotted coming up the hill toward the estate.”

  I nod, “Anyone else?” 

  “Yes. A black Ford Mustang came up in front of him and slowed down near the west gate, but they continued on after about five minutes.”

   “I want extra security on the west side of the estate, especially in the garden. Is that understood?” My voice came out harsh, whether unintentionally or not, I’m not sure. I still can’t fully look Delia in the face, especially after what happened. 

   “Of course, Don.” Her tone was clipped as well, making me aware that I am not the only one things have changed for, but somehow I just can’t bring myself to care.

   “Brr, icy.” Danté says, waiting for me to stand up.

   “If you weren’t my second in command, I would kill you right here and now.” I say, listening to his chuckle from behind me while I walk. 

   When we enter the foyer, I turn to Booker and Bas. “I want both of you to guard the doors to the west room, overlooking the garden, that is where the meeting will be held. And on no account should you interrupt me.”

   “Yes, Don.” Booker and Bas say in unison, before walking up the stairs to assume their tedious roles of playing guard. 

   Danté glances at me, his blue eyes piercing the side of my head, but he doesn’t say anything so I keep my eyes straight ahead, trained on the door. I wait for the doorbell to ring so that one of my maids will answer it and I will be forced to endure an afternoon with this bastard. 

   To speak of the devil, the doorbell rings at that moment. I check my watch and note that Val is ten minutes early, how typical. 

   Rayna quickly scurrys over to answer the door, glancing at me uncertainly, but then quickly averting her eyes. She fears me just as everyone else does. Opening the door, she quickly moves from the way so as not to be trampled over by the numerous amounts of men flowing into my house. 

   I grit my teeth. Of course when Val and I agreed to only our second in commands and an advisor attending, he meant bringing eight different men in attendance.

   Val spots me almost instantly, plastering the dumbest smile I’ve ever seen on his face, while he makes his way over to me. 

   “Ace! Long time no see, no?” Val asks, gripping my left hand in both of his and shaking it. There are other more fragile and fatal parts of his body that I would rather be squeezing with my hands, while watching the light leave his eyes.

   But I can’t do that and try to kill him, because I still need the Italian mafia from Angelo. Then I will be free to hurt Val anyway I please, damn those 26 percent of contacts. 

   “Won’t you come up?” I asked Val through gritted teeth. 

   “Right down to business, like always. Same old Ace.” Val says grinning at me. It would be innocent enough, if I didn’t know what lies behind those green eyes and abnormally large nose. 

   “Yes well, I have a schedule.” I said, on the edge of snarling.

   “Some of us do. Some of us just live. I prefer living.” Val responds, in an attempt to prove a point. 

   “Oh Dio, quanto ancora dovrò condividere la presenza con questo idiota? (Oh God, how long will I have to share presence with this idiot?)” I mutter, only loud enough for Danté to hear.

   “Val,” I snap, growing impatient. 

   “Hmm.” He responds.

   “How about we start that meeting?” 

   “Oh yeah, of course. Time waits for no one.” Val said, chuckling. 

   “Sì, soprattutto per gli idioti. (Yes, especially for idiots.)” I mumble, making my way up the stairs. 

   I walk with a purpose in my stride. This is my house, and I am in control. Not Val, though he may have brought more men, he can never be in control of me. 

   Booker and Bas open the French doors to the west study for me to walk through. I choose the seat at the end of the table, closest to the window overlooking the garden. Once everyone has sat down, Val gets right down to business and begins going over the problems with the moles. 

  “The FBI is inflating my family more and more everyday. By this point I don’t know who is family and who isn’t. For all I know we could be sitting in a room full of moles right now.” Valentino gave everyone of his advisors a suspicion glance, before his eyes rested on me. 

   I now understand the need for Val to bring eight different men. He wanted me to seed them out and depict who is loyal and who isn’t. A smart idea, I’ll give him that much, but stupid that he would think I wouldn’t make a price. We are not our fathers. 

   I open my mouth to begin negotiations, when the French doors open revealing Booker, Bas, and a blond girl with blue eyes more peiercing than Danté’s. 

   I am on my feet in a matter of seconds, scowling at Booker, and planning his death in my haze of rage. 

    “Booker! Cosa significa "nessuna interruzione" per te? (What does ‘no interruptions’ mean to you?)” I snarled. 

    I watch the blond bimbo girl look around the room. Her doe like eyes survey the men sitting around the table. I can see the wheels churning in her mind as she thinks of what type of crimes they must have commited to be awarded a spot at this table. 

   Well Principessa, all they had to do was get to Val. I internal chuckle at my own joke, keeping my eyes trained on her. Finally her own eyes land on me, narrowing in hate or disgust, I can’t tell which. When she notices I’m staring back at her, she instantly drops her eyes to her feet. 

  I turn my attention back to Booker, “Who is she, Booker?” I ask. 

   “A girl, Gavino found in the garden.” Booker answers, without missing a beat. 

   “Well then where the hell is Gavino?” I ask, patiently, too patiently. There is an air of danger around me when I am calm and collected.

   “He is down in the bottom level.” Booker responded. I clenched my teeth, turning my eyes back to the blonde girl, looking to see whether there were any visible marks of pain on her. When I find none, I look back at Booker.

    “He hurt her?” I ask for clarification. 

    “Yes sir.” Sebastian spoke up now, looking a little too eager about answering the question. 

   I nod slowly, “Take her to my office, and someone get started on Gavino. Is that clear?” 

   “Yes.” Booker says, nodding vigorously. 

   Booker and Bas spun the girl around, taking her out of the study. 

   I stop them before they get to the door though. “And Booker,” Booker spun on his heel toward me. “Don’t ever interrupt me again.” Booker nods with worry in his eyes, before dragging the blond girl quickly from the room. 

   Looking at the ten different men sitting around the table, below me, I realize there is only one person I genuinely care about sitting here. And that’s Danté. So I do the only sensible thing, I make Val leave. 

   After a lot of threats and name calling, Val finally leaves. And after the stress and headache of him, I need to take a bottle of whiskey, and go down to the bottom level to take my anger out on Gavino, which will eventually result in his death. But first I have to take care of this blond bimbo. 

   I pause at the door to my study, before pushing it open and walking over to sit behind my desk. She narrows her eyes at me as I sit down. I only stare at her. There is something about her. Something I can’t quite put my finger on. I would swear that I have seen her before, a younger version of her maybe… 

   I must have been staring at her for too long than socially acceptable, because she gives an obnoxious cough, purposely not covering. I raise my eyes to stare into hers, and I am met with icy blue eyes narrowing at me in hate. 

   “What’s wrong, Principessa?” I ask her coyly, leaning back into my chair, and lacing my fingers together. 

   She only stares at me, refusing to speak. 

   I give a light chuckle, and lean forward, resting my still laced fingers on the desk. “Principessa, when I ask you answer. It’s incredibly rude not to.” This bitch was getting on my nerves, and they were already taunt from what Gavino did to her. 

   I have that policy for a reason, and now Gavino will pay. Not that I feel bad for what I am to do to him, anyway. I don’t feel for anyone.

   I could see the girl across from me being to become rattled and scared. She didn’t want to die. I could see that clear as day written across her face. 

   “So I am going to ask some simple questions and you are going to answer.” I wasn’t asking, I was commanding. And if she wanted to defy me again, she could go with Marco and see how much she enjoys living like that. 

   She doesn’t respond, but she keeps her eyes trained on my face so I decide to let her bout of rudeness pass. 

   “Now what is your name, Principessa?” I watch her face, waiting to see what she says, whether she decides to lie or not. She chooses to lie.

  “Laken Portman.” She doesn’t miss a beat, she is an excellent liar, but not good enough.

  “You’re lying, Tesoro. (Darling.)” Her eyes widen in fear and shock. So she knew she was decent at decieving people. 

   “Now what is your real name? And don’t make me ask again, or you won’t like the consequences.” My voice was pleasant enough, but the warning and threat were there. 

   “Lavinia Vernier.” She finally answered truthfully. But it wasn’t. She wasn’t being honest, because that wasn’t her last name. 

  I study her face once more trying to find traces of him in her. I find it in her cheekbone, how high they are and I find it in her small button nose. She looks so much like her mother, but there are still the subtle traces of him in her. The way she stares me straight on, that’s how I know she is his daughter. That is the way he looked at my father when Angelo murdered him. 

  I smile, a close lipped, humorous smile. So it really was her. After six years. She has gone from a girl hiding behind the couch to a girl staring me dead on, challenging me with her eyes. She is truly his daughter. 

  She isn’t Lavinia Vernier, she is Lavinia Foreman. But I suppose I’ll let her think she’s tricked me.