Empire by Rachel Van Dyken
I leaned forward. “If the next word out of your mouth is that you’re a five thousand year old vampire, I’m probably going to jump out my window.”
His lips broke into a tense smile. “Sorry to disappoint. I’m human. So very human.” He frowned as if the thought actually upset him. “I bleed just like everyone else.”
“Clearly.” I pointed to his knuckles. “Sergio?”
He crossed his arms and faced me again. “Val?”
“Who are you?”
“Don’t worry about who I am, worry about what I’m not.”
“A vampire?”
“That.” He grabbed the blanket from the foot of my bed and placed it over me. “And… I’m not your friend, Val.”
The comment stung.
The golf ball in the back of my throat swelled, stretched wide and spread down my chest as I fought for a breath that didn’t hurt.
“Okay.” I finally squeezed out, my voice weak. “No false hope and all that?”
“I don’t do hope,” he snapped, and then he whispered under his breath. “Not anymore.”
He walked with a jerking gait over to the door and left, shutting it behind him, leaving me to wonder… if he wasn’t my friend…
Did that make him my foe?
A lion among ladies is a most dreadful thing —A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Sergio
I’D BEEN FIELDING texts and calls from the crew back in Chicago all night. Tex was losing his shit. He even went as far as to ask if Frank shot my sorry ass. I replied with a middle finger emoji and moved on.
Nixon was next.
Followed by Chase.
Even Phoenix decided it would be in his best interest to play therapist. God help us all if the darkest mob boss out of all of them, the one with the most secrets, the worst past, started sending me motivational texts about teamwork.
Actually, it was more along the lines of, keep your head out of your ass, you can’t see the sunshine when you’re poking your head where it doesn’t belong.
I didn’t have the energy to respond. Not after dealing with all the Alferos, damn it. A little warning from Frank would have been nice. Then again, that wasn’t really Frank’s style.
He was more of a toss the person into the snake pit and, if he lives, give him a promotion sort of guy.
My neck hurt, my knuckles were scabbed over with a mixture of blood and torn skin.
And the night was young.
We’d left the Alfero house with plans to have a meeting the following day, which was good, all things considered.
They wanted to talk that evening.
But I knew the last thing the innocent girl sleeping upstairs needed was to wake up and truly see her entire existence altered. Granted, you couldn’t run from reality, from your truth — if you could, I’d have done it.
God knows, I’d tried.
The truth would find her soon enough — and the happy girl who offered easy smiles and doted on her uncles like they were senile retirement home members, would be gone.
Replaced by the harsh reality that only the mafia brings.
Death.
Blood.
Destruction.
Repeat.
“Don’t be gone long,” Frank said once the car stopped near Times Square.
“Aw, you gonna miss me, old man?” I tried joking, even though my voice was gravelly, foreign. The night had taken its toll already.
Frank rolled his eyes. “Try to stay alive.”
“I’ll do my best.”
He snorted as I slammed the door to the Mercedes and leisurely walked toward Broadway.
Blood roared in my ears as I hit Broadway and looked at all the signs proclaiming a variety of shows.
With shaking hands I pulled out the honeymoon checklist Andi had given me and looked down at the scribble that said, Go to a Broadway show in New york and sing along even if it sounds horrible.
I didn’t have much to choose from since it was getting so late. I finally decided on Beauty and The Beast, maybe because I felt like the beast, only in the end, I wouldn’t turn into the prince.
Then again, it always boggled my mind. The prince had lived so long as a beast, how was it possible for him to go back to his royal status? And what was the purpose of all of his suffering if he was left with no reminder of the way he looked toward people on the outside? It would fade. And in my mind, it was only a matter of time before the prince became spoiled and discontented, because that was life.
That was the real human condition.
Save me today, and I’ll live for you tomorrow.
Fix it and I’ll do anything.
Just this once! And my life is yours.
We say a lot of words we don’t mean.
And yet, I would say all of those things again and again, if it would bring her back to me.
With lead-filled legs, I went to the box office, purchased my ticket and sat in the farthest row back I could.
It was packed; then again, it was Friday.
My phone buzzed in my pocket.
I pulled it out.
Nixon: Are you dead?
Sergio: I’m texting you back, does that answer your question?
Nixon: You need backup?
Sergio: No.
I turned off my phone and slid it into my pocket just as the lights dimmed then lit up again only to dim one last time. As the music swelled, I closed my eyes and hoped to God, one day, one day I’d be free.
SUNLIGHT STREAMED THROUGH the curtains, landing square on my eyes. I hissed out a curse and tossed a pillow in the general direction of the window.
We were staying at a boutique hotel near Times Square, the more people around us, the merrier. It meant we didn’t have to worry about getting shot at. My money was on the uncles staying up all night trying to figure out how to order a hit on their own family and the single Abandonato in a sea full of Alferos.
Four loud knocks on my door had me leisurely getting out of bed, grabbing my Glock, and holding it behind my back as I peeked through the peephole to see who was there.
Dante.
He didn’t appear armed.
Didn’t mean he wasn’t.
Sighing, I pulled the door open. “Either I’m going to be your first kill, or you want to talk.” I scratched my head with the gun in my right hand. “My bet’s on the latter.”
“You’re a real arrogant prick, you know that, right?” Dante observed in a calm voice.
“I’m very aware of my accomplishments, yes.”
Rolling his eyes, he shoved past me.
“Yes, please, come in. I wasn’t sleeping or anything.”
“Men like you don’t sleep, too much blood on your hands.”
“Jaded for someone so young.”
“Nineteen isn’t young, not in this world. How old were you when you first killed someone, when you took someone’s life?” His blue eyes locked on mine. They saw too much, just like Luca, damn it.
“Fourteen,” I answered in a deliberately bored tone. “Though I was only ten when my father forced me to shoot the family pet at point blank range. Then again, it was either shoot the pet or my own cousin. I chose the dog.”
Dante didn’t flinch, but he did avert his eyes.
“I don’t need your pity,” I snapped.
“Good.” He sneered. “Wasn’t offering it.”
“So that’s it? That’s what you wanted to know? How old I was before I sold my soul to the Family?”
“No.” His shuttered expression cracked, revealing something I recognized well — fear. “I wanted to talk about Val.”
“What about her?”
“She doesn’t know.”
“No shit.”
“Would you just listen? And stop with the sarcasm, damn it. Do you realize how annoying you are? Or how emotionally draining it is just to be in the same room as you?”
“I’d like to think it’s part of my charm.”
He took a deep breath and walked over to the
But maybe that was the point.
He was trying to show he trusted me.
By showing his back.
I nodded silently. I respected that.
So I lowered the gun to the table and crossed my arms. “I’m going to assume that when you say Val doesn’t know, what you’re really trying to get across is that she doesn’t know you know.”
His shoulders tensed.
“And you’ve been keeping it from her… how long?”
He didn’t answer.
“Dante.”
“My whole life,” he whispered. “Gio, Sal, and Papi made a promise never to reveal anything to Val. It would destroy her, the truth. The promise included me… until things went wrong.”
“You mean until you were sent away, and the families started their little war?”
He nodded, still staring out the window. “They trained me. I swore I’d never tell Val but now…” His shoulders lifted and fell as he released a heavy sigh. “Now she’s going to find out.”
“She won’t hate you.”
“She will.”
“Val seems like a forgiving person.”
“Hah!” He turned and met my stare. “And you know her so well?”
“I’m about to,” I muttered, sitting on the bed. “Look, for what it’s worth, there isn’t any part of this situation that makes me comfortable. My family is perfectly happy in Chicago. The Cappo runs things from there as well as Italy. We finally have peace because of what your father has done, because of the Empire he has built. I’m not here out of any selfish ambition. I’m here because I owe it to him to follow through with his plan, from the very beginning, so even if that means I have to eat shit — literally, I’ll do it. That’s how much I respected Luca. I would consider it the greatest compliment of my life if someone said I lived the way he did.”
Dante tensed again. “If he was so great, why did he leave us?”
Playing therapist wasn’t my strong suit.
Why wasn’t Andi with me?
She’d always known what to say.
When to make a joke.
When to be serious.
When to offer wisdom.
I had my gun.
And scars on my body.
That’s all I had.
“This life,” I started slowly, struggling to choose the right words, “is not the one he wanted for you. Had he not died, we wouldn’t be having this conversation. But he did die. That leaves us with only one choice.”
“I haven’t decided yet,” he whispered.
“Neither have I.”
He frowned. “What do you mean?”
I smirked. “I haven’t decided if you’ve got the balls for the job yet, cupcake. It’s going to take a hell of a lot more than trying to sucker punch me in the face to prove your worth.”
“Yeah well, I’m young, not stupid, I figured with your training the easiest way to shock you was to charge you like a bull.”
“It probably would have worked if you hadn’t yelled before you ran at me.”
Dante laughed softly and then a bit louder. “Yeah, I’ll work on that.”
“Mafia rule number one.” I nodded. “Don’t let them know they’re dead until they see their own blood on their hands.”
“Morbid.”
“Life.”
“I feel like I need to go to Disneyland after talking with you. Happiest place on earth, Sergio… I need happy if this my future.”
“I can’t promise you’ll find it in the fold.”
“Yeah. But one can hope, right?”
No. Wrong.
There was no happiness in death.
There was only finality.
And silence.
“You drive?” I changed the subject.
“Yeah, why?”
“You’re taking me and Frank to the meeting.”
“So now I’m your chauffer?”
“Even made men have to start somewhere,” I called out as I made my way into the bathroom. “Oh, and touch any of my weapons, and I’m going to decapitate you before you can utter a sorry.”
He held his hands up. “Got it.”
To show our simple skill, that is the true beginning of our end —A Midsummer Night’s Dream
Valentina
HE WAS RIGHT.
I hated that he was right.
Because the morning came.
And I still felt angry and confused.
My mornings used to be filled with laughter and teasing. Instead, we all sat around the small coffee table and waited in silence as the clock on the wall ticked off the minutes.
I was almost afraid to move.
Afraid to breathe.
Dante wasn’t there.
And I was worried.
Worried that we were in trouble — or that we owed money to someone. After tossing and turning all night, that was the only conclusion I could come up with. We owed money to some very bad people, and they needed us to pay them back.
It finally made sense.
How the flower shop and bar were able to stay open through the economic downturn.
Why, even though we were never busy, we never struggled to pay bills.
Dante’s bloodied hands! The whispers about his fighting.
I felt so stupid.
So naive that I hadn’t seen it before.
And, if I was being totally honest, I felt a bit betrayed that my uncles hadn’t confided in me about their financial struggles but put my own brother in some sort of underground fighting gang. Guilt gnawed at my chest. There were so many things I’d asked for in the past few years that I never really needed.
Things that I couldn’t sell now.
I’d already done a Google search for extra jobs, but everything available was, basically, either dangerous like a bike courier or they wanted more experience than I had.
One thing was for sure.
I wasn’t going to college — probably ever.
The screen door opened and then slammed shut. Footsteps echoed across the worn hardwood floor, and then Dante, Sergio, and the older man — Frank, was it? — all appeared from down the hall.
They shuffled into the kitchen where I sat at the table.
My heart sank even further.
We were going to get killed in front of the pancakes.
I just knew it.
Because everyone’s expressions were grim, as if a death just happened in the family, only I knew it was probably going to be mine.
“Please!” I shot to my feet. “Please don’t kill us!”
Frank and Sergio shared a look while Dante closed his eyes as if he was in pain.
“Whatever we owe!” I kept talking, the words tumbling over each other as they spilled out. “I have some money in savings, and I’m sure we can figure out a payment plan or something. Just please don’t kill us.” I was bordering on hysterics as big hot tears rolled down my cheeks.
Sergio slowly made his way over to me and grabbed my hand. “Nobody’s going to die.”
“Yet,” Frank muttered.
My knees buckled and I sat back down while Sergio spat out a curse under his breath. “Was that really necessary?”
Frank shrugged.
Dante rushed to my side. “Are you okay?”
“No!” I jerked away from him. “I’m not okay! Just tell me what’s going on! And what we owe, and how to fix it!”
“That’s going to be difficult.” Dante stood to his full height then backed away. “We don’t owe any money… What we owe is more…” A pained expression formed on his features. “…personal.”
“What do you mean?” I searched the faces of my uncles, but every time I tried to get them to make eye contact they looked away.
I felt like I had no one.
And yet, there was Sergio, right by my side.
“Show her,” Gio barked.
Frank stepped forward and pulled out a black fold
It had my name on it.
But I’d never broken any laws.
I didn’t even jaywalk.
So, a folder with my name, it had to be a bad sign right? A really bad sign.
With trembling hands I opened it.
The first page was a birth certificate, with my exact birthdate and my full name, but the last name I didn’t recognize. It wasn’t Grecco, it was Nicolasi.
“Valentina Joyce Nicolasi,” I whispered. “But my last name…” I didn’t finish because my picture was on the next page. It had to have been taken a year ago, because I was wearing the coat I’d gotten for Christmas. What. The. Hell?
What followed were pictures of me as a child. I recognized some: my first trip to the City, me carrying a giant stuffed dog, and swinging in the park with Gio — how old had I been? Four? Maybe five? The earlier pictures didn’t make sense to me, I was in a city I didn’t recognize, holding mans hand.
And finally, the most recent, me and Dante in the park laughing, both of us wearing smiles while someone in the background watched, a man, a man I recognized, his smile wide, his eyes hopeful.
It made my chest ache.
His smile was familiar.
As if that smile used to be directed toward me.
I let out a gasp and covered my mouth, then whispered between my fingers. “Is that… our father, Dante?”
He nodded, his expression grim.
Wasn’t this a good thing?
“Where is he?” I yelled, jumping to my feet. “Is he here? Is that why you guys are all acting weird? I thought he didn’t want anything to do with us, and—”
“My brother,” Frank said softly, “is dead. I’m sorry.”
I fell back against my chair as bitterness washed over me. So that was it? I finally got to see truth, and the rug was ripped out from beneath me?
“Keep reading,” Dante urged.
Sergio was as still as a statue next to me.
I turned the page and saw my name again.
It was a contract.
Between the Abandonato family and the Nicolasi family.