High Stakes (25 page)

And then I came out of the bedroom and startled them. Yeah, I remember that part.

“They weren’t supposed to kill him.”

I can’t fucking believe this.

“Who is they?”

“I don’t know who they are, Adriana.” Her eyes look cagey as she avoids everywhere but me. “I wanted to keep you out of it to protect you.”

“That ended the moment you took a loan in my name.” My voice rises in pitch. “Was it the Vittorios?”

The living room is a murky sea, blotched out by my tears. A peach colored blob moves in front of me. Then I blink and Mom sharpens into focus. Her heavily wrinkled lips press into a firm line.

“I won’t tell you.”

“You have to!”

“For over ten years I’ve kept their secret. Do you have any idea what they’ll do to me if you go to the police?”

Oh my God.

It
is
them. Vince must have known, and he let me cry in his arms all those times I talked about my father and never said a word.

I feel sick.

“How could you lie to me for all those years? All this time you knew who killed him, and you never
bothered
to tell me.”

“I didn’t want you to grow up with all of that on your shoulders.”

“I did! All these years I worked for you like a slave, giving you every last penny to keep you from crying on my shoulder or calling me names, and never,
ever
giving myself a reward for working so hard.”

She cries as she reaches for me, tears slipping down in fat drops. “Adriana, please. You’re my baby. Don’t go.”

“You’re not my mother. You’re nothing.”

I spin around before she can plead and worm her way inside my heart again and burst through the door. My sneakers take me down the streets and I run past the subway station, not knowing where the hell I should go. The Brooklyn Bridge rises in the distance, shining in the sun like a beacon, so I walk towards it.

Where else can I go?

My phone rings incessantly, and I contemplate throwing it through the bars of the bridge. The wind howls over the bridge, chilling me to the bone as I walk past hordes of tourists bundled up in clothes. I’m not really dressed to be outside and my backpack’s shoulder straps dig into my flesh. The weight of all the books drag me down. Every so often, I stop to lean on the wooden rails etched with so many love notes and I stare down at the cars quietly rumbling underneath the bridge.

Tears are blown off my face in the wind and I try to remember the last time I felt so badly. Everything is so fucked up. It’s all gone. Dead.

When I descend the bridge, I find the nearest subway and enter its warm belly. I take it to Midtown and walk around Rockefeller Plaza, and then I go inside Bouchon. I’ve always salivated at the pastries inside that I could never afford. I order nearly forty dollars in pastries: huge, golden
macarons
, almond croissants, little cakes and tarts. The cashier stares at me as she takes my order. If I could reach through the glass to steal food, I would.

Sitting outside on the wooden table, I dip my hand inside the bag and grab one of the
macarons
. They’re impossibly soft and airy. The sweet almond flavor explodes over my tongue, the strawberry jam in the middle of the cookie sweetening my mouth.

I fish my phone out of my bag and feel a stir of disgust as I look at the screen. Six missed calls and voicemails from Vince. My mouth turns sweet into sour as everything I’ve learned floats to the surface again. The man I’m engaged to is one of
them
. He was always one of them. They destroy lives without second thought, and I’m one of their casualties.

The sun dips below the high rise buildings as I watch happy tourists snapping photos, skating on the ice rink below as I try to suppress my shivering. Cold and alone. There’s nowhere to go. Nowhere except right back to the man I’m trying to run from.

So I don’t move when a man slides into the bench opposite me and grabs my wrists. Vincent’s fingers wrap around me like handcuffs, biting my flesh. I look up into his handsome face filled with deadly calm.

“Don’t make a scene,” he says. “Don’t scream.”

I don’t know what I’m more repulsed by: him or my still present feelings of attraction.

“You’re coming with me now.”

He transfers his hold to my upper arm but I remain rooted to the spot.

I hate him.

He glares at me. “You’re coming with me now before I get fucking shot standing out here in the open.”

Miserably, I stand up with the bag of pastries around my wrist, Vincent leading me out of the square like I’m a hostage, and I suppose I am one. He walks quickly across the streets, almost dragging me in his haste to get into his car and drive the fuck out of there.

“Do you even realize how fucking worried I was?” he snaps, his fingers digging into my arm as he leads me towards his car. “You take off to your university and when I show up there, you’re nowhere to be found, and then you don’t answer your goddamn phone!”

Vincent continues his tirade after he shoves me in the car, when he slides into the driver’s seat.

“You’re my fiancée!” he bellows. “I expect you to
answer
your phone.”

The tires screech on the garage as Vince peels out of there. I sit still in the car seat and feel close to tears as we drive back to his apartment.

“Where the fuck were you, Adriana?
Hey
, I’m talking to you.”

I swallow a lump in my throat as he screams in my ear. What the hell am I supposed to say? The moment I tell him I was talking to federal agents, he’ll kill me.

It’s not like I have anything to live for.

Vincent’s face, black with rage, looks at me like he wants to wrap his long fingers around my throat and squeeze. He parks the car and gets out. I cringe as he walks around and yanks me by my elbow. I fall against his chest and flinch at the violence burning in his eyes.

“You are really pushing me, Adriana. When we get upstairs, I expect answers, or we’re going to have a fucking problem.”

 I burst into tears once we enter the elevator, unable to stop myself any longer. Eyebrows raised, he leans against the wall and burns holes into my skin with his stare. I turn away from him and try to silence my sobs with my hand. I hate being out of control, unraveling in front of him. My shoulders shake and then he whispers a curse. His arms wrap around me and his lips find my head.

“What the hell is wrong with you?”

“Did you know?”

“Did I know what?”

His puzzled face frowns at me.

I push him away from me roughly. “That your piece of shit family killed my Dad!”

“What are you talking about?” he says through his teeth.

“All this time, they were one of
you
. One of you bastards killed him and ruined my life.”

He grabs my shoulder, no longer gentle. “I have no idea what you’re talking about. Shut the fuck up until we get inside.”

I stumble out the elevator as he drags me down the hall, terror electrifying my skin with painful pulses of my heart. He shoves me inside and slams the door behind them.

“Where the fuck do you get off on accusing us of that?”

“I know they were responsible.” I want to hit him for denying it. “You knew all along and never said anything to me.”

He gives me a look like I’m deranged. “You’re talking crazy. How the hell would I know about a hit that happened thirteen years ago?”

I step backwards from the force of his words. Fine, he didn’t know about it, but that doesn’t change the fact that they were responsible.

“How do you know this, anyway? Where the fuck were you?”

There’s a dangerous glint in his eyes as he hangs up his coat in the closet. I keep mine bundled around me, as if it can protect me from him.

He’ll kill me.

“I heard it from the FBI!” I finally shout.

He freezes, his face white with panic as he turns towards me. “
What?
”

“I—I left the house to go to school, but two federal agents picked me up. They knew about the card games. They knew we were at that restaurant. They offered me protection—”

“No,” he bellows like a wounded animal and grabs me by my collar. His face is white, shaking. “Tell me you didn’t, Adriana.
Tell me you didn’t say anything!
”

Hating him, I twist my face. “I didn’t say anything, but I should have. I hate all of you. They told me the truth about my dad. Then I went to see my mom. She told me everything.”

“They’re fucking lying, Adriana! You can’t trust anything they tell you. They just want you to give up information!”

“Oh, and I’m supposed to trust
you
?”

He releases me roughly, looking wounded. “I have no idea who killed your dad, all right? Jack would have told me if he knew anything. That’s why I think they’re lying to you.”

“My mom confirmed it,” I scream.

“That
pucchiaca
,” he snarls, waving his hand dismissively. “She’s a crazy bitch who stole from you. How the fuck can you trust anything she says?”

I stop in my tracks, glaring at him as white-hot anger shakes my chest. He just called my mother a
cunt
. He’s never criticized my mother in front of me, although his eyes would flash whenever I mentioned her. It’s way over the line. Even now, he looks remorseful.

“Don’t you
dare
—”

“I’m sorry—”

“—insult my mother.
Ever
.”

I may scream and complain about her, but that doesn’t give him the right to insult her. Confusion riles my stomach. I don’t know who to believe anymore. My whole world is upside down.

He takes my arm and steers me into the living room, making me sit on the couch. I expect him to sit across from me, but he sits on the coffee table and grabs my shoulders.

“Adriana, this is really fucking important. What else did the Feds say?”

“I told you. They know about me being in your card games, they know Nicky’s game was robbed, and they know people were killed.”

“
Fuck
.”

Vince covers his face with his hands in an uncharacteristic show of weakness.

“Oh, and I might go to jail for participating in illegal gambling.”

His head snaps up. “Did they say you were under arrest?”

“No.”

“Did they say you would be arrested if you didn’t give them information?”

“No.”

A sigh leaves his mouth. “Then you have nothing to worry about. They don’t have shit on you, otherwise they would have arrested you.”

I sink into the couch, every inch of me trembling. “You’ve ruined my life.”

His shoulders curl forward as he looks down. “It’s not ruined, Adriana.”

“It is!” I stand up, but he pushes me back into the couch. “They killed my dad. They ruined my childhood. How many other lives have you ruined? How many other innocent people have to die before you realize that this life is fucked up?”

“This is who I am. You knew who I was, Adriana,” he says in a quiet, cold voice. “All of a sudden, you have a problem with it? I don’t buy it.”

My voice falters. “My dad died because of people like you.”

His mouth twists. “What exactly do you mean? I’ve been nothing but good to you, Adriana. I never hurt you, have I?”

Heart pounding, I shake my head, but I’m still determined to hate him.

“Face it. Your father was far from innocent if he was borrowing money from organized crime. Even
you
said they didn’t mean to kill him. We don’t kill people who don’t pay back loans.”

“Yeah, right!”

“It would defeat the whole purpose!”

Shut up.

I shake my head, frustrated tears squeezing from my eyes. Fuck him. Fuck all of them. His hand lies on my knee and I want to smash it because there is no one else to take out my anger on.

“I’m sorry about your dad, I really am, but his death had nothing to do with me. Don’t punish me for something I didn’t do.”

“It just doesn’t feel right. Every night I see him die.”

He sits down beside me and pulls me into a hug. I’m so fucking weak. I cling to his chest and against my will I feel better. Then a sick wave threatens to drag me under the sea when I imagine dad’s killers with Vincent’s face.

“We’ll find out who did it.”

What?

“Because I love you…because you’re everything to me, I’ll find out who killed him. And you’ll get justice.”

My throat is ice. “I—I don’t know if I want that.”

“Yes, you do.”

Somehow, his heated gaze sees directly through my skin and flesh, into the sick desires of my heart. Maybe that’s why he chose to reveal to me his real desire the first night we were together. Just the thought of it makes me burn.

His heat wraps around me as his finger move across my jaw, tipping my head up. His angry mouth and tongue descend over my lips. I can barely kiss him back, because his mouth travels to my neck and sucks hard. My core tightens and I dig my fingers into his soft hair. I can’t help but want him. I know it’s wrong, and his offer to kill my father’s murderer is insane, but at the same time I feel so empowered by it.

He’d do anything for me. Kill for me.

My jacket falls from my shoulders. He reaches around my waist and pulls my shirt right off my head, followed quickly by my bra. He plants hot kisses down my throat and his hands slide up my belly to grab my breasts. I moan into his hair, which is thick with his unique, masculine scent. He laughs richly as I sit up while straddling his waist, my breasts flush against his face.

His arms squeeze my thighs through my jeans, and then his hand makes a circle around my ass. I know what he’s going to do and I wrap my arms around his head. A sharp sting lands on my ass as he slaps me hard. His mouth takes my nipple and bites, his tongue playing with the sensitive flesh, and I moan.

Suddenly, he flips me over so that I’m on my back, and his body hovers over me. He grips my jaw painfully and gives me a sharp slap with his other hand. For a moment I’m stunned, close to tears
.

“That’s for running off and not answering my calls. You put me through hell today. Don’t do it again, Adriana. I mean it.”