Rachel Dyken - Elect

“How is the girl?” Anthony asked. I never referred to him as “Father”—he’d never given me the impression that it was something I was allowed to do. And I wasn’t about to disrespect him.

“The girl”—I stuffed some shirts into my bag—“is fine. She’s going to school and safe.”

“Thanks in part to you.” Anthony laughed bitterly. “So Nixon’s put you on security detail? How do you think that looks?”

“Hmm.” I paused and turned to face him. “How do I think it looks that the boss entrusts me with the love of his life and nobody else, not even you? Pretty damn good, thanks for asking.”

“He’s young.”

“He’s the boss.” I clenched my teeth and tried not to lose my cool in front of him but he really pissed me off.

“It should have been you.” Anthony swore. “God knows it should have been you.”

Had my father been spying on my mind during the day or something? I mean, I know I wished it was me, but only because of Trace; not because I wanted the responsibility of a century-old Sicilian family hanging on my shoulders. No thank you.

“Yeah, well.” I put my bag over my shoulder. “Sorry I wasn’t born before him, sorry he’s still alive. Just what do you want me to apologize for? I’m not going to apologize for being loyal, or for thinking he’s what’s best for this family.”

“He may get us all killed.”

I wasn’t an idiot. My mind had come up with every worst-case scenario, every possible outcome, and I knew that we weren’t exactly on the right side of the odds. Hell, we weren’t even in the same universe. But I couldn’t get myself to care about the family when all I really cared about was keeping Trace safe. I’d die before anything happened to her. Anthony could go to hell for all I cared.

“Not if I can prevent it.” I pushed past Anthony and grabbed the keys to my Range Rover.

“You cannot prevent what is coming. It has been hanging over our heads for years,” Tony said from behind me. I didn’t know if he wanted me to answer him, but I chose to ignore him. Ever since Nixon’s father had died last year—things had been in upheaval. Half the family thought it was good to have fresh blood leading the Abandonatos. After all, Nixon’s dad had literally beat the shit out of Nixon and his ma on a regular basis when Nixon was little. And possibly, he’d killed Trace’s parents out of a jealous rage because he’d loved Trace’s mom more than life itself and she didn’t choose him.

Shit, that hit way to close to home.

Whatever.

As far as I was concerned it was old drama and the rest of the family could either get on board or go screw themselves. Nixon was doing the best job he could at twenty-one. Shit, I’d probably be having a nervous breakdown if I had a few multi-billion-dollar companies underneath me.

Granted, Nixon had business associates that dealt with most of the money, but still. It was a lot of responsibility.

I drove the ten miles to his house. He lived on the other side of the city, where houses had gates and people had helipads in their backyards.

Our houses were pretty similar. Only mine contained just me and Anthony. My mom had died several years ago, just like Nixon’s. I wondered if that was a bad sign, or some sort of prophecy. Women never lasted in our family.

Refusing to think about Trace and the life ahead of her if she stayed with us, I pulled into Nixon’s gate, swiped my card, and honked my horn.

Nixon came flying out of the house with Tex.

Good. They were laughing.

“Dude, what took you so long?” Tex said from the backseat. “The girls were watching stupid chick flicks again.”

Nixon snorted. “Right, and since they pulled each DVD from your collection—I’d probably stop complaining.”

Tex grinned. “So, who we killing?”

My laugh was hollow.

Tex had always seemed so easygoing about the business. I, however, still hated doing the dirty work. I didn’t mind watching others do it, but doing it myself? Let’s just say I’m not as scary as people would like to think I am. No, that nomination goes to Nixon. The things I’d seen that guy do would put nightmares into even the worst sort of prisoner.

“We have a meeting,” Nixon said in an even voice. “With the Nicolosi family.”

“Son of a bitch!” I slammed on the brakes in the middle of the driveway. “The Sicilians? We’re going to meet them? Now? Are you freaking insane?”

“No.” Nixon pulled out his cell phone. “We’ve only got twenty minutes to get to downtown Chicago. I’d hurry.”

“Great.” I blasted the accelerator and swore. “What the hell, Nixon? It’s like you want us to die.”

“They won’t kill us.” Why was he so damn calm! “They can’t. We have too much money. Besides, by now Faust will have reported back.”

“And just what do you think he said?”

“You mean before or after he shit his pants?” Nixon smirked. “They know where we stand. So now we negotiate. We tell them we’ve got it handled.”

“Um…” Tex cleared his throat from behind us. “No offense, Nixon, but we have absolutely nothing handled. We have a crazy mafia boss in hiding and we still don’t know who killed Trace’s parents.” I sighed in exasperation. Maybe it was Nixon’s father—after all, he was capable of anything. We all knew that.

“Right.” Nixon exhaled. “But they don’t know we don’t have answers yet. And I have a plan.”

“Plan?” I echoed. “You want us to meet with the scariest family known to the Mafia because you have a plan? Are you insane?”

“God, I wish.” Nixon laughed and bit down on his lip ring. He pulled off his leather jacket and checked a few of the guns strapped to his body. “We’ve got some old beef between us; they’ll be curious, they’ll want to listen.”

I cursed and hit the steering wheel.

“Calm yourself.” This from Tex. Did he seriously not know?

Once we were at the stoplight I turned around and glared. “Calm myself? You naive piece of shit. The last time they were in Chicago my mom was shot. She died, Tex. So help me God, next time you tell me to calm myself I will shoot you in the foot.”

The light turned green and I sped off. Complete silence blanketed the car, and for once I was thankful that I didn’t have anyone in my life that loved me. Because if it came to a shootout with those guys, I would take it, with pleasure. I would end them—for what they’d done to me and my family—without hesitation.

I knew Chase was pissed. I also knew he wouldn’t have wanted to come if I’d told him who we were meeting. And he needed this as much as I did. He needed closure. What they did to his mom… it was horrendous. It was never proven that she’d been murdered by the Nicolosi family but we had our suspicions. Strong ones. After all, each family had a crest, and the one left by the body had belonged to none other than the Nicolosis.

She was raped and beaten to within an inch of her life—and all because she’d talked to one of their wives. Confided in them about something to do with the family.

She’d been killed the next day. Left in a warehouse.

Adrenaline surged through me as we pulled up to the restaurant. It was a good meeting place, one of the chains we owned, known for its Chinese food which, frankly, I always found hilarious. Just because we were Sicilian didn’t mean we only owned Italian restaurants.

The smell of sweet pork and fried rice invaded my senses as we burst into the restaurant and went to the back meeting room.

The first thing I noticed was that the lights were dimmed, dimmer than I remembered. The second was that the bartender’s hand was shaking. He smiled and nodded in our direction, but his damn hand was having trouble pouring drinks.

I nodded back and showed him one of my guns—reassurance and all that.

The back room was usually reserved for out-of-town guests. But when I say “guests” I really mean out-of-town family who need a place to interrogate.

It was completely soundproof and had at least twenty cameras set at different angles up on the walls, just in case we needed to watch tape to see exactly who did what first.

I nodded to Tex. He shut the door behind us. I walked toward the table and had a seat, placing my gun in front of me for all to see.

“Nixon… it has been… a while. Tell me, how is your family?”

“The same,” I said dryly. “Wealthy, powerful, pissed…”

Luca Nicolosi grinned. His glaring white teeth were like a bright light against his tanned skin. At forty-seven, he’d been taking care of the Nicolosi family since his father’s passing ten years ago. The last time I’d seen him, he’d been a cocky piece of work. Now, well now he just pissed me off. Everything about him screamed indulgence, from his pressed silk suit to his combed hair. Hate did not even begin to describe what I felt toward him and his family.

I detested them—more than anything in the world.

At eleven years old, I had trusted them. I had run into their arms that night…

“Help! Help me!” My father had left the box unlocked this time. I hadn’t realized it until I started kicking against the door. He was punishing me again. I knew it was my fault he was angry. He’d told me to spy on Ma again and I’d told him to go to hell.

So he’d put me in the time-out box.

It was really small and black. One time I’d been in there for the entire day.

Lately it seemed like just looking at him wrong earned me time in the box.

“Help!” I ran directly into the living room, where a few men were seated. Father wasn’t anywhere to be found.

“Help? What do you need help with?” Luca stood in the corner, hands in pockets. His thick accent reminded me of my grandfather. He’d been kind to me, my grandfather.