As for families being off limits, yeah, they normally are. Except if a family member gets themselves involved. Mine never would. Trick’s wouldn’t. But apparently a friend of Rachel’s would, and she’s interfered with our business. That can’t be left unanswered.
We take steps to protect our families and I’m not looking to put a target on their backs, but I’m not going to back down just because Frank’s mentioning them. Instead, we’ll double security around them, maybe send them on a trip. Because I don’t consider Zoe Arantes off limits if she stole from me.
“We understand a lot of things,” I say as the house lights dim. The sooner there’s only one king of the city, the better it will be.
I have no idea if Trick is in the theater yet, but I can predict what his outward reaction to seeing Frank will be. Nothing. Trick’s got a game face that’s better than anyone’s.
I also know exactly how Anvil will react if Frank decides to shove a blade through my ribs sometime during the show. A knife wound would almost be worth it to see ‘Vil tear Frankie P apart with his bare hands.
Chapter Two
Zoe
Everything is wrong. First, the mark on my door, and now Frank sitting in the front row next to Connor McCann. My heart hammers in my chest as I cross the stage to the alcove where Rachel is tucked away.
I lean into it. She’s taken off her hooded cloak and stands in front of a microphone. She’s not with the orchestra because she can’t be. She’s not allowed to be here.
But Rachel and I wrote this dark fairytale together, and it’s based on her own story. She wrote the score. I choreographed it. We’ve lived and breathed it from back when it was a dream we had together while eating tacos and drinking gin and tonics in my apartment.
“Your dad’s here.”
Her head jerks up, and she looks past me to the closed curtain.
“You could go,” I whisper.
Her pretty face sets itself into a mask of angry determination. “No one else can play my parts the way I can.” Her hand goes possessively to her violin. She’s not bragging about her playing. It’s just a fact. She put her soul into this music. She was already better than anyone in the orchestra, but for several of the songs, her playing is transcendent.
“What if he already knows? Maybe he had someone follow you. Maybe he’ll think you’ve been in touch with the C Crue trio, acting as a spy on his operation. He’s so paranoid,” I whisper.
“He can think what he wants.”
My breath catches. “No. Don’t say that. You know what he does when he thinks someone’s betrayed him.”
“I’m still valuable. As long as I am, he won’t do anything to me.”
The blood is slowly draining from my head. She’s considered this and calculated the risk. Of course she has.
