“Caro!” Atticus growled. “You goddamn little thief.”
“What’s the problem?” Rocco snarled from his post byRoman.
“She stole from me,” Atticus hollered. I could feelhis livid gaze burning a hole in my back. I could feel it searing into me,ripping me apart inside his head.“She fucking pickpocketedme.”
I expected judgment. Punishment. I had stolensomething from one of the brothers. And who was I? Nobody.Thesometimes useful child of their sometimes useful bookie.They were goingto freaking kill me. Or at least cut off my hand— the thief’s reprimand.
But instead of cries for blood, the brothers startedlaughing. Slowly at first, just snickers or snorts of surprise. Then full on laughter.It cut through the tension in the room, making the air breathable again.
Except for me.
They were laughing at me. And it wasn’t like I wassuper sensitive or anything. I could handle being poked fun at.
But this was an army of killers handling stolen guns.It was strange. And I was super uncomfortable.
The presence of the necklace, more than ever, burned inmy pocket, practically lighting my pants on fire. Which would be fitting forthe liar I was.
One of the guys by Atticus pushed his shoulder. “Aw,shit, man, the little girl stole from you.”
More laughter.
“Bested by a baby!” someone else shouted from acrossthe room.
More laughter.
“Enough!” Roman stepped forward, his accented voiceslicing through the warehouse, ending the chaos and the good mood. “Get to workunless you’d rather the Irish have their guns back. Yourthroats’llbe slit by morning and you’ll have copper pennies where your eyes should be,but at least you’ve had a good laugh,da?”
The room was silent again as faces turned to stoneonce more and the unpacking began again. I didn’t know what to do. Did thatmean I was okay? Or that Roman was three seconds away from giving Atticuspermission to murder me?
“Atticus, bring the child here so that my men canfocus.”
I caught Frankie’s eye from across the room. Her facehad turned white as a ghost. Her eyes bugged and her mouth had dropped open. Nopart of her expression gave me courage.
If I needed confirmation that I was about to beexecuted, it was written all over Frankie’s stupid face.
Ugh.
Atticus grabbed the back of my neck and jerked metoward him. My squeak of surprise quickly turned to a wince of pain as heshoved me toward thepakhan.
He pressed his face against the back of my bowed head.“Now you’ve done it, bitch.”
I focused on my feet. And not tripping. Not on myinability to breathe or think or run away.
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw my dad movingtoward his bosses, his hands twisting the hat in his hands until it was bentout of shape. It would seem he had as much faith in me surviving this asFrankie did.
Holy cow. What had I done?
Chapter Six
Fifteen Years Ago
The three brothers were speaking in low tones to Ozzieand the two men that were called the two spies—they were the second in command ofthe organization. Ruthless. Brutal. Terrifying.And alsobrothers.Twins actually. Rocco and his identical brother, Boris. The sixmen towered over me, all dominating strength and choking power.
I had never been this close to any of the brothersbefore, or the two spies. I wasn’t even sure if any of Frankie’s unclesrealized I was her only friend. Or that I was the daughter of their recentlypromoted bookie. Occasionally, my father and Ozzie would work together, but Iwas still terrified of the man.
And equally as terrified of his son that was currentlysqueezing my neck so tightly I knew he was going to leave a bruise. He pushedme toward thepakhanand I stumbled over my feet before I righted myself.
“This girl stole from you?” Boris demanded of Atticus.
