He looks her over, then away.
She smirksGood.
. “What else do they say about Eric Cane?” she taunts.
The officer stands, makes a subtle motion toward the window, and just like that he’s let out.
Emilia shrugs, switching to Italian as if it’s nothing. “It’s easier to manipulate when you know people on all sides. You taught me that once.”
I scoff, the words igniting something sharp inside me.
“And you’re telling me to sit here and be happy in jail day in and day out, huh? That I shouldn’t get bail or anything else?” I demand.
“You can work out and make some new friends. Matteo will be sad to know you’re roughhousing without him,” Emilia says, her tone light, but her meaning anything but.
I roll my eyes.
She leans forward over the table, closing the space between us, her dark stare locking onto mine. There’s no escaping it—no escaping her. In her eyes, I see my reflection. My same ruthless determination. The same instinct to bend rules and break them when needed. The same defiance, even if she shouldn’t be flaunting our last name.
She’s a traitor.
Even if her tan skin matches mine.
Even if we share the same U.V. tattoo, branding us as mafia.
“What do you want, Emilia?” I ask, leaning forward.
“I want my boyfriend to plan more dates. I want bullying in schools to be punishable by adults like us. I want to watch every killer in Chicago burn while I dance in the ashes,” she says.
I continue glowering at her. She knows what I mean, but she’s given some shit away. She cares for Cane’s daughter. She cares enough that it could be used against her. A boyfriend is one thing. A child is another. We don’t deal with that kind of thing. Children are always supposed to live.
“I want you to be a good boy and use this opportunity, Angelo,” she says in Italian. “Learn what happens when you threaten to break my toys and follow orders blindly. I won’t stop our father, no matter what he does, without help and you know he’s getting more unhinged by the day ... otherwise, you’d be back at home.”
I grab her throat in my hand. “Maybe he left me here to deal with you and your too-soft heart.”
“Go ahead, hurt me. See what happens to your charges. See what happens to your informants. I will keep the promise I made you, Angelo. Try to hurt me or what’s mine and I will unleash everything you thought you buried.”
“I only bury the dead,” I sneer.
“Then call me a fucking necromancer because I kept records of it all. I kept track of everything. I had nothing to do but keeprecords since I was benched when it came to business,” she threatens.
“You’re lying,” I accuse her.
Her eyes stay on mine. Her normal tell, where she leans back, plays with her hair, or flaunts her sexuality doesn’t come. She just watches me. Fuck. I told Dad to give her something to do, even something small to make her feel like she mattered, and he didn’t. This is the consequence.
She’s turned witness, and now she has me by the balls.
“Get me out of jail on bail and I’ll forget you exist,” I promise.
“Funny, that’s what I was coming to do when you started a fight. Now you have charges of assault and attempted murder in a jail cell, no less.”
“And you’re dating a detective,” I hiss.
She stands and flips her hair over her shoulder. “You chose who you allied with a while ago, Angelo. I hope Dad comes through for you. I won’t.”
She stands, brushes off her shirt, and shrugs. “You earned these consequences, Angelo. I hope you take it as a lesson. I hope you don’t forget what I’m capable of again.”
My sister saunters out. A part of me isproud of her. She’s become a mafia princess and comes into her own by rebelling against our father. If our father had embraced her, loved her, and given her everything she wanted, she wouldn’t be this kind of woman.
