I had been born into the crime world, prospered from it. My father had been one of the closest to Alessandro Caputo who had been the head of the most powerful family. The family still wielded the same degree of power, maybe more, but now it was his son, Carluccio at the helm. I had grown up with Carlo and his brothers and sisters, they were friends I thought I would have for the whole of my life. How wrong I was. My father had become ill a few years ago and when he eventually died, he had been given a sendoff that told the world that he may not have carried the Caputo name by blood, but he did by regard and respect. In turn, my brother, Aldo and I had been considered family, protected, until Aldo who had only ever worked for the family, took matters into his own hands and almost killed one of the other men, Gino.
Aldo refused to offer any explanation for his actions to Carlo, or anyone else, and had instead left town, taking me and Amina with him. Then, a couple of months ago, he hadn’t returned. Days passed and all attempts to contact him went unanswered and then I had received a letter. A letter from my brother telling me that by the time I received the letter, he would be dead. That he had tired of carrying the invisible target around with him. The target meant that one day someone would recognise him and share that information with the Caputo family, but worse than that, our tie to him would put me and Amina at risk of being used as pawns in a violent game that would bring nothing but pain and darkness into our lives. Therefore he had made the ultimate sacrifice for us to be able to live in peace. I was devastated at his loss, and although peace was welcome, he hadn’t considered that with his passing we would have no money which brought me back to the present, preparing to wrap myself around a pole on a podium, hopefully without anyone laying their hands on me.
I wasn’t a dancer, but I had been a gymnast for a number of years which meant that I was flexible and could hold my own weight whilst dangling upside down as I was currently. There were dozens of eyes on me, some of them creepier than others, some I recognised, but more I didn’t. This place wasn’t as bad as some of the places in town and there was at least some security around, protecting us. There were girls who did private dances and much more besides, but I wasn’t one of them, meaning the money I made wasn’t great, but it was enough to keep a roof over our heads and food on the table. Just.
As I spun again, moving to an upright position before dropping to the podium where I thrust against the pole and moved back to stand, I watched business deals happening in every corner of the room, none of them legitimate. Perhaps that’s why I felt a degree of comfort here because these were people I understood and knew. Not necessarily these people specifically but people like them. My music was about halfway through as I wondered, as I often did, how I would explain this to Amina some day? I hoped I would never need to, that by the time she was old enough to ask questions, this would be very much in the past. Pushing the nagging voice from my head that pointed out that without some kind of divine intervention, I had no other option, I refocused on the music and the sea of people before me. A set of dark brooding eyes found mine and I stilled completely despite the music continuing. Frozen to the spot where my shoes rested on the podium, fear washed over me, fear, excitement, hope, and then anger.
Dante Caputo.
What the fuck was he doing here, and why the hell were his eyes aflame? Was I on his hit list? I had no doubt that my brother’s death had been at the hands of his family, possibly Dante’s, after all he and Gino had been the best of friends, we all had. Could he be here for me? Did I wear the same target my brother had? If I did, what did that mean for Amina?
Shouting began to rise around me and my first thought was that the cause of it was due to my routine ending before the music. I remained rooted to the spot, causing the customers to become disgruntled. The first round of gun fire disputed the reason for the shouting. I began to take in my surroundings, my attention diverting from Dante as the place erupted into a storm of shouting, a volley of shots and bloodshed.
“Amina!” I cried, the thought of losing her feeding my fear as I caught sight of several Caputo brothers and dozens of their men, but I was already climbing down from the podium and heading to the dressing room backstage where I hoped to find my daughter safe.
The hailstorm of bullets didn’t even register as I ran across the club until a man before me was shot, his whole head and face exploding before me, his blood covering my skin. Diverting to my plan B escape route I saw warring gangs fighting, shooting, and then the glint of a silver blade in the hand of a huge man before it disappeared into another man’s chest. It would have to be plan C which was a slightly longer route via the bar, but needs must and I would rather go down in this hell hole, fighting to get to my daughter than leave through the front door which looked the most accessible exit. Perhaps Ro had heard the fuss and made her escape with Amina. I had no way of knowing that. I had to go and find my baby.
As I reached the bar and snuck behind it, I entered the corridor that ran around the whole building, stepping over several bodies as I went, one I recognised as one of the security team, one of the good ones, but knew I needed to remain focused on my destination and like the good mafia girl I was, I picked up his gun.
I moved, preparing to check how many bullets I had but hadn’t even taken the step when I was pulled back, a hand over my mouth, stifling my scream, although I wasn’t sure anyone would have heard it over the din of the war going off. Fighting to free myself, my arms flailed, my elbows making some contact with the wall of muscle behind me, but it wasn’t enough to get free, and in my attempt, the gun I’d held flew out of my hand. With my shoes still on, I stamped back, digging the pointy heel of it into the foot of the buffoon holding me and at the same time as I sunk my teeth into one of the fingers on my mouth, I swung my arm back and hit this guy right in the nuts.
He let me go and intent on moving forward, I didn’t even glance back until he spoke, one word rather than the groans and huffs of pain and discomfort I’d previously heard.
“Anna.”
I spun to find Dante clutching the wall as he slowly raised to his full height and stepped towards me.
“No, Dante, please!” I was literally begging for my life, convinced my brother’s death hadn’t been enough to quench his thirst for revenge.
“Don’t be afraid. I won’t hurt you, but this is no place for you.” He looked me up and down, appearing to see me for the first time, a disapproving expression spreading across his face as his eyes roved my body, from my face all the way to my shoes and back up again. By the time his eyes returned to mine they were alight with something as far removed from disapproval as it ever could be.
“Just leave me, I’ll be fine,” I told him as he moved close enough to touch.
“I can’t do that, Anna. I made a promise to take care of you.”
I laughed. What was he talking about? What promise and to who?
As if reading my mind or at least my expression, he reached for me and gripped my hand. “Aldo asked me to take care of you.”
“Aldo?” The sound of my brother’s name leaving someone else’s lips shook me slightly. The fact that the person saying it was Dante made it all the more shocking and then the penny dropped. “You made my brother a promise to take care of me before you killed him?”
His eyes dropped briefly but as soon as he lifted his head again, the expression filling his eyes wasn’t guilt or sorrow, just resignation. “Let’s go.”
I pulled free. “No! I am not going anywhere with you, you murdering bastard.”
The sound of an explosion shook the walls around us while my ears seemed to burst until everything was muffled, but not enough that I didn’t hear Dante say, “I beg to differ.”
In the blink of an eye, he had grabbed me and was carrying me back the way I had come. Screaming, crying and hitting him, I begged him to put me down, to let me go, knowing I had to find Amina. He ignored me, leaving me with no other choice but to tell him about her.
“Dante, please, I will come, you can do whatever you wish, but I need to go to my baby, she is here, in the dressing room.”
He dropped me in an instant. “What did you say?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “You have a baby? A child? Here? In this fucking place?”
I didn’t appreciate the judgement in his tone but telling him to go and fuck himself could wait, Amina couldn’t. “Yes, four months old.”
“Where is she?” His voice was flat and most people would consider it devoid of emotion, but the old Dante, the one I had grown up with came rushing back to me and as he stretched his hand across his face, his thumb and fore finger flexing as they ran along each side of his jaw, I knew that was demonstrative of feeling, I just wasn’t sure I could name which one.
Some of his men appeared, and as they eyed me, those that recognised me with suspicion and those that didn’t focusing on my chest.
