The caller ID reads:TERMINAL 7
I sit up immediately.
Terminal 7 is a club owned by the D’Ambrosio Family, and the place that Luca turned to for work after our father died. He told me that he didn’t have much of a choice. What little of Dad’s savings weren’t enough, not after all the hospital fees and funeral expenses. And neither of us made enough money to keep a roof over our heads.
I didn’t want him to go to the D’Ambrosio Family for work. I wanted him to be an honest man and to be the good big brother I’ve always known him as. He just told me that there was no other option.
He promised me that he would stay out of trouble. That he’ll just do the bare minimum and nothing else. That he won’t get in too deep.
I was stupid enough to believe him.
A year after, Luca was dead.
For five fucking years, I've been trying to get the D’Ambrosio Family to take me seriously. And for five years, they ignored me. No matter how many messages I left, and no matter how many times I dropped, it was just one wall after another.
And now, at four in the fucking morning, right when I'm still wet from fantasizing about the man I'm supposed to destroy fucking me mercilessly on his desk…
Nowthey decide to call.
The phone keeps buzzing.
I answer it.
"Ms. Farnassi." A smooth voice slides through the speaker. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance."
I hate that whoever is on the other side knows my real name.
“Who am I speaking with?”
“Nico D’Ambrosio. I knew your brother Luca when he was still alive.”
I sit up a little straighter. Finally, the guilt starts leaving my body as I slip back into my desire for vengeance like a comfortable old shoe.
“How can I help you, Mr. D’Ambrosio?”
“Please,” Nico says. “Call me Nico. I understand that you had a recent run-in with some of my men at the Bellamy gallery earlier tonight.”
Unwanted memories come rushing back. Gunfire, fear, and the steady heat of Slava’s blood on my fingers as I bandaged his wounds.
“I did.”
“Then you must know that both of us want the same thing.”
My brow furrows and I bite my tongue before my own accusation comes jumping out:if we both want the same thing, you have a funny way of showing it by calling after I almost died at your men’s hands.
“But why are you contacting me now?” I say instead. “I reached out five years ago.”
“Because there wasn’t anything that you could’ve done five years ago. And because now I know just how much Slava Romanov cares about you from how readily he tackled you to the ground tonight.”
An unexpected blush rises to my cheek at the thought of Slava Romanov caring. But there’s just one little detail Nico mixed up: Slava didn’t tackle me to the ground. It was the other way around.
Maybe he’s just having a lapse of memory at what really happened, I think. But a tiny seed of suspicion has been planted in my mind about Nico D’Ambrosio’s trustworthiness.
“So, what can I do for you?”
"Information, Ms. Farnassi,” Nico replies. “As Slava’s PR agent, you know exactly where he’ll be and what he’ll be doing.”
I close my eyes. Of course this is what Nico wants. He’s not interested in justice for Luca. He’s interested in taking down arivalhisway: the dirty way, with guns and bullets and violence. And my grief is just a convenient lever for him to pull.
