H.G.
B.M.
Next to each of their names was $10,000. I stared at that number, feeling a tingle start in my fingertips. It always started that way. Soon, I’d be consumed with rage — ten grand. I would have said it was a coincidence if I believed in those, but too many signs pointed at what I knew had to be true. I snatched the drive out and shut the computer. The three of them looked at me, all wearing the same confused look on their faces. I felt like a live wire ready to explode at any minute. I shoved the drive in my pocket and walked out the back door. I needed air. Holy fuck. I needed air. I made it to the sand before my legs gave out, and I sank to my knees.
Giuseppe De Luca was the one who put a hit on my mother. On Rosie’s mother. On Dominic and Gabe’s mother. All this time, I’d maintained that he was a monster but only to outsiders and never to women or children. All this time, he’d sat at dinner tables, sharing cigars and drinks while knowing he’d murdered my mother. How many times had he commiserated with my father? My father, who fucking broke after Mom was murdered. My fucking father, his brother, a man he always swore to protect. How many times did Giuseppe tell us not to worry, that we’d get our vengeance, that the people responsible wouldn’t get away with it? I buried my hands in the sand and squeezed, a scream ripping out of me before I could stop. I was going to fucking kill him, but first, I would make him suffer. I took my phone out of my pocket and called Michael.
23
LENORA
Rocco was losing it.He hadn’t spoken a word in the two hours we’d been in the car, but I could tell he was trying hard not to snap. I’d never seen him like this. I wanted to ask what happened. I’d chased him outside, but Emma and Enrique held me back, telling me he needed a moment to himself. Emma told me to let him work it out on his own first and that he’d speak when he was ready. She’d know. Her brother was mercurial and did this often. Not Rocco, though. I’d never seen or heard anything about him losing his temper. My heart broke when I saw him sink to his knees on the beach and start to shake uncontrollably. When he came back inside, he was completely void of emotion.
That’s how he’d been during the car ride, and I didn’t know what to do. I felt that Emma was right; even a sound out of me could make him snap. I took my phone out and stared at it. I wanted to text Rosie, but I knew I couldn’t. I didn’t want to text my mom since she was going through so much crap already, and I didn’t want to add to it. I was staring at a blank screen when a hand reached over, grabbed it, and tossed it out the window. It happened so quickly that I almost thought I’d imagined it. He closed the window and kept driving, his face impassive.
“What the hell, Rocco?”
His eyes flashed to mine. “No phones.”
“That was a safe phone.” My brows pulled. It was the only way for my mother to get in touch with me.
“No phone is safe,” he said, his voice leaving no room for arguments.
I let out a sputtered breath and crossed my arms. I could’ve argued and made a stink about it, but I kept replaying the image of him on the sand and decided to keep my mouth shut. What had he seen on that USB drive to make him do this 180? Maybe I’d find out before my brother and Dean got to the safe house. I wasn’t sure how far they were. I knew they were driving down from New York, but I didn’t know when they left. I didn’t even know where the hell I was. Before my trip to Naples, I’d never been to Florida. The only thing I had to go on was the highway signs, which didn’t tell me much. The last sign we passed said Port Saint Lucie. Whatever the hell that was. I brought my knees to my chest, closed my eyes, and slept.
* * *
“Get up. We’re here.”
I heard the words spoken angrily in my dream. At least, I thought it was a dream until a door shut loudly and jolted me awake. I rubbed my eyes and yawned as I sat up and looked around. Wherever we were, it was pitch black. In front of the car, I saw Rocco walking toward a house with our bags in his hands. I unbuckled my seatbelt, slipped my feet into my slides, and got out of the car. As I shut the door, I realized pebbles covered the entire perimeter. Each step made a crunching sound as I walked to the house. We were in a very remote location, judging by the darkness and endless trees around us. The building stood two stories tall, mostly enclosed in glass, except for the parts shrouded by gray siding. It was a sleek, modern-looking structure with no curves or angles to its shape; even the roof was flat. Despite its plainness, it was beautiful — something you’d expect to find on an architect’s Instagram page. Inside, Rocco flicked on the lights, switched off the alarm, and shut the door behind us, double-bolting it. I wondered how my brother and Dean would get inside if we were asleep.
“Grab onto something.” He said it with such displeasure that I wasn’t sure he was talking to me until he turned those cold blue eyes on me. A shiver went down my spine. What the hell was wrong with him? “Grab onto something,” he gritted out, jaw tensing.
I grabbed the first thing I could reach: the post of the stairs. He pushed a button. There was a whirring sound, like a loud air conditioner, and the entire house was moving suddenly. My eyes widened as I looked around. It was like being in an elevator, like the freaking Bat Cave. A few things clattered where I assumed the kitchen was, but everything else seemed to stay intact. The house did a little rock when we stopped moving, and the whirring sound ceased. Rocco pushed off the wall and started walking further into the house as if that was normal.
“What the hell?” I said, following him as he checked the thermostat. He ignored me. I followed him into the kitchen, which was also completely sleek and dark. He looked in the cabinets, opened a door that I assumed was the pantry, and kept moving around to ensure everything was intact. He was pissing me off.
“ROCCO.”
“What?” He was moving things around in the fridge, still ignoring me.
“Can you please look at me?” I asked, my voice breaking a little with the plea. I hated how I sounded, but I was confused, tired, and scared, and I didn’t know what I’d done to deserve his ire.
He shut the fridge and turned to me. “What?”
I swallowed. “What just happened? Are we underground?”
“Yes.” He searched my face, and for a second, I thought maybe his anger had dissipated, but his eyes were still cold, and his expression was still blank even as he studied me. “It’s one of our safe houses. The safest since it’s underground, and no one would know to look for it.”
“What about the car?”
“No one comes out here. It’s private property, but if they do, it’s just a car parked in the middle of nowhere.” He stepped away from the fridge. “Help yourself to whatever you want. I’m going to set the bags upstairs.”
It was the most he’d said to me, and even though he sounded more like a drill sergeant, I was glad he was speaking. He walked out and left me staring. I didn’t need Emmaline to school me on mercurial men. I’d grown up with a father and two brothers who lost their shit in a blink. I usually just gave them space until they’d calmed down. Something about Rocco’s mood told me he wouldn’t calm down, though, and of course, I wanted to be the one to pull him from the darkness that had taken hold of him. Instead, I gave him space. I made two sandwiches, ate one, and left the other for him. I cleaned up the kitchen and walked around the first story.
Abstract art decorated the walls, and it felt homey enough that we could stay there for months. I crossed my arms to fight a shiver at that thought. I’d never been claustrophobic, but the thought of being down here for that amount of time made me uncomfortable. There was a guest room with a bed and a bathroom but no frills. I spotted a small plaque on the wall and walked over to it.Phil’s Bunker — est 1957. So, it had been a bunker at some point. I’d always pictured underground bunkers looking like someone’s garage but with canned foods. This was not that.
Despite my nervousness, I still managed to drag my feet upstairs. My bag was peeking out of the first room to the right. Two other doors were open, both bedrooms, and the fourth one was closed — presumably where Rocco would be staying. I was afraid to turn the knob and find it locked, so I went to my assigned room and shut the door before I showered and changed into my pajamas — loose black shorts and one of Gabe’s old Yale sweatshirts that fit me like a dress. I got into bed and turned on the television, flipping through channels to distract myself from thinking about what Rocco was doing in the room next door. Since I no longer had a phone, I depended on the clock next to the bed.
