Then the men had come and wrenched the door open, cutting me out of my seat. I’d screamed for Matvei, but he hadn’t responded. He was still unconscious—that was the last glimpse I had of him before the masked men shoved me into the windowless van and shut the doors.
“I told you not to worry if he wasunconscious,” Genevieve hisses. “I told you we would take care of that.”
The man backs up a step and shifts from foot to foot, turning and crumpling the hat in fingers that move faster and faster. “I was afraid he would shoot me if he was awake. I know he’s been looking for me since I set fire to his warehouse. You don’t fuck with that guy, Ms. Mancini.”
“You will address me asBoss, Mr. Jones, because I am now thedon of the Mancini family.” Genevieve’s voice is as cold as ice, and from the way the man’s face drains of color, I’m glad I can’t see her expression.
“Boss,” the man mutters as he takes another step back, edging toward the door only to come up against one of the big goons who dragged me out of the car and into this room. He looks more like a statue than a human, as do the four others in the room, and it’s very clear who’s in charge now.
The gun comes up, her thumb pushing off the safety. “Who are you more afraid of?”
Stuttering is the only answer she gets—the guy is too afraid to get any words out.
“Tell me!” I jump at Genevieve’s screech.
“You! I’m sorry,Boss. I did my best.” The man is babbling, his words rushing and tripping over each other like his feet would be if he could run. But he’s trapped like a rat. “Matvei Volkov would have recognized me. He would have recognized my car and known I was the one who set fire to his warehouse and shot him. I should have been?—”
I muffle a scream with a hand clapped to my mouth as the sound of a gunshot blasts through the room. Two more follow before there’s a heavythumpthat makes my stomach heave. The guy’s body hits the floor, leaving a growing crimson stain on the carpet.
“Yuck, what a mess.” Genevieve wrinkles her nose as she glances at me. “So annoying. Don’t worry—we’ll give you another room to stay in while you’re here so you don’t have to stare at the blood stain. I don’t want the babies to be in an unclean environment.”
I only nod because I’m not sure what the hell is going on.
“You know I have to assert my dominance now that I’mthe don,” Genevievecontinues. “Nobody wanted me, you know. None of the made men or otherdons. But after I orchestrated a few mutinies and a few ‘accidents,’ suddenly everyone decided it was in their best interest.”
The woman’s smile is glowing with happiness, and I’m wondering how I missed the glint of insanity in her eyes.
Who else has she killed besides this guy to make her point? Suddenly, a sickening thought comes to mind.
“Did you—” I swallow, willing my voice to sound normal instead of betraying my accusation. “Did you poisonyour father?”
“Of course I did.” She says it with a shrug, as if it should be clear. “He was getting too old and making bad decisions. He didn’t see my vision for the family.He also didn’t like my plan for the twins.”
“Your plan for the twins?” I echo faintly.
“Of course.” Again, she says it like I should know what she’s talking about, and I’m horribly afraid as I am beginning to see when I notice a man in scrubs pressing himself against the wall, his eyes darting around the room nervously.
“Gross.”
We all look toward the new voice as Samson wanders into the room, making a face at the body on the floor and the pool of blood soaking into the carpet around it. “Can someone get this shit out of here? I don’t want to have to look at it.”
He wanders across the room, calm, cool, and all smiles in his chinos and polo as though he just came in from playing golf. He kisses Genevieve affectionately, and she cuddles into him as he winds his arm around her waist.
“Everything okay with the twins?” he asks the man in scrubs. He pays no attention to me, the one who’s carrying them.
“Yes,” the doctor answers hastily. “Yes, everything’s just fine.”
“You’re not dead.” I say it flatly, hating the man in front of me more than ever.
“Of course I’m not dead. Wishful thinking, huh?” Samson winks at me and grins brightly, and I wish I could claw his eyes out.
I watch the two of them, the same “happy” couple I saw on the day of their wedding, and I realize it’s not happiness, at least, not in the sense of mostnewly-marriedcouples. They’ve each found their own monster.
“You never wanted to divorce him.” I don’t know why I say it—I already know the answer.
“No, but you believed me, didn’t you?” She looks at Samson, beaming. “I told you she would believe me. I’m such a good actress.”
Samson smiles at her with what I swearis pride,then looks at me. “She’s right. I actually gave youthe benefit of the doubt. I thought you were too smart to fall for it, but you and your bleeding heart believed every sob story Genny sold you. I guess I gave you too much credit.”
