Page 1 of Sparrow

Prologue

ARDEN

The minute Stella starts giggling, I know we’re in trouble.

Actually, that’s a fucking lie. I knew we were in trouble the moment she told us about this terrible, stupid, definitely going to get us in trouble plan.

I’m bored, she said. Let’s do something fun, she said. It’ll be easy, she finished.

God, I’m stupid. Because every time she comes up with a plan, I’m the idiot who actually says yes.

I look her up and down, taking in the stark black hair and eyes as dark as coal, the mouth caught in a grin that tells me she has even more news and the slant of her eyes defining that news as trouble.

And despite myself, despite every bone in my body telling me that we’re about to get in so much trouble we’ll never get out of it, I grin.

Because when Stella Fontenot gets that look in her eyes, it generally means two things: 1. We’re about to do something really stupid and 2. We’re going to have one hell of a time doing it.

Oh, and a third point as well: We’ll actually end up being just fine. Because Stella Fontenot’s dad is one of the most important mobsters in the city–one of the heads of the Poffo clan–and that carries some weight in this town. Weight that Stella wears like a fucking mink stole.

My eyes slide to the other member of our little trio, and my grin gets slightly bigger. Taryn Matthews doesn’t sound like she should be anyone special, but when it comes down to it, her stepdad is also high up in the mafia–second-in-command in the Massimo leadership–and that makes her more important than she likes to admit. Not untouchable, but certainly safe.

And me?

Well. A lower-level Rossi, if you must know. Daughter to one of the cousins, though last time I bothered to check, he wasn’t high enough to throw his weight around. If I get in trouble, he won’t come to save me.

The bastard’s never liked me enough to bother.

But Stella and Taryn won’t leave me behind. They never have.

None of which makes this idea any better.

I pull my attention back to the matter at hand and notice just in time that Stells is slumping over the table in her glee, and about to go boobs-first into the remains of our meal.

“Stella, careful!” I his, snatching at the glasses. We’ve been drinking milkshakes and the table is littered with the remains, the glasses still half full and the plate of cheese fries still sporting the last of its bounty. I shove everything out of the way and glare at her. We’re in our favorite diner in the middle of the fucking night–after closing, mind you–and supposed to be planning, and she’s acting like we’re on some sort of party cruise.

Without the whole boat/water situation.

Instead, it’s icy and cold outside, two days before Christmas, and the sky above us is that halfway sort of black New York gives you at night. Snow is coming down like we’re in some sort of Christmas movie, and the diner around us is...

Not as quiet as it should be, given that it’s supposed to be closed. Before I can follow that thought, though, I catch Stella’s glare.

“Grow up, Arden,” she mutters. “Those cups are empty. And we’ve got planning to do.”

I make a face at her and finish moving the cups. The last time I checked, planning didn’t mean drawing as much attention as possible, but I bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut.

Arguing with Stella will just make her louder. I know from experience.

I turn to try to find a waiter, wondering if I can get the dishes removed entirely, and suddenly remember the thought I had moments ago, about this place having too many people in it. I glance at my watch and then back up, doing the math quickly. The cafe has been officially closed for half an hour, but there are still four other men in here. And they’re sitting way too close.

I tell myself I’m being paranoid–that I’ve spent too long in the shadow of the mafia–but then one of the men looks up and meets my eye, and I don’t think I’m wrong. He’s way too awake for after midnight on a Tuesday, and far too focused on a bunch of girls sitting in their favorite corner booth.

Something is wrong.

“Stella, did you tell Joe to keep the place open for other patrons?” Taryn asks behind me.

I turn back to the table and see her eyes on the same man, and thank God for that. Stella wouldn’t listen to me if I said anything–why would she, when I’m the least of the three of us?–but Taryn’s her best friend, and if she’s questioning it, surely Stella will take it seriously.

Look, I know those two are important and everything, and I do trust them to get us out of any mess we get into, but even I have limits. And those men sitting around us are stepping all over them.