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“Lou and Gia,” she says with a new steel in her voice.

“And he won’t stop there. He wants you and yours put down. He dies or we do. Capiche, Gingersnap?”

“Capiche.”

“Be the Comare, I know you are.” I watch her spine straighten and her neck lengthen. “Down here in the south it means Godmother like a Godfather, but in America it means mistress. You can choose which one you want to be.” I grin and everyone laughs.

Then she stops and says, “I’m ready. Let’s kill this fucking guy.” I’ll feel guilty about bringing Poppy to the dark side later. I’ll have a lifetime to pull her back to the light but tonight. Tonight. I need her to tuck away a piece of her humanity in order to save both our hearts.

I don’t stop as I take her hand and lead her out front to the car. I yell over my shoulder. “Don’t leave my dick in the wind, Dunne.”

“I’d never leave a man that exposed. I got your six.”

“You better have my whole fucking numerical system.”

I’m going to war with one fucking guy, a cranky lawyer, and the most precious thing in the world to me. I’m a fucking moron.

Chapter

Forty-One

Poppy

I concentrate on my job, and we all get to go home. Shoulders back, tits out. That’s what Sam used to say to us when we were nervous. But now that I think about it, the dude is into BDSM and probably trying to perv on his friends. Ugh.

Anyway, it’s always worked, so I’ll ignore the inappropriate realization. I have four ways to mark men with red glowy stuff. Brick’s crawling into the rafters right now with his rifle. He’ll have the shot and the drop on all of them. Becca mans the getaway van and uses the planted cameras to make sure Brick sees each one of them. There’s a tiny camera in my headband. It’s all very high tech and I didn’t ask where Brick got all this stuff in the course of an afternoon. Like does he have a spare micro-camera the way I travel with a spare pair of heels?

I’ve stopped shaking and each time I think of the bodies there’s a merciless part of me that grows. It’s fueled by protecting what’s mine and doing the right thing. I tried not to think of them all day but right now, I’m embracing it. The more I slide into the grey, the more I understand my husband and his inner turmoil.

My stomach growls, and I ignore it. But then I think about the fact that we’re in Italy. I wouldn’t mind eating a little something before the killing. Between the shock of the slaughter, holding Lou’s bloody parts, smacking Sal back into consciousness, the drive, the sex we slipped in while Becca and Brick were off grabbing our getaway van and you know, the possible dying, I forgot to eat.

I clutch his arm as he winds the cobblestone streets of Sorrento to bring us to the Trattoria that his family used to own. The owners immediately asked what they could do. As much as I thought the Five Families had each other’s backs, Italy is on another level.

He parks out front and walks more commandingly than I’ve seen in a while. He helps me out of the car. He is power. I watch him become that raw energy people are scared to tap into. He leans down and kisses my cheek. I feel it.

Primal feral, “Il potere.” I think about all the shit this man has tried to take from me. All the broken pieces that brought me here. I let my power slip a little into place. It fills me up as I breathe in. A shiver runs through me as pure rage skates over my skin. And my life clicks.

The same rage I’ve tempered with everything I’ve been taught in kitchens, or by teachers, either directly or by societal “norms”. Things I heeded and let mold me when all the women who surround me didn’t listen. Those strong women found their place without compromising who they are. Maybe it’s because I have a hole where my father should be, and I put too much stock in the rest of the world’s opinions and disregarded the positive attention from those who mean the most to me. I’m here now and it’s because of Sal Pietro. The only one to see all of me.

The voices of society I listened to for far too long start as a whisper in the back of my head and morph into the loving voices I should have believed long ago. Don’t talk too loud. Don’t talk too much. Fix your hair. Don’t tattle. Don’t be a burden. Don’t eat that. Don’t enjoy that too much. Be helpful. You’re helpless. Don’t be hysterical. Watch your language. He didn’t mean it. Curves are ok, but not too many. Be afraid. Don’t want sex. Don’t want it too much. Don’t want more. Calm down. Let me show you how to do that. Your shirt’s too low. Your skirt’s too short. Ask questions but not too many. No one asked you. Don’t be too shy or too friendly. And then the flip side spirals in my mind and turns it all upside down.

Be extra because that’s who you are. You’re what people need. Speak up. Be brave. Be you. You’ve got this. You’re more than enough. You’re remarkable. You are accepted. You’re perfect as you are. Wear whatever the hell you want. Be loud. Be bold. Be seen. Love surrounds you. Who cares what others think. You are more. Don’t hide your light. Your opinion matters. You matter a great deal. Go get what you want. We’ve got your back.

My lips curl into a sly smile built on the love of the five families that raised me and made me who I am. It’s for them my fear fades and my ire and confidence rise to a boiling point. Don’t fuck with my family. I let this fierce fire consume me, and I feel steady and balanced for the first time in my life. My whole body hums, click, click, boom as all the pieces of me notch into place.

“You’re gorgeous, Gingersnap. You’re scary as hell when you’re mad. Get fucking mad.”

I wink at him, “Oh, I am. I got this.” He kisses my hand and I narrow my eyes.

He looks forward to our welcoming crew and mutters. “Scary as hell.”

We walk in tandem, strong steps like a march into the restaurant that’s surrounded by guards, my heels clicking on the cobblestone announce me. He nods to a couple of the men who used to work for him and have become Enzo loyalists.

I become the Comare I now know I was born to be, but I’ll use the girl they’re expecting. I drop my bag on cue, and one of the men leans over to help me as Sal walks on. I touch the henchman’s arm and drag my finger down his forearm. One marked and only like twenty more to go.

“Thank you.”

“Yes, ma’am.”