Aunt Ava cries out as blood runs down his chin, but she doesn’t dare go to her husband. No, she stays in her corner, knowing damn well there’s nothing she can do. At this point, all she can hope is that my father spares her life.
“You son of a bitch,” Marco growls, wiping the blood off.
My father pulls the gun from the waistband of his dress slacks and points it down at his brother.
“John!” He throws up his hands, eyes so dark they’re almost black, pleading with my father to spare his life. “Come on. We’ll figure this out. I swear it wasn’t me …”
My father pulls the trigger.
I jump, momentarily deafened by the sound except for the ringing in my ears. Ava cries out, falling to the floor. Bringing her knees to her chest, she openly sobs.
I look back at my uncle. He never did live up to the expectations of the Bianchi family. My father was born in the Mafia, and he will die in it, but his younger brother always played a role. Marco has wanted out for years, and this was the only way he was going to get it. Putting a bullet in his head was John Bianchi’s way of sparing him. He could have made my uncle suffer.
He turns to face my aunt. “No!” she screams. “Please …” She shakes violently as tears run down her face, smearing the makeup she put on earlier. It’s their anniversary. We caught them on their way out to dinner to celebrate fifteen years of marriage.
“Strip,” my father orders.
“Please …!” She sobs, shaking her head.
“Remove your dress. Now!” he shouts.
Using the window for support, she slowly gets to her feet. With shaky hands, she undoes the hook that holds her dress around her neck. It falls down her chest, stomach, and hips before pooling around her black heels. Her frail body shakes as she covers her bare breasts with her arms.
My father smiles at her, obviously happy with what he sees. Or what he doesn’t see. A wire. Someone has been feeding information to the feds, and he suspects it’s her. But the things that have gotten back to my father were spot-on, so if she wasn’t the snitch, then her husband was.
He walks over to her, grips her auburn hair, and jerks her head back. Placing the gun under her chin, he shows no emotion as she closes her eyes and sobs uncontrollably. “You keep your goddamn mouth shut; do you understand me?”
She begins to nod, but he shoves her head back farther with the barrel of the gun.
“Fucking say it, Ava!” he growls in her face.
“Keep … my ... mouth … shut,” she chokes out.
He releases her, and she cries out when he shoves her to the floor once again. Turning to face me, he places his gun back in his waistband. Coming over to me, he says, “Never let anyone stand in your way, son. Not even fucking blood. They’ll be the first to undercut you, and they should be the first to die for it.”
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ACKNOWLEDGMENTS
First I would like to thank my fabulous assistants, Christina Santos, Lauren Lesczynski, Book Bre, and Melissa Cunningham. These ladies are amazing. Without them, I would be lost.
I would like to thank my editors. Thank you so much to Jenny Sims and Amanda Rash. You two ladies are amazing.
And a big thank you to my betas and proofreaders. Thank you to these wonderful ladies who took their time to read over my story.
To my cover designer, Shanoff Designs. Thank you for this gorgeous cover. I’m obsessed with it.
Thank you to the photographer, Michelle Lancaster for this amazing cover photo.
And thank you to the model, Matt Orchard. I saw this pic and knew it was Cross.
A big thank you to my formatter and friend, CP Smith. Thanks so much for your help! You always make my words look so pretty.
I want to thank my publicist, Sarah Ferguson with Social Butterfly PR. You are absolutely amazing!
I want to thank my Sinners. A big thank you to my street team, you’re always there for me helping spread the word. I thank you so much for that.
And last but not least, my readers. Thank you for taking a chance and wanting to read my books. I hope that you all love them as much as I do.