I threw back my head and laughed. “How is that fair?”
In the span of four heartbeats, two chairs screeched, and all guns had been drawn. I was the quickest draw, and my gun was aimed at the old man’s head. Arturo, Achille, and his son had their guns aimed at me.
“It doesn’t matter if I die.” I raked my teeth over my bottom lip. “I’m already dead.”
“Marietta isn’t.” Arturo smiled. “Once you’re dead—no second chances this time, Vittorio—we’re going to find her and kill her. It won’t be an easy death.”
I grinned, but it was far from pleasant. “This time I don’t get a front row seat to watch?”
Achille grinned, his resemblance to the joker never so strong as when his lunacy turned up a notch. “You’ll get to watch, Pretty Boy Prince. This time, though, I’m the one who’ll be doing the fucking. I’ve seen your girl. Nice ass. Nice mouth, too.”
I had to keep my head on straight, keep my temper cool, or he had already won. “You didn’t find her before. You’ll never find her now.”
“We’ll find her,” Arturo said. “We know what she looks like now. We know her friends.”
“She’s under the Faustis’ protection. Kill me.” I shrugged. “She’ll still be safe.”
“You’re good at making deals with the devil, Vittorio. I’m sure that one will cost you your soul.”
“It cost me nothing, since I’m the spawn of the devil,” I said in Italian. The King and the Joker only had certain words. Both of them hated it when I spoke my mother’s language. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about Palermo.”
“What about Palermo?” Arturo’s thoughts worked behind his eyes. He was questioning everything he thought he knew about Corrado Palermo’s death. Was he still alive?
“Ask Achille,” I said.
“Achille. What is he talking about?”
Achille stared at me with such hatred that I was surprised the gun didn’t go off from his heat alone. “He’s talking nonsense, Pop. You going to listen to a cowardly ghost?”
None of them caught the slight movement I made, not until I slipped the paper from my pocket and set it on the table. A second later, Vito became a little too trigger-happy and pulled the trigger. The bullet grazed my arm, my coat taking the hit, and then stuck into the brick wall.
One thing about the whiz kid, he had terrible aim. There was a reason why Arturo kept him behind a computer screen. That was where he excelled in weaponry.
“What the fuck, Vito!” Achille slapped him so hard behind the head that the kid’s glasses slipped down his nose.
Vito’s cheeks heated, before his eyes turned even meaner—on me. I was wrong. He had one feeling going for him. Resentment.
The mishap with the gun gave Arturo the chance to read the note I’d slipped him. The look on his face fed my revenge.
Arturo lifted the paper. “You were plotting with Palermo.”
“What?” Achille’s face scrunched up. He went to take the paper, but Arturo held it away from him. “Let me see it, Pop.”
Arturo stared at him a second longer before he handed it over. Achille’s eyes scanned the page. “This is bullshit!”
“Is it?” My tone was so light and carefree. “Palermo was a hoarder. He made a habit to write everything down. He kept journal after journal. You see, he thought he was going to make it out of this life alive. Rumor had it that he was trying to become the new King of New York, but the truth was that he wasn’t trying to become king, but the new king’s most trusted advisor.”
“Bullshit!” Achille roared, the gun starting to shake.
“Palermo had no reason to lie. It’s all there.” I nodded to the paper in his hand. “He had inside information, which you blamed Carlo, the rat playing two sides, for giving him. It was you all along. You gave Palermo the knife and ordered the hit on him.” I nodded to Arturo, whose mind was click, click, clicking, all of the pieces falling in place.
Arturo had been so busy being blinded by my pretty-boy looks and my sharp mind that he never saw the true snake in his house.
Achille was the reason Palermo put his family in danger. He wanted to rule next to Achille, and he based his decisions on promises built from lies. Then when it all went bad for Palermo, Maria knew that she was the only living link who could shed light on the situation—and once Palermo was gone, Achille would make sure she followed behind. Her daughter, too, for good measure.
After I’d gone back to the house Palermo owned when he worked for Arturo, I started to dig. My main goal was to find a picture or two of Maria to give to Mariposa. If something were to happen to me, I wanted to make sure she had those memories.
I uncovered so much more.
It seemed like Mariposa got something from her father after all—the need to keep a journal.
Essentially, Achille had convinced Arturo that I needed to disappear after letting Marietta live. He had hammered it into Arturo that since I had saved Palermo’s daughter, I’d lie to save my life. However, looking back, knowing what I did after reading Palermo’s recollections, I realized that not only did Achille want me dead so he could have the entire kingdom, he wanted me dead because he had no idea what Mariposa’s mother had told me before she died, or Palermo himself for that matter.
Achille didn’t try another hit on Arturo because it would’ve been too suspicious. Arturo’s trusted group was small, and his locations were not known until he had already arrived. It would’ve been too blunt of a move. With me gone, things were simple. All he had to do was bide his time.
We all stood with our guns drawn, waiting, Arturo’s gun pointing straight at my heart. Then Arturo’s hand moved, and his bullet hit Vito straight in his heart. The boy hit the wall, slid down, his glasses askew, his mouth hanging open.
Arturo turned his gun toward Achille, but with the speed of youth, Achille whipped his gun up to Arturo’s head and pulled the trigger. Arturo’s knees gave out and he fell to the floor. I didn’t miss the look on his face before he lost the battle with death, though—anger. He was always so fucking hateful, and not even death could steal it from him.
Achille and I circled each other, our weapons still drawn.
“Even for a dead man, you lose, Vittorio.” He sniffed. “You always considered me the dumb one. I might not be as smart as you, but shit happens for a reason, and I’m good at piecing things together. I had a vision while I was at the hospital earlier today, digging through the morgue, looking for my missing son. Tito Sala. He saved you that night.”
“One shot, Achille,” I said, sick of the game. But the mention of my uncle’s name had me hesitating to pull the trigger. If he had Tito, there was no telling what kind of sick game he had in play. “One of us is going to finish this. One shot. That’s all you have to kill me this time.”
Achille took a step back, going for the kitchen. I moved with him, move for move. He stopped right outside of the room, where there was a closet for hanging up coats. Arturo had it put in because he didn’t like anyone touching his things. After Palermo, he thought twice about what, or who, could bring him down. “Unforeseen circumstances are a bitch, Vittorio.”