Page 136 of I Will Revel in Glory (Death by Daybreak MC 3)
“You will never walk outside these walls without a leash. You’re a useful political tool, that’s all you’ve ever been.”
Her words echo in my head as I stick the straw of my drink in my mouth and suck up some of the liquid. I don’t swallow any though. Not only am I pregnant—so weird—but also, I can’t allow myself to be incapacitated by anything.
My head must be clear for this.
“We don’t actually have to gamble,” Tre throws out with a scoff. He clearly can’t stand Dena, but since she’s the most popular girl at Ashbury besides Tina, he puts up with her. Because that’s what his life is about, stupid, insignificant things like popularity or football. He doesn’t live and breathe death and destruction, doesn’t revel in the simple things, like the air in his lungs or his safe, easy neighborhood and his safe, easy future. “We’re here for drinks and ambiance.” He gestures with his head toward the back of the casino. “There’s all sorts of shit here: a huge arcade, a pool area with a hot tub and a sauna, shops, a second bar area with live music. Don’t be such a stuck-up bitch, Dena.”
They’re bickering, but I’m not listening.
Instead, I lift my gaze up to peer at Giulia from beneath my eyelashes, as if I’m just a demure blonde on Tre’s arm. No, I’m anything but that. I have the ghosts of all three of my siblings inside of me. I have Queenie’s strength and Posey’s sass, Gaz’s endless rage.
“This drink sucks,” I say with a shrug, pushing the bright blue whatever it is toward the center of the table. “I’m going to get something else from the bar.”
“You want me to grab it?” Tre offers up, but I’m already standing and Crown is in my goddamn ear.
“Don’t get too close to her,” he warns me, but I don’t plan on it.
“Nah, I’m good,” I offer up with a coy, little smile, scooting past him and heading in the direction of the bar. I lean my forearms against the surface of it and then flick a glance toward Giulia’s table.
“Keep an eye on her. As soon as she leaves the lounge, figure out where she’s going without getting too close,” Crown continues.
“I want to hurt her so fucking badly,” I whisper, just before the bartender swings my way, and I order a ginger ale. You’d think I’d ordered a punchbowl of vodka for the way the guy looks at me, like I’m completely nuts.
“I know, Gidge. I know. But keep it together.”
I accept my drink with a smile and toss a ten on the counter, taking a seat on one of the stools to sip it. My stomach is roiling with nausea, but I don’t think it’s the pregnancy. I’m in the presence of monsters, and my own inner monster can sense it.
I subtly shift my gaze back to the table only to notice that another man has joined Giulia, one of his big hands on her slender shoulder. The way his fingers tense imperceptibly against her skin, I know right away who this is. Her lover. A man named Cosimo Balotelli, a capo for the Grey Wolfe Mafia. A capo is short for caporegime, which is basically like a captain who heads a group of soldiers.
In this case, Alvise’s tactical team.
The majority of the other people have drifted away toward another table, leaving Giulia and Cosimo alone.
“This is for you,” he tells her in a velvety baritone, and I swear to fuck, my brain literally snaps in half.
This is for you.
This is for Kian.
This is for Kian.
This is for Kian.
I turn sharply toward the man in the black-on-black suit and tie, and I feel my heart lurch strangely in my chest. I recognize his voice. I recognize it because it’s been playing in my mind for years, a relentless requiem that leaves my soul just a bit colder, a bit more bereft, every time I hear it.
I would recognize that voice anywhere, could pick it out of any crowd.
The man hands Giulia a red rose which she brings to her nose, smiling devilishly as she flicks her dark gaze back toward Cosimo’s face.
“You always know how to please a woman,” she murmurs, looking back toward the rose and closing her eyes as she breathes in its scent. “I’ll meet you in five.”
“I’ll be waiting patiently,” Cosimo purrs, his accent decidedly American, despite his very Italian sounding name. He takes off with smooth, confident strides, and I turn back to my drink.
“We need to know where they’re headed,” Crown tells me, his voice edged with that impossible authority. “Figure that out, but don’t follow them.”
“Yes, sir,” I whisper, staring into my drink and trying to keep my hands from shaking. I wait for Giulia to stand up, abandoning my ginger ale on the counter, and then I follow behind her at a safe distance.
