Page 66 of Vicious Secrets
Siro curses under his breath and lets go of my hands.
“You had to Google what a starfish is?” My mouth gapes as I turn to face Vittore.
With his hands on my waist, Siro pushes me out from between his legs before he moves to the top of the bed.
“To translate! The fuckin’ weirdo wanted to know how his fish is! Which, if he entrusted it in Renzo’s care, either his comrades or Ari probably killed it last night!”
Siro clears his throat. “I love you both, but I need you two to leave.”
He cannot be serious. He’s in no condition to do anything above sitting upright. I narrow my eyes at Vittore, and he holds his hands up in defense as he backs out of the room.
I sit down next to Siro and put my hand on his back between his shoulder blades. He tenses for a breath, and then the muscles under my hand relax.
“I know, I know. I’m in shock and a pint low,” he says after a harsh swallow. “But I need to call Alic. We have to figure out how to deal with Reg and Carista. And find out what your mother meant by ‘men who like mob girls.’”
My stomach curdles as a realization hits me. “Sea star” is code for something. Something so sinister it distresses Siro.
Chapter 20
Siro
Thereisn’tasoulin my office who looks well-presented or put together. Somehow, Ari, Danny, and Vi look worse than I do. Alic looks like he’s gotten a few hours of sleep or taken a handful of uppers. Tiff has the best excuse of us all. Yet she’s not wearing the same clothing I last saw her in, doesn’t have bags under her eyes, and isn’t nursing a drink.
But she is on the verge of the same nervous breakdown the rest of us are careening toward.
“We make it look like Renzo killed Reg. And Carista. That’s it. That’s my plan,” Vi says and takes a shot of whiskey.
“Won’t work, Renzo lost too much blood at home, and the TOD isn’t close enough. We make it look like Reg killed Renzo. Then when confronted, he murder-suicided with Carista. It’ll cover all of our asses for why we didn’t alert the other Capos and shit.” Ari crosses his arms over his chest. “Also, we don’t know if the Russian on the phone was telling the truth.”
Tiff shifts in her spot on the edge of my desk. She rubs her upper arms. “Brush it off as a woman’s intuition if you want, but to me, it felt like the truth.”
I fight the urge to flick my gaze over to Alic. Our earlier conversation over the phone temporarily turned him rabid. I don’t want to accidentally bring that rage back to the surface.
Back in November, after the oath ceremony, Alic privately spoke to me about the Bratva. He mentioned a nickname given to his sister Cirilla by Leontiy Victorovich. Prior to Alic’s story, I’d already heard that the Bratva’s new leader was a crazy cunt. Discovering that thePakhanapproached Alic to ask for Cirilla’s hand in marriage mademeconcerned for theRussian mob’s future. Their leader is a masochistic psychopath who’s one mediocre acid trip away from declaring war on the moon.
From what little Alic shared with me, his interactions with thePakhanwere limited and bloody-knuckled. So he’s not exactly an impartial judge of Leontiy’s character. But I trust Alic’s judgment nonetheless.
“Boss, I think Ari’s idea is the only way to cover everything up.” Alic’s voice cleaves through the room like an eight-foot broadsword.
Vi eyes meet mine as he passes the whiskey bottle to Danny. Using my body language, I warn him not to question Alic. He shrugs his agreement. Shit. His look isn’t about picking someone’s plan; he’s confused about “sea star.” Join the club, my brother in Christ. The information Alic gave me only adds to the mystery. I doubt Google has answers about sea star’s horrible taste in lovers…
“Assuming my father knows the truth, we sentence my parents to death and stage a murder-suicide, correct?” I drum my fingers on my desk and look around the room. There’s a chorus of agreements. “And if my father didn’t know?”
“He’ll kill you when he finds out,” Tiff says softly.
I scrub my face with my hands. I’m numb and not from blood loss. The hollowness in my chest is different than anything I’ve ever felt before. It’s like my ribcage is full of dry rot. Each beat of my heart and breath I take gives me a sensation that feels like my heart and lungs dried out into jerky. The ache in my joints is one of restless turmoil. It’s similar to what I felt on Thanksgiving when I let sobs and sadness wrack my body. But I’ve cried no tears, and there is no sadness to be found.
I don’t know what all of these feelings add up to, but I think I skipped a few steps in the grieving process by pre-grieving my parents years ago. Reg and Carista gave me a roof over my head, a full belly at every meal, and an education. But they weren’t my parents. How can I grieve what I never had?
My real family sits within the hallowed walls of my penthouse. Robyn. Mel and Vittore. Tiff and Danny.
“Staging is the easy part, Boss,” Ari pipes up. His gaze is on Tiff’s back. “The tough part is who’s doing the killing and when.”
“The five of us go to maintain our cover.” Alic gestures at himself, me, Ari, Danny, and Vi. “Siro can confront them privately and make the decision day of. But we need to act soon.”
Tiff lets out a shaky exhale and presses the back of her hand to her mouth.
I look away from my aunt. “Fuck it. We go tomorrow.”
