Hunter (3 page)

“You're still awake?” Darien asked, walking into the front room. He loosened his tie as his eyes fell on me. They skirted over my feet on the back. “What's wrong?”

“Why does something have to be wrong for me to be up late? I'm not tired, that's all.” I dropped my feet down and sat up, crossing my legs instead. “How was work?”

“It was work. Stopped her getting groped by tons of fans and almost got arrested for shoving an over-enthusiastic photographer out of the way. It still amazes me that of all the cities in America, your mother chose this one.” He pulled his tie out and undid the top button of his white shirt.

“You could move, you know. You don't have to stay here.”

“We've already discussed this,
scuro
.”

“Yeah, yeah, I know.”

“Good. Now tell me why you're really up late. I know you're tired because I can see the shadows beneath your eyes. Rossi still out?”

I shook my head. “He came back after presumably failing to find any food.” And they say cats bring us humans dead birds and things to feed
us.
The only time my cat has ever brought me anything is when he pulled the salmon off the kitchen counter and wanted to eat it at my feet.

“He's a pathetic excuse for a cat.” Darien sits back in the armchair and rests his ankle on his other knee. “Now what's up?”

“Geez, you're like a dog with a bone, ain'tcha?”

“Yes, because the only time you hide things from me is when it's bad, so I know this is bad.”

“Who says I'm hiding anything?”

His answer was the raise of his eyebrows.

“You shouldn't do that,” I told him. “It'll give you even more wrinkles.”

Which was bullshit, because the man was fifty and barely had a single damn wrinkle.

“You and I are this close,” he pinched his finger and thumb together in front of his face, “to fighting over this.”

I sighed heavily and rolled my eyes. “Gaige came over earlier.”

“Are you finally going to go on a date with the poor guy? He's been pining for years.”

“
Darien
. No. And he's not pining—he's my best friend. He just happens to have a perpetual potential boner where I'm concerned.” This conversation would be awkward, but Darien's always insisted that he was the 'fun uncle' and not a father, so he's gotta deal.

“Only potential?” he questioned, one eyebrow quirked.

“True,” I acquiesced. “Maybe it's not potential
all
the time.” I guess that it is a literal boner occasionally. Depends what I'm wearing. Luckily, today was a sweats day, not that it thwarted his attempt.

“Okay, so if it wasn't his attempt to date you, then what is it?”

I licked my dry lips slowly. I could feel them chapping as my tongue slipped over my lower one. “You know how Angelo went to Chicago last week?”

Darien sat up straight, his foot dropping back to the floor. It was quick, and I knew he was one hundred percent listening to me. “Yes.”

I wrung my hands together, then forced myself to stop, clasping them in my lap instead. I met his dark brown eyes with fear bundling in my belly. “He heard Gino's
consigliere
talking to my father's.”

His fists clenched. “Go on.”

“He didn't hear much, but my father thinks I'm alive.”

Darien squeezed his eyes shut, then pinched the bridge of his nose. “When did he hear it? And is that all?”

“Yes.”

“Armo should have called us,” he bit out, referring to Angelo and Gaige's father. “Straight away.”

“I know. I told Gaige before he left, but he shrugged and said he told his dad to. It was only when he realized he hadn't called you that he came over.” I tucked my hair behind my ear. “What do we do?”

He took a deep breath, still pinching his nose, and leaned forward. His elbows rested on his knees and he glanced up to meet my eyes. “We see if we can find out more. Not everyone in the Romano hierarchy is entirely loyal to your father, Addy. They stay for their safety, but it's how I've been able to keep you safe.”

“So you can find out what my father's plan is?”

“Not necessarily.” He sighed. “If it was common knowledge in the family, I would have known already. I will try to find out, but it sounds like this is information your father wants to keep close to him.”

“Because they already think I'm dead,” I said softly. “And if I'm not, he will be questioned.”

“Precisely. And if he's questioned, his time as Don is over.”

“Good. He shouldn't fucking be there anyway.”

“I know,
bambina.
” Darien stood and walked to me. He dropped a kiss on the top of my head, then turned away. “Don't stay up too late. You have class at eight.”

“I know.” I smiled up at him.

He reached the doorway and looked at me. “You will be safe, Adriana. I promise you.”

“I know,” I repeated, still smiling.

I hoped.

Rain hammered against the window as the car sped down the road toward the Hamptons. Frustration had been coiled in my stomach for the last twenty-four hours—ever since I'd first heard the rumors.

That Adriana Romano was alive.

I was sure I'd lost my fucking mind—or that the people who'd started the rumor had. There was no way she was still alive. She'd died in a car crash with Alexandria when she was thirteen and I was fifteen. I fucking remember being told. I remember finding out that she was dead.

I went to the fucking funeral.
I cried my broken heart out over her white and gold casket.

And for what? To find out ten years later that she might be alive?

I was a clusterfuck of searing emotion. I wanted to slam my fist into a wall, just to see the plaster break, at the same time I wanted to tell everyone to leave me the hell alone so I could cry like a pussy.

Ten years.

Ten. Mother. Fucking. Years.

Enzio Romano. My boss. Her father. Godfather of the Romano family. Now the idea was in my head, there was every damn chance he'd been lying through his damn teeth when he told us she was dead. I remember his tears as he struggled to get the words out—as he spun a web of sick lies for his own agenda. As he sobbed as he described Darien's crash.

Suicide mission, he'd called it. He'd found the note in Darien's room.

He was sickly in love with Alexandria, and couldn't stand the fact that she wouldn't divorce Enzio. The only way to be with her was death, and the
bastardo
had killed his
bambina
with his wife.

But maybe it was all a lie... Every last word.

I hated him. Enzio. I wanted to rip his throat out with my bare hands, but I couldn't. I had to be numb, pretend I didn't care, be the killer he'd raised me to be.

Because that's all I was to him. Not the man his daughter once loved. Not the fourteen year old boy who promised his twelve year old daughter than no one would ever touch her and that one day he'd marry her, just to make sure of it.

A killer.

Born, raised, and groomed. There was so much blood on my hands I could barely see the lines of my palms. Lord only knew that my knuckles were scarred. My fingers were calloused, and I constantly believe it was a miracle that my nails weren't stained with gunpowder from all the triggers I'd pulled.

I didn't want to think of the number. Mental tally or not. I hated myself for what I was, but there was no other choice.

There was only one way out of the family: death.

I sometimes thought death would be a welcome reprieve from the guilt I carried around from all the lives I'd taken. Thoughtlessly, too... I didn't even spare a thought for the people I was instructed to kill. Not their families, not their friends. Husbands, wives, mothers, brothers... children.

None. Not a single thought.

If I did, I'd never pull the trigger.

The trigger would be pulled on me.

I ran my fingers through my hair and looked out of the window. I was certain we were breaking the speed limit, but you didn't argue with a Romano driver under the orders of Enzio.

“Pack a bag,” he'd said to me an hour ago. “I have a job for you.”

So I packed a bag and got in the car when it came. You didn't argue with Enzio Romano. Unless you wanted to die, of course. I'd be lying if I said I'd never toyed with the idea... Just to escape.

I knew escape would never fucking come. I was too good with a gun, too steady, too coordinated. There was no chance of me ever being an associate or having a simple job. It was my own fault. My own, stupid, natural fucking talent kept me alive.

Because it was easier to pull the trigger on others than on myself.

Because I was a fucking chicken in a wolf's outfit.

The driver turned into the Hamptons. It occurred to me that perhaps I should ask him his name, how his day's going, all that menial shit you're expected to do, but he hadn't showed any signs of wanting conversation, so I hadn't indulged in it.

I was grateful. The last thing I needed when I was being sent on a job was to talk to someone. I wanted to walk in, get my job, then walk right back out again. No frills or fucking fancies.

I hated frills and fucking fancies.

I watched the raindrops as they slid down the window. I focused solely on them, clearing my mind of any thoughts and washing away every emotion I felt. The mundane paths the drops trailed on the glass was welcome.

Mundane was good. Mundane was raw. Numb. Unfeeling. Mundane was necessary.

The car pulled up outside the giant house I recognsied so well. The heart of the Romano family, and Enzio Romano's unsuspecting fortress.

I pushed open the door and got out before the driver could do it. I didn't need his help to get out of a damn car. I left my belongings inside it, because my next stop was the private airstrip where Enzio's jet would be waiting to take me to wherever I needed to be. The car wouldn't move.

The door opened as I walked in. I picked lint off my coat as I passed Enzio's butler—I never did learn his name, and I doubted I ever would. My shoes squeaked against the flawlessly clean wooden floor, and I turned down the hall that lead to Enzio's office. His bodyguard, known only to everyone as Socci, was standing outside, his arms crossed in front of his chest. The large mahogany door he was guarding made him look small, although I knew he was six foot six and at least three hundred pounds of pure muscle.

If I didn't know I could put a bullet between his eyes quicker than he could mine, I'd be afraid of him.

Socci reached behind him and opened the door with a brisk nod in my direction. I returned the acknowledgment with a jerk of my head and walked through the door with my hands in my coat pockets.

Enzio was sitting behind his desk, his face hidden behind a book. It didn't hide his hair, though. It was black, streaked with silver strands that gave away his age. He didn't acknowledge my presence until I was sitting down, my hands removed from my pockets and resting on my lap. “Carlo.”

“Boss.” I inclined my head in his direction.

He shut his book and lay it on his desk. His hands, rough, like mine, came together in front of his body, touching only at the fingertips. He looked at me then. His eyes were such a dark brown they verged on being black, and if you didn't know the man, they were black.

Soulless.

They were the eyes of a dangerous man.

“I have a job for you.”

“I'm ready for it.”

“That's it,” he said, his voice flat. “I don't know if you are.”

“Why don't you tell me and let me be the judge of it?”

He stared at me. The air sizzled with tension, and I knew that if I were anyone else, I'd have felt his fist against my jaw for that. “My wife and daughter,” he said slowly, watching my expression.

I fought to keep it blank. “Are dead, Boss.”

“Are not dead.” His correction was swift, and his words dripped with ice. “They never were dead, I believe.”

My heart clenched painfully. The rumors were true. “I don't understand.”

“Alexandria and Adriana are alive and living in Los Angeles. I believe, but I cannot prove, that the Pontarelli family has been protecting them.”

“So punish the Pontarellis.” Every word stung. Fuck.

“They're useful allies to have. Keep an eye on activity south of the border. Stop those fuckin' cartels getting too big for their cheap-ass britches.” He smirked. “But my wife and my daughter are alive. This puts me in a bad position, Carlo.”

I didn't respond. He didn't want me to. I could see the thoughts organizing themselves behind his eyes as he stood.

“There are people, inside and outside, of this family, who believe they are dead. They need to continue believing that, or we will go to war with them. I'm unwilling to do that.” The drawer squeaked as he pulled it open and removed a handgun. He set it on his desk, next to the book. Slowly, oh so fucking slowly, he slid it across the desk toward me.

My eyes followed its path. It was a Colt M1911, .45ACP. It wasn't my favorite means of killing, but if that was the weapon the Boss wanted... I reached forward and grasped the handle, keeping my finger clear of the trigger, and stared at it. When I glanced back up, two bullets lay on the desk next to a silencer. I stared at the gold cases that wrapped around the deadly shots before looking up and meeting Enzio's questioning gaze.

He shut the drawer then leaned forward, his hands flat on the desk. His eyes, if possible, went even colder, darker... There was no humanity in them as they bore into mine with intensity. “Your job is to kill Alexandria and Adriana Romano. One shot each. Take care of them.”

I took a deep breath. My mind was buzzing. It was going crazy with the rumors and the confirmation, the thoughts blocking out all emotion.

The gun felt ten times heavier. It was like holding a ton of granite in my palm.

And Enzio was right.

I wasn't ready.

I put the gun on the desk, aware of Enzio's calculating gaze scrutinizing my every move. I opened my coat, then reached forward for the silencer and the bullets. I tucked them into the inner pocket on my right side, then picked up the 1911 and checked the magazine. It was empty, so I snapped it back into place.