Seven

M y eyes rake over the people situated throughout the room. The Saints members come from all walks of life, and large meetings like this are proof of that.

Yesterday, Nico called for an urgent meeting at The Quartet, a gentlemen’s club on the Upper East Side. Despite its nature, this place is strictly business. A safe place where our chapter meets and private matters can be discussed. Only Saints members are allowed.

Many secrets are held deep in the paint of these all-black walls. The best scotch man can buy is housed on the shelves, and the scent of premium cigars is embedded into the leather seats.

The flick of my brother’s lighter draws my attention to where he sits beside me on the leather two-seater. He grabs another cigar from the table in front of us and offers it to me, but the nervous energy I can’t shake has me reaching for my scotch glass instead.

“I’ve called this meeting today because I want to make sure you are all in the loop on this,” Nico’s voice booms, his attention directed to the sea of men before him.

“As most of you know, we have been keeping a close eye on Don Santini after the spike in fentanyl overdoses in this area. There are…” he pauses and chooses his words carefully, “people who brought this to our attention who are concerned about the change in leadership.”

From the moment I was brought into The Saints, it was never a secret about my stance on Junior or his father. Coincidentally enough, Nico happened to have a vendetta against the same two pieces of shit. Except for him, they’re his brother and nephew. Nico, along with the East Coast Saints chapter, want nothing more than to take the scum out of power. The problem was that someone else killed Gio before we could infiltrate and prove his deceit to the rest of the Mafia.

Nico wanted to give Junior a chance to see if the rumors of him being better than his father were true, but since he took over, the uptick in street drug overdoses in New York City have all led back to him. It’s no secret the Mafia has been dabbling in illegal dealings for years and years; however, they still have a code they live by. But Gio, and now his son, said, fuck the code , doing whatever will make them more money, no matter whose lives it costs.

“The Soldati our guys picked up at the gala gave us some interesting intel. Luckily for us, when you treat people like shit, they aren’t loyal to you, and Junior’s circle is dwindling quickly.”

The gala shooting was strategically planned, hitting only our intended target: the Santini family. Having the event as a fundraiser for medical aid allowed Trevor and me to infiltrate without suspicion. Nico, Bishop, and Leo were able to get the intel about what went down between the Mafia and the Bratva. And since we’re criminals with a conscience, we gave a huge donation from The Saints under an anonymous name.

“According to the Soldati, Junior used Castrovinci as his fall guy, resulting in the Russians demanding his head. Out of fear…Junior served up his own man.”

The thought sends ice rippling through my veins. There is no way he cares about Ashley if he’s willing to kill her father in cold blood to cover his own ass.

“Not just his own man, his father-in-law,” I spit, stopping myself from saying the man who gave him the most precious gift he could ever receive, even though he doesn’t deserve to even breathe the same air as her.

“What were the Russians accusing them of?” Orien, the head of The Saints founding chapter down in New Orleans, asks.

When I saw him here today, I knew Nico invited him for a reason, and I’m hoping it’s because we are closer to our end game. Orien and Nico are equals, but when big decisions are made by individual chapters, it’s customary to have the head of the New Orleans chapter’s approval. It's an unspoken law within the society to honor the founding chapter of The Saints.

“They have been selling cocaine to the Russians for years. This past year, he turned that trade over to Castrovinci. But we think that was all for show to get the heat off him because our sources tell us that he continues to deal with one of the Russian underbosses, selling them large amounts of pills on top of the coke.”

Leo speaks up this time. “Basically, Castrovinci was just the middleman, but everything was blamed on him. Down to the dirty pills laced with fentanyl. ”

So that explains the increase in overdoses, as well as why the Russians were out for blood.

There are three crime families that make up the Northeast. The Santini family, the Bratva, and the Amato family. All follow a code of conduct to keep the peace. Most important on that list is to not say or do anything that would affect the prosperity and well-being of another family.

Leo continues. “Junior had to make it look legit to everyone else, so it sounds like only the direct Soldati that guard him and his underboss, Joey, are the ones who know the truth…so far. Everyone else thought it was a drug deal gone bad and were ready for Russian blood, so Junior made them think they got it by showing them a body that he and Joey had mutilated themselves.”

Micah was told a completely different story from his boss. According to Junior, the son of the Bratva boss was found dead after partaking in drugs supplied as a gift from Micah and Ashley’s father, so they had him killed in return. Micah was suspicious that there was more to the story, which is why he agreed to help us and add more protection in place for Ashley.

“Does Micah know yet?” Trevor asks. “I know he isn’t one of us, but he’s a trusted resource, one I respect greatly, and he deserves to know this.”

Nico directs his attention to my brother and me. “I completely agree. And I know how close you and Trent are with him; he would probably rather hear it from one of you.”

I down the rest of my scotch in one gulp and lean back into my seat. My nerves run rampant and make me sick to my stomach. Micah has to keep his cool on this information, no matter how hard it is. Otherwise, Junior has no reason not to use Ashley as collateral against him.

This situation is even more fucked than I even realized.

Is she even going to show up?

My mind races as I burn a hole in my hotel room floor.

Maybe she’s running late, but then again, I did show up out of the blue and asked this of her.

Does she even trust me anymore?

Better yet…does she even love me anymore?

How is Micah taking what Trevor is telling him?

How will Ashley take it?

How can I knowingly let her stay in that house with that monster? It would be more dangerous to pull her out abruptly. Luca can protect her; it’s why he was put on the assignment.

An hour later, I’m lying on top of the bed with all my clothes on, accepting the reality that she likely isn’t coming.

What did I expect? In her eyes, I left and never looked back until now.

The same dark emptiness I’ve been flooded with every night creeps in. I try looking out the window to find the moon, but it's nowhere in sight over the city lights.

So I close my eyes and dream of her, desperately hoping one day I’ll have new memories to dance across the back of my eyelids when I sleep and the opportunity to create fresh ones each day.

Did me leaving the way I did snuff out that dream for Ashley forever? The nagging feeling in my gut churns at the thought and makes me restless .

Is the damage between us irrevocable?

Ashley

I'm practically wearing a path through the plush cream rug in the center of my sewing room as I pace back and forth. My sewing room, my refuge, my happy place…but it feels more like a cage now more than ever. This whole damn place feels like one. I can’t escape, can't roam freely… I'm stuck and at the mercy of someone else. Someone who has been on a rampage ever since the shooting attempt last weekend. Over the last two days, he’s learned that the attempt on his life was a well-thought-out plan, and heads are rolling. Literally.

Thankfully, I was able to get out earlier in the week before he knew the full extent of the situation. I'm no longer blind to the fact that my safety is not his top priority. He looks out for one person and one person only—himself. As long as I remain in line with the facade of a dutiful wife, he couldn’t care less about my well-being.

Since Junior’s mood is more dreadful than usual, I’ve been doing my best to stay out of his way by locking myself in this very room as much as possible. But tonight, I want out. I need to see Trent.

The problem is that Junior is not at Sinners like usual. Instead, he’s hosting the meeting here, at his house. With a dozen or so of his men here, the probability of me escaping unnoticed seems slim to none. I tried to use my mother as an excuse, saying she needed my help to go through Dad’s things, but that request fell on deaf ears. It wasn’t a completely fabricated story; I intended on having dinner with her beforehand. I’ve been trying to see her as much as possible now that she’s alone. Even though it’s hard, I'm working my way through my resentment. Ultimately, it’s because of my dad that I’m stuck in this hellhole, but my mother never stood up for me either. Although neither of them ever realized how bad it truly is. An unsettling feeling of guilt ensues, considering I still feel this way, even with my dad six feet under and my mother devastated from the loss.

It's well past midnight now, and the sounds of engines roaring to life fill the air. I'm hoping Junior leaves along with them; that way, I can sneak out. Nori is sound asleep on his mat in front of my sewing desk as I creep out of the room and into my bedroom.

No sooner do I close my door, I’m startled by Junior’s shadow in the corner. My hand flies to my chest as I suck in a sharp gasp.

“Shit, you scared me,” I confess, and he eyes me for a few moments, assessing the fact that I'm not in my pajamas like I normally would be at this time of night.

“Going somewhere?” he taunts as he approaches.

“No, coming in to get ready for bed. Lost track of time sketching,” I reply dryly on my way to my closet, trying to act nonchalant, even as my body buzzes with nerves.

“You were supposed to meet me in my room this evening,” he says, referring to the arrangement he demands of me. I suppress a shiver. I dread my ovulation week, knowing he expects me to be waiting for him in his bed, regardless of if he’s home or not.

“Your meeting just ended…and you’re usually not home on Fridays. Figured you were going out,” I say while searching through my drawers for a pajama set, in hopes that he just leaves me be .

I feel his hand grip my upper arm moments before I'm being spun around and pushed against a rack of clothes.

“You know damn well what the fuck I expect, principessa,” he seethes through his clenched teeth. The smell of alcohol hits me in the face as my stomach sinks to my feet.

“I must’ve lost track of time,” I say with a calmness I don’t feel. I know what today is. Today is the day before my ovulation begins. And per his demands, I must be ready and waiting for him. It’s the most torturous thing I’ve ever been through. I would take one of his beatings over lying in his bed while he uses me any day.

“Bull-fucking-shit. There’s a reminder on your phone and mine.” He takes a step back before continuing. “You know, I find it strange that over the past three years, you have yet to fall pregnant with my heir.” My eyes wander around the enclosed space, looking for a way out. It feels like I can’t breathe with his presence bearing down on me.

He grips my chin to pull my attention back to him, his roughness making me wince. “The doctors claim that you and I are both healthy in that department and should have no problem conceiving. I wonder what the issue is…” His grip tightens with each word before forcefully pushing me away.

My feet stumble for a second before I regain my balance. Junior radiates a dangerous energy as he paces back and forth in front of me.

“You know, you really had me fooled there…thinking it just wasn’t our time yet. But then…” He pauses and encroaches on my space yet again. “But then, I found this.” He holds up the small pill pack and dread floods my entire body.

“You think I’m a fucking idiot, don’t you? That I wouldn’t suspect anything? I have to admit, it was harder than I thought it would be to find.” Fear crawls up my spine at what else he could have found during his search. I will myself to take a deep breath, knowing he would have said something if so. So, I remain silent. No words will help me out of this.

His cool demeanor scares me the most. I can take the yelling, but it’s when he speaks so steadily, so collected, that he’s the most frightening.

Junior spins me around once more and shoves me up against the wall. I groan from the thud, my ribs taking the brunt of it. With his chest flush to my back, his hot breaths feel like acid on my neck.

“You fucked up, principessa,” he grits out into my ear as he tears down my skirt. With the rip of fabric, I clench my eyes shut. Preparing for what comes next.

My focus fades away when I hear him undo the clasp of his belt. The clinking noise reminds me of the bells on top of buoys in the water. Soft noises sound through the air while sitting on top of the hood of a Jeep. Salt air fills my senses as I drift further into the memory. Desperately clinging to the green eyes staring back at me as the sun sets over the horizon. His warm touch gently caresses my face as I lean into him.

“… Fate brought us together twice now. I’ll hold on to the fact that it will bring us back to one another again someday.”

I can’t stop the tears from trickling down my cheeks at the memory. Of what could have been…

I'm still lost in my memory when I'm pressed more forcefully into the wall. My hands brace against its surface to help lessen the impact as I will my brain to venture back to the visions of what I wish my life could be. The thoughts that have gotten me through this torture time and time again .

My neck snaps back with a yank of Junior’s hand in my hair. “You will never disrespect me again. Do you understand?” he seethes.

He gets nothing. I just stare back at him, disdain dripping from every ounce of me.

When he’s finally done, he pulls out of me, but I feel his grip clenching my arm once more before he tosses me forward, sending me colliding into the wall. I wince at the pain, but relish the fact that he’s strolling out of my room. I slump to the floor, my knees coming to my chest as I wrap my arms around them.

Trent… I'm so sorry.

The thought barrels through me as I cry myself to sleep, staring at the bright moon shining through my open curtains. I see Trent’s kind green eyes smiling back at me while his strong arms embrace me so protectively that everything else simply fades away.