2. Evelyn

Asprawling lawn of perfectly green grass lines a path of nearly a hundred feet. Sweeping views of the Hudson River opening into the Atlantic Ocean wait on the other side of the massive building in front of me. The most jarring thing about this place is how pristine it looks. There are sounds of laughter and chatter coming from an outdoor area where a few dozen women in orange jumpsuits entertain themselves.

One way in and one way out. Barbed wire lines three separate fences that converge on the main entrance to the Toppan Gottfried Women"s Correctional Facility. In the Everglades of New York City known as Staten Island, it"s at the most southern point where you could swim to Jersey.

Several guards watch me move through the intake of the facility. It"s not my first time going to visit someone behind bars, but it"s the first time I"m going to see my sister since her sentencing. I"m even happier those trashy reporters aren"t waiting around like that asshole who shoved his phone in my face a few weeks ago.

It doesn"t take long to run me through the checks and searches. Especially since I"m wearing a simple ivory blouse and pencil skirt. My stilettos slip on and off my feet easily. After they make sure I"m not sneaking anything inside, a guard shows me into a room with a bunch of tables. There are only two people inside, my sister and a guard at the door who leaves once I sit down.

Shana Rossi-Martin has our father"s dark brown eyes and our mother"s full head of curly black hair. I can"t help but notice she"s wearing makeup, her nails are freshly manicured, and she looks like she"s put on a few healthy pounds, too.

"You look good, Shay," I tell her, pulling her in for a hug.

"You look like you can use some sun, Evil." She grins and lets me go as the guard clears their throat to warn us we"re not supposed to be touching.

The nicknames we"ve been using since grade school make me smile along with her. She said that I was an evil little goblin who always got her way. I won"t pretend like I didn"t have my moments as the baby in the family. But as adults, our love surpasses the bullshit we put each other through as kids. Shana"s six years older than me and makes thirty-one look phenomenal in a prison jumpsuit, tangerine orange and all.

"How"s the food?" I ask her.

"Not better than yours," she says. "How"s Ma and Dad?"

"Ma is doin what Ma does, taking care of him, and Dad is doing what Dad does."

She nods. "Taking care of everybody else. Roman and Court?"

"Restless," I tell her about her eight-year-old twins. "Roman"s gone quiet and Courtney"s got our, uh, sass."

"School or Ma?" she asks.

"Both. She needs you, Shana. Shit, they both do." Heat flares across the bridge of my nose as my eyes water, and she reaches across the table to pat the top of my hand quickly before pulling her hand back. This is no place for tears.

"Evelyn, you have to stick with the Family on this. Help Ma out, and everything"s going to be fine. When you talk to Dad, let him know that dinner is the best option for our family right now. That"s what I know from our dinner guests in here."

My heart steels as I know the coded talk when I hear it.

Dinner is the best option = A treaty between us and another La Familia member.

"Are the invitations in the mail? Who"s coming? Are you okay with the guests here? Does Dad need to send you leftovers?"

Invitations Who"s Coming = Which family of La Familia?

Guests here = Rossi associates from prison guards to fellow inmates whom she can temporarily trust

Leftovers = Protection

"I got a full guest list here already, and we"re eating good." Her smile assures me that she"s safe, and the weight she"s wearing very well solidifies that. However, I can"t help but notice something seems off about her. Probably a symptom of being in this place. She can"t be herself, can"t let her guard down.

"I just don"t know how you got the invitation before I did," I sigh to myself. It"s like it"s always been. Shana"s the shining beacon of perfection, and even inside prison, she gets more intel on our Family organization than I do. What is it going to take for me to be taken seriously?

I do everything asked of me and yet, they still have Shana holding my hand through important decisions. I can"t stand this shit. This life. The inadequacy of knowing I"m never going to be her pushes a wave of nausea down my body.

"Easy, Evil. You look like you"re about to puke. Wait until you see who"s coming to dinner."

I don"t like the tone in her voice. "Who?"

"Alessandro."

The mere mention of Alessandro De Luca"s name strikes fear in the bravest of men and the hardest of criminals around this city. His temper is notorious, and his vengeance is lethal. I"d also be fucking blind to ignore the fact that he"s the sexiest mafioso to ever walk the streets of New York. Still, that doesn"t mean I want him coming to dinner.

Wait.

"Shay, what are we bringing to the dinner party? The vineyard?" I ask her, with concern creeping up my spine. Sometimes, the Rossi name can be synonymous with wine, but the Rossis of La Familia? We have prime Midtown Manhattan real estate from 70th to 90th Street. We call it the vineyard because the best temperature to grow grapes is between 77 and 90 degrees. A running joke between the Families.

"The dinner party is going to need a lot more than wine. Dad doesn"t think the vineyard is enough. We need everyone not invited to know that this is more than a Family dinner. You"ll know more once you leave here. Any word on him?" Shana peers down to the plain gold band donning her ring finger.

The jewelry she prefers to wear, including the massive diamond engagement ring and matching band, sits in our mother"s jewelry safe. Prison life, no matter how much protection Shana has, is no place for opulence.

"Time"s up, Martin!" the guard calls from the door.

It doesn"t feel like we"ve been there long, twenty minutes at the most. Yet, it doesn"t seem like enough time.

"I don"t know where the sleazebag is and I don"t care. He"s a fucking guttersnipe who took off on you, his kids, his fucking family!" The sound of my hand slamming against the table ricochets around the room. It gets the guard"s attention and brings tears to Shana"s eyes.

"You don"t understand, Evelyn. You couldn"t possibly understand what I"d do for him and what he"d do for me."

"Don"t be delusional." I sniff back tears I don"t remember letting fall. "The fact that you"re in here and he"s not says all you need to know about what he"d do for you."

"When you love someone as much as this, there"s nothing that can convince you of anything else. I know he"ll come around. We"ve been together fifteen years, since we were kids. He"s not going to abandon us. Just watch."

It sounds like she"s trying to convince herself more than me as she wipes her tears with her sleeve, smudging her makeup and dirtying her jumpsuit. Still, she is the picture of perfection. Even as a convict, my perfect sister gets up from the table ready to head back into a life I don"t want to imagine.

"What if he doesn"t, Shay?"

She turns to me, glancing over her shoulder. "Then I"ll take care of it when I come home."

The words sound like she"s coming home next week, like this is some business trip. Suddenly, the walls, these horribly painted, grey concrete walls of a correctional facility holding my sister, feel like they"re closing in on me. I have to get out of here.

I keep my composure long enough to leave the building, the grounds, and head toward the parking lot where Jenkins is waiting beside the car. The level of protection Jenkins gives me rivals the Secret Service, and I wouldn"t have it any other way. He"s been like a surrogate father to me many times, saving my neck and keeping me out of trouble since I first tried playing hooky.

The memory flashes like it was yesterday. Silly little thirteen-year-old me cutting school to hang out with Bobby Canastis, who had a crush on Shana, of course. He brought me to a house where all the kids partied, hoping my sister would come for me and hang out, too. Shana never showed up.

Jenkins, I don"t even think he has a last name, kicked in the door. He"s tall, even taller back then, towering over a bunch of horny teenagers looking to set me up to call my sister. Jenkins found me in the kitchen, wrapped an arm around me, and walked me out of the house.

Staring at him now, my body shakes the minute he opens the door, and he catches me before I fall.

"She doesn"t belong in there, Jenkins," I tell him, tears spilling freely in the late afternoon sun.

"I know, Evelyn. We"re working on a few things."

I take a step back, eyeing him as feelings of betrayal ripple through me. "Who is "we"? How is it that everyone else in this Family knows what"s going on before I do? Am I not important enough? What the fuck do I have to do?"

"Nothing, but get in the car. I"m under orders to bring you to your father."

I push away from him. All my paternal emotions for him are evaporating because no matter how many times he protects me, it"s his job. He"s paid to be here. I slide into the back seat and pull out a compact to fix my makeup.

Jenkins runs his hand through his dark brown hair, smoothing it to the back with a single swipe. His dark brown eyes zero in on me from the rearview mirror as he pulls out of the parking lot and gets me off this damn island. My mind wanders, thinking about everything and then about nothing as we zip around evening rush hour and come to a stop in front of Saint Christopher"s Cathedral.

My heart steadily thumps against my chest as I turn to Jenkins after I step out of the car. "I thought we were going to dinner."

"This is the dinner, Evelyn." Jenkins says, his voice barely above a whisper. Everyone"s clued in except me.

Inside the beautiful Roman Catholic church stands a group of men. The discussion is heated, and the man raising his voice is none other than Alessandro De Luca.

"This is not the way this was supposed to happen, Oz! You know it and I know it. She"s going to flip the fuck out, and rightfully so! Who the fuck does this?" Alessandro"s face runs red except where a scar runs down his cheek and into a short black beard. It"s as trim and clean-cut as his suit, a well-tailored charcoal grey suit with his cerulean shirt close to the same shade of blue in his eyes.

"Will you calm down?" The man"s stature has all the energy of a bull in a China shop.

However, everyone stops once they realize I"m here. My father, Don Matteo Rossi, Alessandro, and I believe the man with him is Don De Luca"s consigliere. There"s a priest in the archway of the main auditorium who looks like he"s ready to make his peace with God.

I square my shoulders, walking confidently toward men who are discussing my life without me.

"Will one of you please tell me what the hell is going on? Dad?" I turn to my father.

He approaches me with a smile that"s far more awkward than it needs to be. "The Montegnas are moving in on our territories. We don"t have the muscle we used to since Peter took off. We need a strong front, a union."

I can"t help but notice Alessandro taking an ominous step toward me. I pull away from my father, but Alessandro"s hand comes out to stop me. The simple gesture of his hand on my back, strong and steady, keeps me in place.

"Not so fast, mio dolce." The bass in his voice sends tremors to my core, but there"s a darkness in his tone, the devil behind his sharp blue eyes. "You can"t possibly think I"d let my bride jilt me at the altar."