Chapter Twelve

Adele

See, that's the thing about lies. They're savage little beasts that come back to take a big bite out of your ass when you least expect it. Unless you're a psychopath with an IQ of 180, then maybe you can pull it off indefinitely. Like my dad.

And tonight is proving that I'm as dumb as bricks, because I can't even tell a single lie and make it stick.

I debate backtracking, covering up with another lie, but I'm sick of wallowing in so much deception that I decide to come clean.

"Actually, Kira," I begin, grateful that she can't see my flush of shame. "That wasn't why I broke up with him. He was never married. I lied."

Kira blinks, looking utterly lost. I might as well be speaking a different language.

I force the next words out, each syllable heavy with dread. "I broke up with him because he's a criminal."

"Really? That's why you broke up?"

"Isn't that reason enough?" I snap in irritation. Kira's tolerance for crime and criminals almost borders on the romantic. While I may find the dark world fascinating, it's not one I fancy myself living in.

Most of the time.

Kira scoffs, rolling her eyes. "Please, Addy. He's a billionaire. Loads of rich people are criminals; they're just too smart to get caught. Insurance fraud, tax evasion—"

"He's not that type of criminal, Kira." My voice comes out sharper than intended. "He's the type that kills people."

That brings her up short. "And how would you know that, Addy?"

I take a deep breath. "Because he shot two men. Right in front of me. All because they crashed our dinner and insulted me. That's why I broke it off."

Kira goes still, her playful demeanor vanishing like smoke.

"I see," she murmurs, but other than that, she seems unruffled. "So what happened after he shot those men?"

"Nothing," I say. "Not a fucking thing. That's what I couldn't wrap my mind around. He acted like he'd just swatted a couple of flies! He couldn't even understand why I was so freaked out about it. He's . . . he's not a normal person."

"No, babes, it would seem not," Kira muses.

Glad that Kira gets it, I continue. "So, do you see why telling you about him was hard for me? I kept looking over my shoulder, wondering when I'd get questioned for being a witness to a double homicide."

"Hardly likely," she scoffs, her voice deceptively soft now. "But I'm curious, though—Dan, is he even American?"

"Of course. Well, he's Italian-American—"

"Shocker," Kira interjects. "What's his full name? Daniele?"

I shake my head. "Dante."

Kira goes still again. "What?"

"Dante," I repeat.

"Shut the fuck up." Kira's voice is like a whipcrack. "Dante? Vitelli?"

I do a double-take. "How did you guess his surname?"

"Dante Vitelli!" Kira screeches, her hazel eyes as wide as saucers. "Dante Vitelli is your ex? And you hid that from me, you fucking secretive cow?"

"First of all, the operative word is ex. I'm never going back there again." I sputter, my head spinning. "Secondly, how do you even know of him?"

"What the fuck do you mean how do I know of him? I grew up in Chicago! Dante Vitelli is the shit. He's the absolute fucking shit of the Outfit. He's the Underboss."

I stare at her blankly. "You've lost me. What's an underboss?"

Kira throws her hands up in the air. "You were with the guy for three months, and you don't know? In Medieval Rome, you could be fed to lions for this."

I roll my eyes. "It was a long-distance relationship, Kira. We mainly talked on the phone. And it's not like he opened every conversation with his criminal resume."

And when he did visit, we were too caught up in each other to do much else.

"You talked," she scoffs. "About what, the weather?"

"Kira—"

"Okay, fine. Since you apparently learned nothing about him, let me educate you. An underboss is like . . . the heir apparent. Second in command. He calls the shots when the big boss isn't around. His brother, Nico Vitelli, is the Don."

My stomach flops, and I swallow the lump in my throat. I can't even say I'm surprised because I know firsthand the degree of danger the man exudes. Still, it's quite jarring to hear that he's just not a common member of the mafia.

Kira's voice drags me back to the present. "So, you ran into mobster ex and banged him like a drum, then broke up again or whatever. What has that got to do with you not wanting to go to Chicago?"

I heave out a sigh wondering whose version to tell. My father's or Dante's. I choose the latter. "He told me to never come back to Chicago."

Kira scoffs in disbelief. "Or what? He'll shoot you on sight?"

"Of course not." I snort.

"Good," Kira snaps. I can see she's working hard to rein in her temper. I don't think I've ever seen her this annoyed and I wonder why.

"I don't care if he drew a line in the sand and warned you not to cross it, you're coming with me," Kira states.

"Kira, really I wish—" I begin, but she cuts me off.

"You lied to me, Addy. For two fucking years. So, no, you don't get a say in this. If you don't agree to come, I'm going to cancel the entire gig."

She jabs her thumb behind her shoulder. "And I'm telling everyone in there that you pissed on their parade."

Her words hit me like a punch to the gut. I think of Kira's friends inside—the excited chatter, the anticipation for this gig. And I know she's right; I'd be public enemy number one if I messed with their night.

I sigh, defeated. "Fine," I say, throwing my drink back. It's not like Dante will know I'm there. I force down the cocktail, wincing at the trail of fire it leaves down my throat. It doesn't taste as bad as the pink one, but it's three times as strong.

But apparently, my promise to be at Evanston isn't enough for Kira because she continues to fume. "I'm so annoyed with you, Addy. It's just so unfair to me."

I wonder why Kira is so upset. Yes, I lied to her, but she's acting like she knows Dante personally or something.

Kira continues, "Can you believe I was coming out here to tell you how much Zedd likes you and then to be blindsided with all this?"

"Zedd?" I scrunch up my face. "But we've just met."

"And you've hit him like a thunderbolt. He's begged and is still bribing me to get you to come to Chicago. And I thought, why not, the girl has not had a date in over a year. Little did I know you've been busy screwing Dante Vitelli."

I ignore the last part, take another gulp of my drink, deciding it tastes like gasoline, and instead ask, "I thought you had a crush on Zedd?"

She waves a dismissive hand, "Like, eons ago. Anyway, he's into you. Do what you will with that information."

She turns and storms inside while a wave of nausea hits me so hard, I gag. For the second time, I put my glass away, turn my face to the wind, and take steadying breaths.

This time it doesn't work.

By the time I start to taste the cocktail I drank a minute ago, I know there's no stopping its messy reappearance. I glance at Kira's retreating back and the sea of bodies inside, cursing because there's no way I'll make it to the guest bathroom.

I rush to the corner of the terrace, which I hope is out of eyeshot to those behind the sliding glass doors, and promptly throw up right on the floor. It's loud, it's messy and so humiliating that tears sting my eyes. I'm not even drunk, and I'm puking my guts all over the place. Again.

What the hell is wrong with me today?

"Addy!"

Shit. Kira is too perceptive. She was practically back in the house, the music thumping loudly and the sounds of the city drowning my retching, but still, she heard me.

In moments, I feel cool fingers creeping up my back and my shoulder and gathering my hair up while I continue to empty my stomach contents onto the floor.

When I'm done, Kira pulls me into a hug.

"Kira . . . I'm sorry about the mess."

"Shh. Addy. It's okay." Her palm rubs soothing circles over my back.

"No, it's not okay." I pull out of her arms. "We have guests, and I need to clean up this crap before someone sees it or, God forbid, slips in it, tumbles over, and smashes their skull like an egg all over the concrete sidewalk two hundred feet below."

"Sheesh, you're so morbid," Kira grins but grabs my forearm as I start to leave to get a mop.

"Addy. Are you ill?" She puts the back of her hand on my forehead and then my neck.

"No, I'm just . . . exhausted, I guess."

"Exhausted and therefore puking like a dog? You threw up on your boss's shoes for chrissake."

"Kira, have you tasted these cocktails? They are absolutely vile." I snatch my arm away and go to fetch the mop and bucket.

It takes twice as long because not only do Kira's friends stop me with smiles and random chats, but Zedd also wants to know what the mop is for. I gladly inform him of my mishap, and like magic, he lets me go.

I'm surprised to see Kira still standing there, finishing my drink, brows furrowed in contemplation as I work.

"Addy," she calls as soon as I finish. "I may be going out on a limb here, but I strongly believe you've got a bigger mess to deal with than the one you just made here."

"What do you mean?"

"We sync, don't we? Every time we live together. Our cycles sync."

"Yeah, so?"

"So, I'm on my period right now. Are you?"

My eyes pop when I realize what she's suggesting. "Kira, stop, that's not even funny."

But my heart has already started to trip over itself.

She gets into my face. "You banged your ex right in the middle of your cycle. And three weeks later, you're here puking on everyone. I probably don't need to ask if you used a condom."

My lids fall closed . No, you don't.

Kira bends and gives me a sound peck, then leaves me reeling.

"What a wonderful world," she singsongs, mimicking Louis Armstrong's deep baritone as she expertly picks her way through the terrace into the lounge.

The mop clatters to the floor as my mind serves me a red-hot visual of the way Dante drove himself deep inside me. How stars burst behind my eyelids as his cock dragged tightly against my G-spot. The scorching heat of his semen as he filled me up. And I know without a doubt that he got me pregnant that night.

Hell. Do I even need a test at this point?