3. Laura

Chapter 3

Laura

S weat rolls down my back as I slam my hammer against the chisel. Pieces of marble chip off into the air, some of them pinging against my goggles, others scratching my arms. I'm covered in dust, my denim overalls a chalky white. It's going to take an hour to get it all out of my hair. And I don't care at all.

My arms are tired. My back hurts from hitting the stone over and over again. But I can't stop, not until the vision I had releases itself from the block.

There's this old cliché. Sculptors simply see the shape they want, then go find it in the stone. But in my case, that's completely true: I start from a fully formed idea of where I want to go then I start cracking, smashing, hammering, chiseling, breaking, until finally I end at the vision I've had from the start.

It's always pieces of a body. I was on a hands and tongues phase, but now I'm working on an ear.

And for the first time in my life, it's not a human ear.

No, the vision was clear: it's elongated, soft and velvety, but sharp and masculine, and very dark, obsidian black.

A jackal's ear.

"I keep forgetting, but I have a check for you."

I start and look over my shoulder. Angelo's lounging in the corner of the basement. I forgot he was there, honestly. My brother's the only person in the whole world I'd ever let watch me work like this. I have other siblings—Simon, Davide, and Elena—but none of them are allowed around when I'm at work. They're barely tolerated in my space at all.

Angelo's different. I don't really know why, maybe because we're close in age, or maybe because he was there when all that bad shit happened. He was the first person I told, and he was the one that was there when I was a total, utter wreck of a human. He helped bring me back, and I'm not fully myself, and I probably never will be, but what I am is thanks to him.

"Keep the money." I turn back to my work. "Not like we need it." The Bianco Famiglia is obscenely rich and powerful. We live in a place we call the oasis . It's an entire city block in the heart of the nicest area in Chicago, and we control every house and every square inch. Guards patrol the street and lurk on the roofs. It's the safest place in the world, and it's fully funded by our family's illicit activities.

"You earned it." He walks over to my workbench and places a check in the middle. "I'm glad we did that, you know. People had a lot of good things to say about your sculptures. I just wish you'd let me put your name on everything."

"I don't need attention." Slam , slam , slam —more stone drops down. I can see the jackal's ear in my mind. I can feel his fingers on my hips—the night sky endless above me, the drop tugging me down below—and a shiver runs down my spine.

"At least promise we'll do another one. You have plenty of work."

I tense for a second and nearly screw up. It was hard enough selling the dozen pieces we brought last time. I'm not sure I can handle letting go of more, but it's impossible to make Angelo understand that. These aren't just works of art—they're parts of me.

"We'll see."

He grunts as I go back to ignoring him, and eventually, he leaves. I feel bad, pushing him away like that, but I need my space and he usually understands. I lose myself in the pure physicality of sculpting and time slips past, running over me like water, until my stomach's rumbling loudly and my arms feel like jelly. I step back, catching my breath, and realize my whole body's aching from constant work. I'm in really good shape—not because I exercise, but because I'm constantly breaking rocks all day.

Time for a break. I put my tools away and pause to look down at the check. It's for three million dollars, which is way more than I would've guessed. I rip it into pieces and head upstairs.

Hot shower. Good water pressure. Chalky, muddy dust rinses off my skin. I picture Jackal here with me, his hands caressing my skin, cupping my small breasts, tweaking my hard nipples, sliding up between my thighs and finding my pussy dripping wet. I can imagine his groan of pleasure. I touch myself in a way I haven't in a really long time and my fingers dig into the tile wall as I gasp with pleasure.

Jackal's fingers sliding inside me. My own fingers stroke my clit as the fantasy overwhelms and I come in the shower, gasping for breath. I stare down at the drain, at the dust clogging the edges, and think about what it would have been like if Jackal had let go.

Excitement still simmers at the edges of my body.

I've lost my damn mind.

After drying off, I pour myself a glass of wine before bed and check my phone. There's nothing interesting, just the same old stuff on Instagram and Facebook, and I'm about to call it a night when I decide to check my email on a whim. It's only ever order receipts and spam, and I'm not expecting much?—

Until my heart nearly stops in my chest.

Sitting at the top of my inbox is a message with the subject line Hello, my little demon .

And it's from someone called [email protected].

My hands shake as I tap the screen and pull it open. The email address is clearly fake—there's no way this guy owns the website mask dot com —and that tells me something about him.

Jackal is smart enough to set up an anonymous mailbox using whatever website he wants.

I take a deep breath and skim the words. It's not a long message, but it leaves me trembling and breathless. I have to down what's left of my wine and get a refill before I read it a second time in earnest.

I hope you're doing well and you haven't taken any unnecessary risks lately. At least, not without me around to keep you safe. Or maybe to give you bad ideas? I can do both, if you want.

We need to see each other again. Come meet me on the roof of Cage, the same place as last time, tomorrow night at midnight. Come alone, and don't bother with the mask.

I know who you are now.

Isn't that what you wanted, little demon?

Don't worry. Your secret is safe with me.

Until tomorrow night.

Love, Jackal

He knows who I am.

He figured it out. I never thought he would—but somehow, my clue was enough to give me away.

How's that even possible? There are only a tiny number of people that knew I was the artist that night, and none of them would ever betray my trust. This shouldn't be possible, and yet he's right, this is exactly what I wanted. Maybe a part of me knew that if anyone could figure me out, it would be him, and that's why I gave him enough of a lead to find me out.

Don't bother with the mask .

Can I really do this? Can I walk up to that roof and let that man see my face?

The Jackal is extremely dangerous, and I have no idea who he is.

And a big part of me doesn't want to know.

That's the sickest part of all this. I like that he's a strange man in a mask. I don't have to worry about complicated things, like consequences or anxiety or anything like that. He's only a body and a mask. There's no face, no identity, nothing beyond a pair of hands, a gorgeous voice, beautiful eyes, and an incredible body.

I leaned off that roof and stared at the skyline, at the stars and the moon, and let him hold me down. I put my life in his hands, and Jackal didn't let me fall.

No, Jackal only drove me crazy.

Now he knows who I am. He knows I'm Laura Bianco, and instead of running away screaming, he wants to see me again.

Which means he must be as insane as I am.

My family isn't safe. We're the largest, most powerful mafia organization in the Midwest, potentially in the entire United States, and I'm the youngest sister of the Don. If anyone in the Famiglia found out about Jackal, they'd hunt him down and tear him to pieces.

If he's smart enough to figure me out, he must be smart enough to know how dangerous it is to see me again.

Especially at Cage.

But for some reason, the fact that he reached out with a specific plan makes me think he can pull this off.

I don't know how—but maybe Jackal really can get into one of the most exclusive clubs in the city and up onto the roof without anyone seeing him.

This guy is going to get himself killed.

And I want to be there when it happens.

At least, that's what I can tell myself, but if I'm being brutally honest, I hope he gets away with it.

And I hope he has another game to play.