Lawless:Mob Boss Book Three

By: Michelle St. James

They continued down Commonwealth until they came to the brownstone. In the spring, cherry blossoms colored the trees outside pink. Now everything was pale and green, on the verge of the riot of color that would signify fall.

She stopped at the steps leading up to the front door and turned to face him. “Does Marco know?” she asked. “Elia?”

He shook his head, and she saw the regret in his eyes. “I’m the only one.”

She thought about that, about Nico in hiding for four months with no one but Luca to know he was alive. But no. She couldn’t start feeling sorry for him. He had done this. He and Luca. And they had put her through hell.

“Go home, Luca,” she said.

“Can’t do it.” His blue eyes flashed under the shock of dark hair. “Boss’s orders.”

The words called forth a fresh wave of indignity.

“I don’t think you understand.” She spoke slowly, evenly. She had become one of them, the measure of her fury evident in the level of calm forced into her voice. “I am the boss. Now go home.”

She headed for the house, but when she got to the front door, she looked back to find him leaning against the iron fence next door. Of course, he wouldn’t leave. It pissed her off, but there was nothing she could do about it. She’d learned not to bring attention to herself, to Rossi Development, to any of their business dealings or associates. Being part of the Syndicate meant being subject to rules and limitations that made even the most straightforward of situations seem complicated.

Fine. Let him stand out there all night then.

She opened the door and locked it behind her, then stood listening in the entry. The house was quiet. David was probably upstairs in his room, watching Netflix or sleeping off the anti-depressants prescribed to him by the psychiatrist he’d been seeing since he got out of the hospital. She hung her coat near the door and made her way up the stairs.

David’s medication made her nervous, especially since she was at the office so much of the time. She made sure to check on him several times a day, but she still lived in fear that he would accidentally take too many of the pills — or that maybe it wouldn’t be an accident at all. He’d been kidnapped and tortured. Had lost two of his fingers, been afraid for his life before he was rescued in the hail of bullets that had finally killed Dante Santoro. David wasn’t himself, might never be himself again because of her.

She shook the thought from her mind as she reached the second floor landing. She couldn’t look back. She’d done what seemed right at the time; helping Nico, trying to figure out who was targeting him. She couldn’t have known Dante would come after David. She couldn’t have known any of it would happen like it did; that she would kill the man standing between her and Nico, that she would require two hours of emergency surgery to remove the bullet he’d fired into her stomach on his way down. It had been traumatic for all of them, but most of all for David who had gone from being a college student grieving his father’s death to being held hostage by one of the Syndicate’s most brutal men.

She stopped at the closed door of his room and listened for a few seconds before rapping softly on the carved wood. No answer. She tried again, then eased open the door.

The room was dark, the heavy curtains pulled shut like always. It didn’t matter if it was nine in the morning or six at night, David’s room was always cloaked in darkness, as if the thick velvet draperies could keep his fear at bay.

He was laying on his back, light brown hair flopping onto his forehead, lanky limbs splayed out across the mattress. He’d always slept that way. When they were little and could convince their mother to let them sleep in the same bed, Angel never lasted long before retreating to her own room. David had been a bed hog even then.

His left hand was still wrapped in a bandage, even though it had mostly healed. She thought it was because he didn’t want to look at his disfigured hand, didn’t want to admit it was permanent, and she felt ashamed at her relief that the bandage meant she didn’t have to admit it either.

“David,” she said softly, lowering herself onto the mattress next to him. She touched his hair, said his name again.

▶ Also By Michelle St. James

▶ Last Updated

▶ Hot Read

▶ Recommend

Top Books