Rachel Dyken - Elect

“Chase.” He nodded. “And you must be?” He was looking at Trace with more curiosity than anything. Shit, did he know we’d played him?

“Oh, um,” Trace giggled. “Sorry we got carried away, I’m Chase’s girlfriend, Tracey.”

“Lovely.” Luca took her outstretched hand and kissed it. “What a beautiful couple. A pleasure, Miss Tracey. Chase, we’ll be in touch.”

I nodded as he walked off with his coffee, saw that a few of his men were with him.

I faintly heard Trace order a drip and then she directed me out of the coffee shop toward the Social Sciences building. I pretended everything was fine on the inside, but it wasn’t.

I was far from fine.

I was ripped to shreds on the inside.

Because until a few minutes ago, I’d had no idea what I’d been missing. And now… now I did.

And suddenly betraying everyone I loved was back on the table. Because Tracey—she held a part of me I couldn’t take back, and it scared the hell out of me.

I reached into my shoulder bag and felt around for my gun. I knew I was seriously going to lose my mind if I was checking my gun every five seconds of the day, but I couldn’t help it. I was worried about everything.

Damn, if my ma could see me now.

I went to my one and only Tuesday class and tried to look scary. No way was I in any shape to talk to students or my professor with the whole Trace and Chase situation hanging over my head. Holy shit, their names even rhymed. How the hell had I missed that?

I groaned aloud.

“Mr. Abandonato, something you’d like to share with the rest of the class?” Mr. Smith asked.

Hell. No. “Sorry, headache.”

He grimaced but said nothing. Probably a good idea since I was literally two minutes away from losing my shit.

Class ended five minutes later. I made my way toward the opposite end of campus—toward the Space.

I called it the Space because calling it anything else just seemed weird. We used the building for special things; having it on campus was reserved for special purposes.

And I had a hell of a purpose today.

Ruin Phoenix’s life and gain my sanity back. Easy, right?

I burst through the door only to find Phoenix glaring at me from a metal chair. His hands were cuffed behind him and a gag was in his mouth.

I pulled the gun from my bag and tucked it into my pants.

“How was your sleep, sunshine?”

Phoenix’s eyes were dripping with hatred, but he didn’t make a sound.

Sighing, I went over to the cupboard of death, as Tex liked to call it, and pulled out my tools.

Phoenix started jerking against the chair, but I continued to pull out the medical instruments. I wasn’t really going to do anything to him—not yet. The unfortunate part was that I’d been trying to clean up the family business—apart from the Sicilian influence.

The mafia was alive and well in Sicily, but here? Here we’d been keeping the peace, flying under the radar. As long as we didn’t red flag our business dealings, we were left relatively alone.

It had all started with Trace’s parents’ murders and I hoped to God it would end there. I knew there wasn’t an out; there would always be people trying to get my family. Greed would always exist. But it was order that I was counting on. The Sicilians had a certain way of doing things, a respectful way to keep order within the families.

They were here because if for some reason things went south, they didn’t want it traced back to them.

Too much money was at stake. And Phoenix knew that, so I may not torture him, not now, but I knew that was where it was headed. I hated that I would have my ex-best friend’s blood on my hands almost as much as I hated myself for wanting to kill him every damn second of the day.

I pulled out the concrete mixture and poured water into it.

Phoenix’s eyes widened but he said nothing.

It was a fast-setting concrete. I mixed it for a few minutes then pushed the bucket over to where Phoenix sat.

“So.” I bit down on my bottom lip and crossed my arms. “I want you to look at this. I mean, really look at it.”

Phoenix’s eyes flickered to the concrete-filled bucket.

“Now.” I pushed the bucket closer to him. “This is your future. Do you see it? Look really hard. Your future is in this bucket. Know that if you double-cross me I won’t hesitate. Your feet will be so heavy from the concrete surrounding them that when I drop you into Lake Michigan you won’t even have time to suck in one final gasp of air. Nobody will find you. Nobody will care. So it’s your choice.”

Phoenix closed his eyes.

I pulled the gag from his mouth so he could talk. “Now, say thank you.”

“What?” His voice was hoarse.

“For giving you a choice. Say thank you. And tell me everything you know. Or else… I’m placing your feet into the concrete bucket and praying for your damned soul.”

Phoenix seemed to actually think about it, which proved his idiocy right then and there. If he had to think about whether he’d rather live than die? That meant his shit was deep and he didn’t see a way out of it except death on both ends.

“Damn.” I pulled up a metal chair and took a seat across from him. “That bad, huh? Who’s got you, Phoenix?”

“It’s…” He cursed. “It’s complicated.”

“Families always are.”

There was a pregnant pause while he continued to stare at the bucket. “I’m imagining it.”

“What?”

“Which death would be quicker.”

“I won’t shoot you.” I laughed. “Sorry, but the minute you tried to rape Tracey was the minute you lost all rights to a quick death.”

“I know,” Phoenix snapped. “I’m just—”

“Thinking.” I pulled out my brass knuckles and slid them onto my right hand. “Allow me to help with your decision.”

The knuckles dug into the flesh on the right side of his jaw as I pulled back from the punch.

Phoenix swore, but otherwise did nothing.

“Say thank you.” I swore.

“Thank you.” Blood dripped from Phoenix’s face onto his white shirt.

“Thank you, what?” I cupped my ear.

“Sir. Thank you, sir.”

“For?”

“Being gracious and giving me a choice.”

“Better.” I took off the knuckles and wiped them on my jeans. “Now, what would you like to tell me?”

He smirked and leaned back in his chair. “You’re all going to die—and you don’t even know the worst part.”

“Oh, it gets worse?” I laughed bitterly. “Tell me. Now.”

“A shitstorm’s coming your way and you have no idea. Neither does the Nicolosi family. Everyone thinks this is about some old beef, some jealousy between the Alfero and Abandonato families? Hell no. It’s not about jealousy. It’s about blood. It’s about the wrong blood leading; it’s about the secret your family’s been keeping—is still keeping. And the best part?” He leaned forward, a shit-eating grin on his face. “I’ll take it all the way to the bottom of Lake Michigan. Hell, I may not get a last breath, but I’ll die with a smile on my face knowing that you never even knew who your real father was.”

I don’t remember how many times I hit him before he passed out. Blood dripped from both my hands and I still wanted more. What the hell kind of mind game was Phoenix playing?

I quickly dialed Uncle Tony’s number and told him to meet me. We needed to move faster than I thought—I needed all the information, the leads that we’d collected over the years, the evidence. I wanted and needed it all.

Something told me we were running out of time faster than I could possibly imagine, and I knew Phoenix held the key. The only question? Who was holding the information over his head?

“Are you sure this is all you have?” I asked for the third time. Tony had given me a USB drive with all the information that we’d collected over the years, including pictures of the De Lange family’s comings and goings, and active accounts.

Shit, they were worse off than I thought.

And that was the problem.

As far as I could tell they weren’t receiving any payments from any outside source. Nobody seemed to be bribing them. No wire transfers; nothing.

Tony snorted. “Nixon, you’re not only my boss but my nephew. Why would I of all people keep vital information from you?” He lit his cigar and walked over to the large bay window in my kitchen.

Hell. He was lying to me; the son of a bitch was lying. I could always tell when someone wasn’t being honest. Not that I liked to brag, but whenever people lie they tend to give more information than necessary. They do this in order to convince you that because they have details, they’re innocent.

If Tony was telling the truth, he would have shrugged and said “yup.”

He didn’t even deny it. No, instead he turned the tables and said, “Why would I of all people keep information from you?”

Guilt dripped off every word.

Why indeed?

I pretended to scroll through the bank accounts on the computer. It was all information I’d seen before. Things that didn’t really matter and wouldn’t help our case one bit.

What motive would Tony have to hide something from me? What would he have to gain? He was loaded. All of our business dealings were managed by different companies. I oversaw all operations.

The man was worth close to a billion dollars. Granted, that was a drop in the bucket compared to my own fortune, but still.

It couldn’t be money. He had money.

“Well.” Tony puffed on his cigar and faced me. “I think I’m going to head home. You’ll tell me if anything comes up?”

Here went nothing.

“Nah.” I leaned back in my chair. “I don’t think it’s necessary you know all the gory details. Just do what I pay you to do.”

Tony’s nostrils flared; his eyes remained cool and distant. “And what’s that?”

I smiled. “Your damn job. Manage the transactions coming in and out of the banks, make sure every member of the family gets paid by the end of the month. You know, that sort of thing.” I looked back at my computer, dismissing his presence.

“Now, listen here, Nixon, you may be—”

“We’re done now.” My eyes flickered to his. “If you’ll excuse me, I have a mess to clean up.”

He seemed to struggle with what he wanted to say. Instead he nodded. “Yes sir.” And stormed out of the room.

“Angelo,” I called behind me.

“Yes sir.”

“Tail him. I want to know what he eats for breakfast, lunch, and dinner. I want to know what toothpaste he uses at night, what whiskey he prefers, all of it. I want you to know him so damn well that if I placed his skin on your body, people wouldn’t be able to tell the difference. Anything suspicious, you call me. And Angelo?”

“Sir.”

“Nobody, and I mean nobody, will know of this. If you get caught—”

“I understand, sir.” Angelo nodded once and left the room.

I groaned and put my head in my hands. Things weren’t looking up. I wondered if Trace had had a better day than I did. Actually, I didn’t hope; I knew she had to. After all, what could be worse than threatening to kill your ex-best friend and finding out your uncle was a possible rat?

* * *

Chase walked into the house looking like he was about five seconds away from holding a gun to his own head.

“Dude.” I threw a can of beer in his direction. “Who died?”

He caught the beer midair and set it on the table, then took a seat. “No one. That I know of, at least. Well, let me rephrase. I didn’t kill anyone. Why, did you?”

“Not yet.” I shook my head and then burst out laughing.

“What’s so funny?”

“Us.” I took a seat next to him and sighed. “Who asks that when they come home at night?”

“Damn shame we’re not kidding.”

“Damn shame.” I agreed and touched my beer to his. “So, what has you looking so pissed off? Trace get mud on the boots you get her or something?”

“Nah.” He cleared his throat. “Nothing like that. I just hate going to her classes. They suck, by the way, and I was a freshman three years ago, thank you very much. Plus, I swear every single one of her professors wants to murder me.”

“Well.” I took another sip. “You did sleep with two out of four of the women professors. Pretty sure that’s reason enough for a grudge.”

Chase snorted. “They should thank me, not hold it against me. I gave them the time of their lives!”