Page 14 of Clipped Wings

“I do happen to know who has been taking the Irishmen out,” he spoke, inclining his head in admission.

I cleared my throat, impatient. “And?”

“I have an associate that likes to be referenced not by their given name, but the name that has grown infamous in our ranks. The Babau.”

“Babau,” I repeated. My lips pulled at a smile before I realized he wasn’t joking. “As in ‘the bogeyman’?”

“I’m not surprised you know the Italian version of the legend.” The don applauded. “It’s no longer popular to use fear to inspire children’s obedience, but the Babau was once an effective parenting tool. A child was less likely to forget their place or speak out of turn if they knew a monster would steal them from their beds and feast on their blood.”

I fought to keep my emotions under control, but recalling the way Connor had been found shook me to my marrow. Even at the viewing, Connor’s face had been so pale. They had put him in a black turtleneck under his suit to hide the gaping wound at his throat. It truly had looked like some evil mythical creature had consumed him, but this was the real world. Where every monster was human.

“Why would your man target Connor?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper. “We had a deal.”

“Ah, we still have a deal,” Don Luca corrected, leaning back in his chair. The movement was smug. “I swore amnesty for yourself and the Emerald Devil. Jack O’Connell, yes?”

My eyes burned with fury. We both knew he hadn’t forgotten Jack’s name, but his point was clear. He had made a promise not to kill Jack. Everyone else was fair game.

Don Luca sighed in pity. “I do admit, I never gave a direct order to have the eldest O’Connell brother killed.”

“Sounds like the Babau has issues following your command,” I snapped, interlacing my fingers on my knee to keep from fidgeting.

“He has been instructed to eliminate any threat to my enterprise. His one caveat is not to kill you or your Irishman until I give the go ahead.”

His insinuation was in no way subtle, but he spoke like we were discussing an average business deal, not life and death.

“Your war is with the Murrays. How was Connor a threat?”

Before the don could answer, a tall woman entered the room carrying a tray of coffee and sfogliatella. She wore a black pantsuit and matching heels. Her greasy hair was situated in a long braid, tied at the end with a diamond butterfly barrette. It looked like an heirloom, childish in nature. Her expression was blank, and her skin was brutal in its pallor.

I’d met her once before. Last December when I had confronted Nicoletti’s men at the Booker Hotel and demanded to see him, she’d been the one to zip-tie my hands. Her movements were precise and practiced—cold, even.

She’d looked older back then, but I could see now that she was around my age. And, apparently, Luca Nicoletti’s niece. The one person I knew of who the don trusted with information regarding our deal.

“I think it funny that you came here last Christmas even though I easily could have killed you,” Don Luca continued, forcing my gaze away from the new addition to the room. “You came here because you are in love with Jack O’Connell. You wanted to ensure his safety, but he doesn’t even bother telling you about his business, does he? Doesn’t keep you informed? How odd you lay your life on the line for him, but he refuses to trust you with basic information. Information that could keep you safe.”

Don Luca took a porcelain cup from the tray that Amara held, thanking her. Amara turned, her black eyes meeting mine as she offered me a cappuccino. I took it out of sheer politeness, chilled by her abysmal stare. Did the woman ever blink?

“He doesn’t want me implicated in anything,” I said, my voice stony.

The excuse was weak. Jack’s reasoning for keeping me hidden from his world was for my protection. But look where I was now. Being kept in the dark had pushed me into one of his enemy’s homes.

“He is very protective of you,” Don Luca concluded, as if reading my mind. A spark of realization lit his dark eyes. “He does not know you are here. Did you tell him about our last meeting?”

I shuddered at the thought of Jack discovering where I was. He didn’t even like me riding the subway. If he knew the risk I was taking, he’d tuck me away for good. Screw tying me to his bed—he’d lock me in the panic room.

Don Luca laughed wholeheartedly this time, his hand on his stomach. Hearing the sound was like having rusty nails driven into my eardrums. Amara smirked, standing dutifully by his side. Her gaze was locked on me, noting my every micro-expression.

“You two will destroy each other before I get the chance,” Don Luca joked, coming back to himself. Acid churned in my stomach. “Keeping such secrets from the ones you love.”

My heart threatened to burst from my chest. I wasn’t getting enough oxygen, but I had to keep my breathing even. I held my hands in my lap, the whites of my knuckles glowing.

Luca took notice of my panic. “Relax, little one. I will not tell your lover about our little chats. If I did, I would never have the pleasure of seeing you again, and I do so enjoy our time together.”

It was odd, but the don seemed sincere in his sentiment. Although I knew his greatest source of joy was watching me struggle to parry his attacks, analyzing me as he tossed threats against my armor. He was chipping away at it, bit by bit.

I had my answers, but they had cost me. Luca now knew I was keeping things from Jack, and he could hold that over me. Nate’s suicide note—the one I said would bring him down—was looking flimsier as each day passed.

“Thank you for brightening my morning, Miss Marshall.” Don Luca stood to shake my hand. I slid mine into his, wishing I was burying it in shards of glass instead. “Amara, take Emma into the hall and prepare her for the trip back to the Booker.”

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