Page 17 of Vicious Redemption

Johnny and Rasco stand as silent angels of death, ready to cut any man down who doesn’t prove their loyalty. So, when I turn my chair to face Don Fiore, he bows low before me, pressing his forehead to his knee in supplication.

“I can give you fifty strong men,” he assures me.

A solid number, though not his entire force. But I’ll accept it. I won’t need every man to crush Don Guerra. Not with eight other dons backing my already considerable army.

“Good, now get out of my sight. And get that cheek fixed up. You’re a mess.”

The murmured laughter this time comes at Don Fiore’s expense. No one wants to be on the receiving end of my wrath, and they would far rather turn on the man before me than raise any suspicion against them.

Johnny hauls Don Fiore to his feet with one arm and shoves him roughly toward the door. The humiliated don stumbles and then departs quickly as soon as he’s regained his balance.

Don Amici takes his place, kneeling to the side of the blood-stained carpet where Don Fiore bowed. “My men are yours to command, and I can offer fifty as well,” he says.

A far more generous offer from the smaller mafia family, and I can tell my point has been made. “Very good, Don Amici. I will use them wisely.”

Each head of the eight prominent Piovosa families kneel before me to reaffirm their allegiance. The only one missing is Don Guerra, and had he not made the terrible mistake of betraying me, he would have been here to accept their fealty at my side. I wouldn’t have made him bow before me.

But now, if he doesn’t, he will die.

9

TIA

The grounds are crawling with Leo’s men, and after what Luigi said, I have no doubt they’re on the lookout to ensure I stay on the Moretti property. So I bide my time, watching surreptitiously from the balcony until I spot my chance.

Easing over the railing, I shimmy my way toward the drainage pipe that runs down the wall outside our bedroom. This feels even less like a good idea than the time I climbed down the ivy lattice outside my window at my parents’ house.

But at least the drainage pipe isn’t all rusted and falling apart like the wood lattice, and it holds my weight as I try to slide down it to the garden below. My heart flutters uncomfortably as it brings with it a sense of vertigo I never used to get with heights. I don’t doubt that has something to do with the near-death experience I had not so long ago—followed by the dream just earlier today that made me relive that terrible moment.

Keep it together, Tia, I scold myself, and I ease myself down the narrow pole until I’m just a few short feet above the ground. The gravel crunches beneath my feet as I turn and crouch, looking to see if anyone noticed my grand escape plan.

So far, so good.

An ironic smile curls my lips as I get a powerful sense of deja vu. This is exactly how things started on the night I snuck out of my parents’ house and met Leo. Only this time, I’m going in the opposite direction—and in the broad light of day.

Holding my breath, I hide behind a bush as I near the front of the house. Leo’s driver is busy polishing the black Escalade that sits in the drive. The same one that brought me home from the charity ball, from the looks of it.

Several more men stand sentinel at the front door, their dark suits and sunglasses making them look very much like men in black as they wear stony expressions. Chewing my lip, I consider my options for getting out unseen. It doesn’t look good, seeing as it’s a long straight shot down the drive and impossibly high walls to climb at the estate’s boundary line.

Leo’s driver sets aside his soapy water, tossing the sponge back into it as he vanishes into the garage, perhaps for the hose or some wax or polish. And by the grace of god, it’s at that exact moment that Trudy, one of Leo’s maids, opens the front door.

“Sandwiches, fellas?” she offers with a cheery smile.

And as they turn to engage her, I take what might be my only opportunity. Staying in a crouch, I sprint quickly behind the fountain at the center of the driveway. Then I glance quickly over my shoulder to make sure no one’s still looking before I bolt toward the trees that line the drive.

Sucking in deep lungfuls of air as I reach the first towering tree, I press my back against it and dare to peek around the bark to see if Trudy or the men noticed me. But they seem to be in some kind of debate about the sandwiches she brought them.

And Leo’s driver strolls nonchalantly from the garage, whistling as he totes the hose behind him. The hardest part is over, and I take several steadying breaths before I start to leapfrog from one tree to the next, clinging to the shadows and taking my time so as not to draw attention to myself.

Lucky for me, the front gates are wide open, as they have been every time I’ve passed through them. I’d always imagined that was because I was with Leo—or coming during a party when almost anyone was welcome.

But now I wonder if they might not remain open unless there’s a specific reason to shut someone out.

Once I hit the street, I can finally breathe easier. I pick up a steady pace as I head into town and toward my old family home. It’s across the small downtown of Piovosa, about an hour’s walk, and it feels good to stretch my legs.

Finally, I reach the long driveway leading up to my family’s historic house. I can just make out the eaves over the treetops from the start of our winding drive.

“Don’t fucking move.”

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