Page 9 of Dragonfly

Her face is narrow and thin, her features sharp. I’ve seen her in a sundress, in jeans, in a pair of baggy sweatpants with her hair pulled on top of her head in a messy bun. She’s worn a baseball cap, a floppy hat, and sunglasses that conceal her stare. It doesn’t matter. I recognize her anywhere, and though I’m too busy for a relationship, the first time I saw her, I thought about taking her home for the night.

Then I realized she was stalking me and, instead of making a move on her, I’ve spent months waiting to see what it is she wants with me.

I’m used to women throwing themselves at my feet. In Springfield, the name Libellula means something—and I’m not referring to its literal translation of ‘dragonfly’. Women in this city think that, if they fuck me, they’ll get a taste of my wealth.

My infamy.

My power.

Sorry, but no. If they fuck me, they get a night to remember, but that’s about all. I haven’t had a real relationship in nearly four years, and even that only lasted eight months before she was pushing for a kid to tie me to her for life.

So I keep all my tête-à-têtes to one-night stands in a hotel my Family has a stake in, all the while ignoring how envious I am of Lincoln, who gets to return home to a wife who adores him every night.

I’m jealous, but realistic. Even I know that that kind of life isn’t meant for me. At least I already have my Family.

Still, I can’t deny that this woman has me intrigued, and even though I know I shouldn’t pay her any mind, I didn’t get to where I am by ignoring my instincts.

And when one of my soldiers lucked on ordering a ride last month and she was the driver, I figured it couldn’t hurt to do just a little digging into who she might be.

The app gave the driver’s name as Savannah Montgomery, but if that isn’t the fakest shit I’ve ever heard, I don’t know what is. She’s good, though, I’ll give her that. At first glance, the identity passes all tests.

But I’ve been in organized crime my whole life. First, when I watched my old man work for his crew before he was just another statistic. Then, when I followed in his shoes, working for Gunner while plotting my way to creating a Family of my own.

By the time I was thirty, I’d done just that. I’d taken over half of Springfield, creating a tight-knit group of men loyal to me. To the dragonfly. Whether they were soldiers, enforcers, underbosses, or lieutenants, they were mine. They do what they’re told, and those who betray me, they do so only once.

She’s a mystery. An enigma. The shadow that I haven’t been able to shake in months, though I can’t say for sure that I’ve really tried.

But most of all? She’ll be mine, too.

She just doesn’t know it yet.

FOUR

REVENGE

SAVANNAH

Ineed a new weapon.

In Springfield, it’s a lot easier to get your hands on a gun than it probably should be. That’s what happens when one of the local mafias—in this case, the Sinners Syndicate—is known for gun-running, and they want to make as much profit off of them as possible.

For the right price, you can buy one without jumping through the hoops of getting a permit, showing ID, and getting your fingerprints done. And when your cellmate tells you about a guy named Antonio runs a pawn shop that’s pretty reasonable, you can have it the same day.

Unless he’s sold out.

Antonio switches the toothpick from one corner of his mouth to the next. “Sorry, sweetheart. I’ve been cleaned out.”

“What?” When I was here last, he had a whole back room full of guns from me to choose from. “All of them?”

“‘Fraid so. I had a big buyer come through just the other day, and believe me when I say he ain’t the kind of customer you refuse service to, if you get my drift.”

Damien.

How much do you want to bet fucking Damien sent his guys around to buy up the guns. The Dragonflies don’t deal in the gun trade, but it seems that every one of the gangsters I’ve seen has a gun on his hip.

Except for their leader, that is.

That makes sense. When he’s surrounded by armed goons, he doesn’t need to show off that he carries, too. Doesn’t mean he’s defenseless. Damien’s preferred weapon is this thin knife he tucks inside of a leather holster, hidden beneath his suit jacket.

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