Page 1 of Unlawful Lies

Edward

30 years before the events of His Deadly Lies

These business meetings are the bane of my goddamn existence. I go because I have to, not out of any enjoyment. Father insists.

That’s always been his name. Nothing as quaint as Papa or as disgustingly cute as Daddy. Father.

The goddamn head of the organization and the ruler of the family, the king in his castle, and right now, he’s standing beside me as straight as an arrow. His tie is done with the utmost precision, and even his handkerchief has been starched and ironed.

I’m a fucking slob in comparison.

He glances at me sideways, a quick and disapproving purse to his lips before he smooths out the wrinkles once more. It’s a silent urge to uncoil my spine, to look ahead and somehow tame my hair without moving a muscle.

Father asks for miracles like this all the time.

We’ve been standing in a sterile white-on-white office waiting for this meeting for a good fifteen minutes, which amounts to a slap in the face.

“A little longer,” my father murmurs under his breath. He clasps his hands tighter behind his back. “Then we will make a graceful exit.”

A power play. Of course. And one that is too on the nose to be respected on any level.

Father won’t allow either one of us to sit in the all-too-uncomfortable-looking lacquered chairs placed in front of Arden Salvatore’s desk while we waited for the man of the hour to show his face.

It’s all about grace and strength with Father. Old-school Italian from the swoop of his dark hair to the rigid posture and the golden glow of his skin. Looks of Father’s magnitude open doors where they might not necessarily be otherwise. I am lucky to follow in his footsteps.

Lucky.

Sometimes, I’ve got to remind myself when he grates on my last raw nerve. When nothing I do is ever good enough, and he removes his belt with a quick snap of leather, reminding me of my place even at twenty-five.

There is no place outside of his shadow. When the hell am I going to remember it? Do I have to carve it on the inside of my skull for the reminder to always be there?

I open my mouth to respond, to assure Father once again I understand the importance of carrying on the Balestra name, when the door to the office opens.

“My apologies for the tardiness.” Arden’s voice holds a bit of a Sicilian accent.

Whatever I’d been about to say died on my tongue, not at Arden’s swagger or the way his shoulders fill the doorjamb, but at the sight of the slender woman behind him. The singular bright spot of these arduous meetings: Arden’s daughter.

Nicola.

Whenever she decides it necessary, she swings those Sophia Loren hips into the room with such exaggerated motion I’m captivated in an instant.

She does it to tease me. I know it. She knows it.

Damn me but I’ve been waiting for her to show herself, one of the only reasons I haven’t started an argument with Father to liven up the dead space of silence.

Nicola glances my way before turning her nose out of joint, her sleek hair a wave of motion down to her shoulders.

It stops neither of us from playing these games, and a part of me wonders if it comes with the territory. We’re young adults groomed for a life of power, responsibility, and death. We’ve got to find the fun where we’re able to find it. Not to mention, she is absolutely drop-dead gorgeous.

She is the bright spot in this mausoleum. The place smells wrong. Stagnant, stale, lacking life despite the bodies shifting from room to room.

“You’ve kept us waiting long enough, so there is little time left to swallow excuses,” Father says. His voice is a cold whip of sound. “We have more important meetings this afternoon to remain here much longer.”

Arden holds his hands out wide in mock supplication. “Then perhaps you should schedule better.”

Father grunts, clicking his heels together as he straightens inhumanly, his posture perfect enough to make angels weep.

I can’t look away from Nicola. She hasn’t said a word, and her silence speaks novels into existence.

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